To what extent any other Prākrit was used in the earliest drama we

cannot effectively determine. Bhāsa has only, besides Çaurasenī,

Māgadhī of two kinds, and a few hints of what may be styled

Ardha-Māgadhī, while Açvaghoṣa has three dialects which suggest much

older forms of Çaurasenī, Māgadhī, and Ardha-Māgadhī. The use of these

dialects for characters by Açvaghoṣa explains itself naturally from his

familiarity with the Buddhist scriptures whose original was very

probably in something approximating to the Ardha-Māgadhī [142] he knew,

and the fact that the speaker of Old Māgadhī is the Duṣṭa, or bad man,

reminds us of the bad character enjoyed [143] by the Magadha. Lévi’s

[144] suggestion that the Māgadhī of the drama comes from its epic

element, and that the Māgadhas were the reciters of Prākrit epic

compositions, is clearly untenable, and indeed seems to have been later

abandoned by its author in favour of the suggestion that the Prākrits

of the drama were evolved, because the drama was produced at Ujjayinī,

which was a meeting place of different dialectical forms. This theory

might be revised to adapt it to making Mathurā the headquarters of the

drama and Māgadhī and Ardha-Māgadhī the other dialects, but the

restricted use of anything but Çaurasenī by Bhāsa suggests that the

introduction of other Prākrits was a gradual process. In point of fact

it never attained great vitality, and in the developed drama Çaurasenī

and Māhārāṣṭrī alone play any real part. The ground for the more

extended use of dialects when found may be attributed to literary

purposes rather than to any attempt to imitate the speech of the day,

as Sir George Grierson [145] has suggested. The ground for this

conclusion, apart from the improbability of so great an effort at

realism, is that the dialects used for instance even in the

Mṛcchakaṭikā are clearly literary and not attempts to reproduce true

vernaculars.

The stage reached by the Prākrits of Açvaghoṣa shows clearly how late

are the Prākrits of the orthodox classical drama, [146] and reminds us

how much more closely akin to Sanskrit must have been the Prākrit of

the drama of the time of, or shortly after, Patañjali. The classical

drama with its broken-down forms of Prākrit gives a false impression of

the original dramatic form in which either perhaps Sanskrit alone, if

the matter were epic, or both Sanskrit and a closely akin Çaurasenī

appeared.

8. THE LITERARY ANTECEDENTS OF THE DRAMA

The drama owes in part its origin to the epics of India; from them

throughout its history it derives largely its inspiration, far more

truly so indeed than Greek tragedy as compared with the Greek epic.

[147] From the epics also developed the Kāvya, the refined and polished

epic, which appears at its best in the Kumārasambhava and Raghuvaṅça of

Kālidāsa. The parallelism between the developed form of both is close

and striking. The Sāhityadarpaṇa [148] lays down that it is a

composition in several cantos, the hero a god or Kṣatriya of high race,

of the type noble and superior; if there are several heroes, they are

persons of royal rank of one family. The sentiment which predominates

is the erotic, the heroic, or occasionally that of calm; the others

serve in a subsidiary rôle. The subject-matter is either taken from

tradition or not, but the heroes must be virtuous. The work begins with

a prayer, a benediction, or an indication of the subject-matter. The

development of the story employs the same five junctures as the theory

prescribes for the drama. One or other of the four aims of man, wealth,

love, performance of duty, or release, is to be attained by the action.

The number of cantos is not to be less than eight; each should end in a

different metre, and should announce the subject of the following act.

Descriptions of every kind are essential; objects of these are the

different times of day, the sun, the moon, night, the dawn, twilight,

darkness, morning, midday, the hunt, mountains, the seasons, forests,

the ocean, the sky, a town, the pleasures of love, the misery of

separation from one’s beloved, a sacrifice, a battle, the march of an

army, a marriage, the birth of a son, all of which should be developed

in appropriate detail.

The essential feature of these little epics is the enormous development

of the art of description, and the feature occurs in the other forms of

narrative literature, the Kathā, tale, and the Ākhyāyikā, romance,

types which blend with each other. Whether the subject be an imaginary

theme, as is the Vāsavadattā of Subandhu, or a historical one, as in

the Harṣacarita of Bāṇa, we find nothing treated as really important

save the descriptions as contrasted with the narrative. The Sanskrit

lyric also, in Kālidāsa’s masterpiece, the Meghadūta, is essentially

descriptive, as is the Prākrit lyric preserved in the collection of

Hāla, which is based on the model of an older lyric in Sanskrit, whose

existence is revealed to us by the Mahābhāṣya.

The love of description, however, is not new; it is a characteristic of

the epic itself, and the Rāmāyaṇa in special shows us how the way for

the court poetry was being prepared. [149] Hence the fact that the

verses of the drama are overwhelmingly descriptive, when not gnomic in

character, is no matter for surprise. The peculiarity is a direct

inheritance from the epic.

This fact has one important bearing on the history of the drama. The

suggestion of Pischel [150] that the verses alone were once preserved,

and the prose left to be improvised would have been plausible only if

the verses had been essentially the important elements in the dialogue,

as in the supposed Vedic Ākhyāna hymns. But this is assuredly not the

case; the verses do little to help on the action; as in the epic, they

express descriptions of situations and emotions; when movement of the

play is requisite recourse is had to prose. Or the verses serve to set

out maxims, as is natural in view of the great fondness of India for

gnomic poetry, seen already in the verses introduced into the legend of

Çunaḥçepa in the Aitareya Brāhmaṇa. In this again there is a close

parallel with the epic, nor is it surprising that the epic poet, like

Açvaghoṣa and Kālidāsa, was often devoted to the drama.

A further source of literary inspiration must undoubtedly be seen in

the work of the lyric poets, of whose work clear evidence, as well as

some scattered fragments, is preserved to us in the Mahābhāṣya of

Patañjali. [151] Moreover, to these lyric writers it is probable that

the drama owed some of its metrical variety; in the development of the

metres with a fixed number of syllables, each of determined length,

from the older and freer Vedic and epic forms, it may be taken as

certain that the erotic poets, who had a narrow theme to handle, and

had every motive to aim at variety of form and effect, must have

contributed largely, a conclusion which is also strongly suggested, if

not proved, by the very names of the metres with their erotic

suggestion. [152]

PART II

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE SANSKRIT DRAMA

III

AÇVAGHOṢA AND THE BUDDHIST DRAMA

1. THE ÇĀRIPUTRAPRAKARAṆA

The discovery of fragments of manuscripts on palm-leaf, of great

antiquity, at Turfan, has through the energy of Professor Lüders

revealed to us the existence of at least three Buddhist dramas. Of one

of these the authorship is happily certain, for the colophon of the

last act has been preserved, and it records that the drama was the

Çāriputraprakaraṇa of Açvaghoṣa, son of Suvarṇākṣī; it gives also the

fuller title Çāradvatīputraprakaraṇa and the number of acts as nine.

Açvaghoṣa is an author whose fame, thanks to his error in being a

Buddhist long lost in India, has recently attained renewal by the

discovery and publication of his Buddhacarita, a court epic in

excellent style and spirit on the life of the Buddha. His Sūtrālaṁkāra

is also known through the medium of a Tibetan translation, and

illustrates his ability in turning the tale into an instrument for

propaganda in support of the Buddhist faith. If the tradition which

ascribes to him the Mahāyānaçraddhotpāda is correct, he was also the

founder or expounder of a subtle system of metaphysics akin to the

Vijñānavāda of the Mahāyāna school, and the Vajrasūcī seems to preserve

in some measure the record of his onslaught on the caste system, which

exalted the Brahmins at the expense of the Kṣatriyas, and condemned

Buddhism on the score that it was unfitting that a Kṣatriya like the

Buddha should give instructions to Brahmins. Certainly genuine is the

Saundarananda, in the epic manner, which like all his works is devoted

to the effective exposition of Buddhism in the language of polite

literature, and also of the Brahmin schools. We recognize in him one

who appreciated that it would never do to allow Buddhism to remain

buried in a form inferior to the best that Brahminism could produce,

and it is curious that fate should have preserved the work of the rival

of the Brahmins, while it has permitted his models to disappear. That

he had abundant precedent to guide him is clear from the classical form

already assumed by his dramas; the argument of Professor Konow [153] to

the contrary, on the ground that many of the standing formulae and

characters are derived from the popular drama, and show that the

artistic drama had not developed yet full independence, is

unintelligible, since these features persist throughout the history of

the Sanskrit drama. Nor does any weight attach to the argument that the

Nāṭyaçāstra, assumed to be of about the same period as Açvaghoṣa, shows

knowledge of only a limited variety of dramas. On the contrary it is

amazing how much literature must have preceded to permit of the setting

up of the main types of drama, some of which were evidently represented

by many specimens, though others doubtless rested on a small basis of

practice.

The brief fragments preserved of the drama of Açvaghoṣa give us the

certainty of his authorship if any doubt could exist after the

colophon, for one verse is taken bodily from the Buddhacarita, just as

he twice refers in the Sūtrālaṁkāra to that important work. The story

of the play is clear; it deals with the events which led up to the

conversion of the young Maudgalyāyana and Çāriputra by the Buddha, and

some of the incidents are certain. Çāriputra had an interview with

Açvajit; then he discussed the question of the claims of the Buddha to

be a teacher with his friend, the Vidūṣaka, who raised the objection

that a Brahmin like his master should not accept the teaching of a

Kṣatriya; Çāriputra repels the objection by reminding his friend that

medicine aids the sick though given by one of inferior caste, as does

water one aheat. Maudgalyāyana greets Çāriputra, inquiring of him the

cause of his glad appearance, and learns his reasons. The two go to the

Buddha, who receives them, and who foretells to them that they will be

the highest in knowledge and magic power of his disciples. In this

point there is a deliberate and certainly artistic deviation from the

ordinary version of the incident, followed in the Buddhacarita, in

which the prophecy of the Buddha is addressed, not to the disciples

themselves, but to others of the Buddha’s followers. The end of the

play is marked by a philosophic dialogue between Çāriputra and the

Buddha, which includes a polemic against the belief in the existence of

a permanent self; it terminates in a praise of his two new disciples by

the Buddha, and a formal benediction.

The most remarkable thing regarding this drama is its close

correspondence to the classical type as laid down in the Nāṭyaçāstra.

The piece is a Prakaraṇa, and it has nine acts, which accords perfectly

with the rule of the Çāstra; the Mṛcchakaṭikā and Mālatīmādhava have

ten apiece; the Acts bear no titles, but this is in accord with the

normal usage, though the Mṛcchakaṭikā gives names. The hero is

Çāriputra, who corresponds to the Brahmin hero of the Çāstra, and who

is emphatically of the noble and calm type enjoined by that authority.

Whether the heroine was a lady or a hetaera we do not know, nor does it

appear how far the poet altered the subject-matter by invention, which

is normally the case with later Prakaraṇas. The Buddha and his

disciples, including, beside the two heroes, Kauṇḍinya and a Çramaṇa

speak Sanskrit, and use both prose and verse; the Vidūṣaka speaks

Prākrit. The presence of this figure is a remarkable proof of the fixed

character attained by the drama, for in itself there is nothing more

absurd than that a youthful ascetic seeking after truth should be

encumbered by one who is a meet attendant on a wealthy merchant,

Brahmin, or minister. It can, therefore, only be supposed that

Açvaghoṣa was writing a type of drama in which the rôle was far too

firmly embedded to permit its omission, and presumably in the story of

the drama now lost to us the Vidūṣaka served to introduce comic relief.

With natural good taste, he disappears from the last Act, where

Çāriputra has no need as a member of the Buddha’s fraternity for

encumbrances like a jester.

In one point only has it been claimed to find a clear discrepancy

between Açvaghoṣa’s practice and that of the later drama. At the close

the theory [154] requires that the question, ‘Is there anything further

that you desire (ataḥ param api priyam asti)?’ be addressed to the hero

by himself or another, to which he replies by uttering a benediction

styled the Bharatavākya. In the drama of Açvaghoṣa the phrase is

omitted, and the benediction proceeds, without prelude, with the words,

‘From now on shall these two ever increase their knowledge, restraining

their senses, to gain release’, spoken by the Buddha, not by the hero.

Lüders concludes hence that the regular form of close was not yet

established by Açvaghoṣa’s time. The conclusion is clearly fallacious,

and rests on a failure to recognize in this the readiness of Açvaghoṣa

to give effect to a traditional usage, while not slavishly following

it. It would obviously have been absurd to place the last words in the

drama in the form of a benediction in the mouth of any one save the

Buddha, and therefore he speaks the benediction. To preface it with the

usual formula was needless in his case, but the opening words of the

verse are ataḥ param, which is obviously not an incredible coincidence,

but a deliberate reference to the ordinary phrase. Açvaghoṣa shows thus

his knowledge of the rule and his power to vary it in case of need.

Similarly Bhaṭṭa Nārāyaṇa in the Veṇīsaṁhāra puts the Bharatavākya in

the mouth of Yudhiṣṭhira, but he makes Kṛṣṇa end the play by according

the favour prayed for by Yudhiṣṭhira. He too felt that it would be

absurd to leave the omnipotent one in the position of listening without

response to the utterance of a benediction by one who cannot be more

than an inferior, though nominally the hero. [155]

2. THE ALLEGORICAL AND THE HETAERA DRAMAS

The same manuscript which contains portions of the Çāriputraprakaraṇa

has also fragments of two other dramas. There is no evidence of their

authorship, other than the fact that they appear in the same manuscript

as the work of Açvaghoṣa, and that they display the same general

appearance as the work of that writer. That they are Açvaghoṣa’s is

much more probable than that they are the work of some unknown

contemporary. [156]

The first of these is specially interesting as it represents a type of

which we have otherwise no earlier specimen than the Prabodhacandrodaya

of Kṛṣṇamiçra. We find the allegorical figures of Buddhi, wisdom,

Kīrti, fame, and Dhṛti, firmness, appearing and conversing. This is

followed by the advent of the Buddha himself, adorned with the halo

which he borrowed from Greek art. We do not know whether he appeared

later in actual conversation with the allegorical figures, but for this

mixture of the real and the ideal we have to go beyond Kṛṣṇamiçra, who

represents all his characters as abstract, Viṣṇu for instance by Faith

in Viṣṇu, to Kavikarṇapūra’s glorification of Caitanya in the sixteenth

century, in which allegorical figures are mingled with Caitanya and his

followers, though they do not actually converse together. [157] It must

remain uncertain whether there was a train of tradition leading from

Açvaghoṣa to Kṛṣṇamiçra, or whether the latter created the type of

drama afresh; the former theory is the more likely. The characters all

speak Sanskrit, but the fragments are too short to give us any real

information on the general trend of the play.

The other drama gives us more interesting matter. It is one in which

figures a hetaera named Magadhavatī, a Vidūṣaka named Komudhagandha, a

hero styled only Nāyaka, but probably named Somadatta, a Duṣṭa, rogue,

without further name, a certain Dhānaṁjaya, who may possibly be a

prince if the term ‘king’s son’ (bhaṭṭidālaka), which is recognized in

the Nāṭyaçāstra as the style of the younger princes of the blood,

applies to him, a maid-servant, and Çāriputra and Maudgalyāyana. The

drama was doubtless intended for purposes of religious edification, but

what we have is too fragmentary to do more than show that the author

was possessed of humour and that the Vidūṣaka was already a hungry

soul. The drama alludes to an old garden as the place where part of the

action passed, as in the Mṛcchakaṭikā, and also as in that drama the

house of the hetaera served as the scene of another part of the action.

The characters are often introduced as entering in vehicles

(pravahaṇa), a further point of similarity to that drama, while an

allusion to a Samāja or festival on a hill-top accords with the

frequent reference to such amusements in Buddhist literature. An

obscure character is a person, obviously of lower rank, who is styled

Gobaṁ°.

The drama shows close agreement with the classical model; the name of

the Vidūṣaka is evidence of this, for not only is it connected with a

real Brahmin family, but it obeys the rule that the name of that

character should indicate a flower, the spring, &c., for it means

literally ‘the offspring of the lotus-smelling’. The name of the

hetaera does not observe the rule exemplified in the Cārudatta that the

hetaera’s name should end in senā, siddhā, or dattā, but, apart from

the fact that the authority for the rule is very late, the name was

very probably given to the poet by the literary tradition. The fact

that the Duṣṭa and the Nāyaka appear by these titles only has a

parallel in the Cārudatta and the Buddhist drama of Harṣa, the

Nāgānanda, but it is difficult to say whether or not this is a sign of

antiquity.

The material available in the case of any of the three dramas is too

scanty to give us any assurance as to what the practice was regarding

the introduction, especially the use of the Nāndī, or verse of

benediction. What is certain is that the Pāripārçvika, or assistant of

the Sūtradhāra in the later literature, is found apparently as taking

part in the opening of the drama, perhaps the Çāriputraprakaraṇa.

3. THE LANGUAGE OF THE DRAMAS

In accordance with the later rules we find the Buddha, his disciples,

the hero of the hetaera play and Dhānaṁjaya speaking Sanskrit; the same

is true of the allegorical characters, and this is also in accord with

later practice, for in both Kṛṣṇamiçra and Kavikarṇapūra’s works some

of the allegorical characters speak Sanskrit, though others, of more

feminine appeal and character, speak Prākrit. One Çramaṇa speaks

Sanskrit, another—conceivably an Ājīvika—a Prākrit.

The Sanskrit contains some errors, which are obvious Prākritisms, and

which it would be unjust to attribute to the author, or authors.

Genuine departures from the norm are scanty; the use of ārttha for

artha has a precise parallel in the nearly contemporaneous dialect of

Mathurā; tuṣṇīm is frequent in Buddhist Sanskrit as well as

etymologically correct; krimi is found also in the Buddhacarita where

the reading kṛmi would spoil the metre; pratīgṛhīta has many Sanskrit

parallels. In pradveṣam where the metre requires pradoṣam Buddhist

influence is doubtless present, but yeva and tāva are probably merely

errors of the scribe, to whom may be assigned such a monstrosity as

paçyemas and Somadattassa. But bhagavāṁ has the support of the practice

of the Mahāvastu where stems in mat and vat end thus, and it explains

the Sandhi çṛṇvam puṣpā. These are minimal variants; in the main the

Sanskrit is excellent and the fragments shows traces of the able

versification and style of Açvaghoṣa.

The other characters speak Prākrit, and, by a curious variation from

the normal practice, the stage directions, which are freely given as in

the classical drama, are normally expressed in the language which the

character concerned uses, though there are cases of mixture and

apparent confusion which may be due to the scribe. Three different

forms of Prākrit may be distinguished, the first spoken by the Duṣṭa,

the second by the mysterious Gobaṁ°, and the third by the hetaera and

Vidūṣaka.

The Duṣṭa’s speech in three important points is similar to the Māgadhī

of the Prākrit grammarians; it substitutes l for r; reduces all three

sibilants to ç; and has e in the nominative singular of masculine nouns

in a. But it ignores the rules of the grammarians in certain matters;

hard letters are not softened (e.g. bhoti), nor soft consonants elided

(e.g. komudagandha), when intervocalic. There is no tendency to

cerebralize n, and in kālanā the dental replaces the cerebral. Fuller

forms of consonants remain in han̄gho (haṅho) and bambhaṇa (bamhaṇa).

The later forms of development of consonantal combinations are unknown;

thus for rj we have jj, not yy, as in ajja; cch remains in lieu of

becoming çc; kṣ becomes kkh, not sk or ẖk; ṣṭ and ṣṭh give ṭṭh, not sṭ.

In kiçça we have an older form than kīça, in ahakaṁ than ahake, hake,

hage. In practically all these details we must see an earlier stage of

what becomes Māgadhī in the grammarians. With it may be compared the

metrical inscription of the Jogīmārā cave on the Rāmgarh hill which

belongs to the period of Açoka.

The Prākrit of the Gobaṁ° agrees with this Old Māgadhī in having l for

r and e in the nominative singular, but it reduces all sibilants to s.

It thus shows a certain similarity to the Ardha-Māgadhī of the

grammarians, but that dialect often keeps r though it frequently alters

it to l; for instance it has r for the kaleti of this Prākrit and the

Old Māgadhī. Other points of similarity are the retention of the dental

for cerebral in vanna; the lengthening of the vowel before the suffix

ka (vannīkāhi); the accusative plural neuter in pupphā; and the

infinitive bhuṁjitaye (bhuñjittae). There are points of difference, but

they are probably all cases of earlier forms. Thus, as in Old Māgadhī,

we have no softening or loss of intervocalic consonants; n is not

cerebralised, but even introduced in palinata; ḷ appears in lieu of l;

the instrumental in āhi has no nasal; the nominative of vat stems

appears as in vā, as against vaṁ or vante; in the infinitive we find no

doubling of the consonant in taye. The fact, however, of the regular

change of r to l and the use of the form yeva after a long vowel as in

Māgadhī and Pāli show that the Old Ardha-Māgadhī was more akin to

Māgadhī than the later Ardha-Māgadhī, which came steadily under the

influence of the western dialects as shown by the tendency to change e

of the nominative to o.

There are strong points of similarity between this Old Ardha-Māgadhī

and the language of Açoka’s pillar inscriptions. They agree as regards

the use of l, s, and e, the dentals in palinata and vannīkāhi, yeva

after long vowels, and the long vowel before the suffix ka. They

disagree in the nominative and accusative plural neuter of a stems,

which have āni in the inscriptions as against ā, but that is of no

great importance, as these are doublets. The infinitive, however, is in

tave, which cannot be equated with taye; Ardha-Māgadhī ttae may be from

either.

The Açokan dialect is doubtless the court speech of his kingdom, and a

descendant of the Ardha-Māgadhī of Mahāvīra, the founder of the Jain

religion, and probably also of the Buddha, whose speech was clearly not

akin to the Māgadhī of the grammarians, though it is called Māgadhī in

the sacred texts. [158]

The theory of the Nāṭyaçāstra assigns Ardha-Māgadhī as the language of

savants, sons of kings or Rājputs, and Çreṣṭhins, rich merchants, but,

with the exception of Bhāsa’s Karṇabhāra, it does not appear in the

extant dramas. Māgadhī, on the contrary, is required in the case of men

who live in the women’s apartments, diggers of underground passages,

keepers of drink shops, watchers, the hero himself in time of danger,

and the Çakāra. Into which category the Duṣṭa falls is not certain; the

Daçarūpa ascribes this Prākrit to low people in general.

Çaurasenī is ascribed to the hetaera by the Çāstra which gives Prācyā

or eastern dialect to the Vidūṣaka, but it is clear that the Prācyā is

a mere variety of Çaurasenī, from which it differs only in the use of

certain expressions. This is borne out by the dramas, in which there is

no real distinction between the speech of these two characters. With

the Çaurasenī of the grammarians it shows remarkable parallels. It has

r in lieu of changing it to l; it reduces the sibilants to s; and for

the nominative masculine it has o. Further, it changes kṣ into kkh, not

cch; for chard it has chaḍḍ, for mard, madd; for saçrīkam irregularly

sassirīkaṁ with the double s despite the epenthetic vowel; and in the

third singular future issiti. The gerund kariya is parallel to karia in

Hemacandra’s grammar; bhaṭṭā is the vocative of bhartṛ; iyaṁ is

feminine as later iaṁ in Çaurasenī alone; bhavāṁ as nominative is

comparable with bhavaṁ; bhaṇ is conjugated in the ninth class; viya is

parallel to via for iva; and dāni with loss of i as a particle is

similar to dāṇiṁ.

In other cases the forms of this Prākrit are clearly older than those

of the grammarians’ Çaurasenī. As in the other Prākrits of the drama,

there is no softening or omission of intervocalic consonants, and no

cerebralization of n. Further, initial y is kept, not reduced to j; the

interjection ai in lieu of aï is supported by the language of the

Girnār and Udayagiri inscriptions; in nirussāsam we have an older form

than ūsasida of Çaurasenī; jñ and ny give ññ, not the later ṇṇ; dy

gives yy (written y) for jj; tuvaṁ and tava are both manifestly older

than the forms tumaṁ and tuha, while karotha is a remarkable example of

the preservation of the old strong base. Old also is the preservation

of the long vowel in bhavāṁ. In adaṇḍāraho and the dubious arhessi we

have two variants on the rule of Çaurasenī, which has i as the

epenthetic vowel in arh, but this merely illustrates the uncertainty of

these epentheses; duguṇa in lieu of diuṇa is not older, but a variant

mode of treating dviguṇa, and there is no special difficulty in holding

that dāṇi and idāṇi are forms which were originally doublets of dāṇiṁ

and idāṇiṁ in Çaurasenī, and later were superseded. From other Prākrit

passages, presumably in the same Old Çaurasenī, we obtain old forms

like vayaṁ, we, and tumhākaṁ in lieu of tumhāṇaṁ; edisa for erisa or

īdisa; dissati for dīsadi; gahītaṁ for gahidaṁ; khu is kept after short

vowels in lieu of being doubled; a long vowel is kept before tti and

such forms as mhi. The future in gamissāma is probably old, while

nikkhanta and bambhaṇa admit of this explanation against the later

nikkanta and bamhaṇa.

In the words of the hetaera the word surada occurs, with softening of t

to d; conceivably the passage might be verse, but in all probability we

are merely faced with a sporadic instance of a change which later set

in, due perhaps to a copyist’s error; to find in it an evidence of

Māhārāṣṭrī would be unwise, especially as the very next word (vimadda)

is not in the Māhārāṣṭrī form (vimaḍḍa). In the dialect of the Duṣṭa we

have a form makkaṭaho which may be genitive, as in Apabhraṅça, but is

not allowed in Māgadhī; but the sense is too uncertain to permit of any

security.

The existence and literary use of these Prākrits is most interesting in

the history both of the language and the literature, for they present

archaic features which place them on the same plane of change as Pāli

and the dialects of the older inscriptions. They may be set beside the

inscriptions in the Sītābengā and Jogīmārā caves on the Rāmgarh hill,

which both show lyric strophes. The influence of the Kāvya style in

Sanskrit can be traced obviously in the later Nāsik inscription in

Prākrit of the second century A.D., and even in the inscription of

Khāravela of Kalin̄ga perhaps in the second century B.C. [159] We

cannot, therefore, see any plausibility in the idea of the gradual

adaptation of Sanskrit, a sacred language, to belles lettres; on the

contrary the dramas show that the Prākrits in literature were already

under the influence of the Sanskrit Kāvya.

4. THE METRES

Scanty as the fragments are, they display another feature significant

of the development of the drama on the classical lines. The metres

employed are very numerous, as is natural in a poetry in which the

verse serves essentially the purpose of displaying the skill of the

writer. In addition to the Çloka we find the Upajāti (⏓ - ⏑ - - ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑

- -), the Çālinī (- - - -, - ⏑ - - ⏑ - -), Vaṅçasthā (⏑ - ⏑ - - ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑

- ⏑ -), Praharṣiṇī (- - -, ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑ - ⏑ - -), Vasantatilaka (- - ⏑ -

⏑ ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑ - -), Mālinī (⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ - -, - ⏑ - - ⏑ - -),

Çikhariṇī (⏑ - - - - -, ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ - - ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ -), Hariṇī (⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ -, -

- - -, ⏑ - ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑ -), Çārdūlavikrīḍita (- - - ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑ - ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ -, - - ⏑

- - ⏑ -), Sragdharā (- - - - ⏑ - -, ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ -, - ⏑ - - ⏑ - -), and

Suvadanā (- - - - ⏑ - -, ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ -, - - ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ -), the last of these

metres being almost a stranger to the drama, though it appears in

Bhāsa, in the Mudrārākṣasa, and once in Varāhamihira. The tendency to

seek sound effects is clear in a Çikhariṇī verse.

That so many metres of elaborate form should be found is of great

interest, not merely as testimony of the early development of the Kāvya

literature, but also because we see that the drama as early as

Açvaghoṣa, and doubtless long before him, had definitely accepted the

verses not as essential elements of the dialogue as are the verses in

Greek drama, but as more or less ornamental excursions. In the absence

of any complete play we cannot say what proportion of Çlokas was

observed by Açvaghoṣa; we may suspect that it was not higher than in

Bhāsa, if so high. Now the Çloka by its comparative simplicity and

brevity, and by the ease of its structure, might well have served the

same purpose in the Indian drama as did the trimeter in that of Greece,

and it is curious to speculate what might have been the fate of the

drama if it had been felt possible to write it throughout in verse. But

evidently by Açvaghoṣa’s age the distinction between prose and stanzas,

essentially lyric in type, was fixed, and the elaborate structure of

the stanza, normally with four lines of equal length and identic

structure, the longer lines having also caesuras, rendered it quite

unsuitable as a medium of conversation. Thus early in the drama we find

a defect in form which was gradually to become more and more marked and

to render the dialogue, that is the essential feature of the drama,

less and less the subject of the labours of the dramatists.

IV

BHĀSA

1. THE AUTHENTICITY OF BHĀSA’S DRAMAS

Until 1910 the existence of any drama of Bhāsa’s was unknown in Europe,

and only in 1912 appeared under the editorship of T. Gaṇapati Çāstrin,

the first of a series of thirteen dramas which their discoverer

attributed to that poet. The fact, however, that the dramas themselves

are silent as to the authorship rendered careful research necessary to

determine their provenance, and the proofs adduced have not won entire

satisfaction.

What we knew before the publication of Bhāsa was simply his high

reputation. Kālidāsa in his first work, the Mālavikāgnimitra, refers to

Bhāsa, with Saumilla, Kaviputra, and others as his great predecessors

in the art, whose fame renders difficult the acceptance of the work of

an untried author. Bāṇa, [160] at the beginning of the seventh century,

states that Bhāsa attained fame by his dramas, begun by the Sūtradhāra,

with many rôles and including episodes, as one might by the erection of

temples, begun by the architect, with many stages, and beflagged. It

would be unwise to prove by this that Bhāsa innovated in these regards;

what is essential to Bāṇa is to celebrate Bhāsa’s fame, and to show his

wit by the comparison in the same words with some not very obvious

object of comparison. A century later Vākpati [161] declares his

pleasure in Bhāsa, friend of fire (jalaṇamitte), in the author of the

Raghuvaṅça, in Subandhu and Hāricandra. Rājaçekhara (c. A.D. 900)

places him among the classical poets, and a verse records a curious

incident: ‘Critics cast on the fire, to test it, the discus composed of

the dramas of Bhāsa; the Svapnavāsavadattā did not succumb to the

flames’. [162] The verse, however, contains a double entendre strangely

ignored by Professor Konow; [163] it denotes of course the superiority

of the Svapnavāsavadattā to the other dramas of Bhāsa—a fact which the

published plays bear out to the full—but it also alludes to a reason;

the play itself contains a fire, which was feigned by the minister to

permit the possibility of the king’s new marriage, and it is only

appropriate that, as that fire could not burn the queen, so the fire

which tried the play was unable to prevail against it. The passage

throws the necessary light on the term ‘friend of fire’ of Vākpati,

which should not be rendered meaningless by attributing it to the fact

that Bhāsa often mentions fire in his dramas.

These facts are, it must at once be admitted, extremely favourable to

the authenticity of the dramas; taken all in all they are clearly the

work of a very considerable writer; in technique they are less finished

than those of Kālidāsa; the Prākrit is clearly earlier than that of the

works of Kālidāsa or the Mṛcchakaṭikā; the Svapnavāsavadattā is clearly

the best, and it explains Vākpati and Rājaçekhara’s references. Bāṇa’s

statement regarding the opening of the plays by the Sūtradhāra is

proved by the dramas. There is also substantial evidence to be derived

from the writers on rhetoric. Bhāmaha, who may belong to the beginning

of the eighth century A.D., criticizes severely the plot of the

Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa; Vāmana, in the eighth, cites from that play,

the Svapnavāsavadattā, and the Cārudatta; Abhinavagupta (c. A.D. 1000)

twice names the Svapnavāsavadattā, and mentions the Cārudatta. These

references are not in themselves conclusive, for they do not mention

Bhāsa as the author of the plays, even when these are named, [164] and

not merely cited from or discussed, but they show that the critics knew

and were prepared to cite these dramas, which means that they accepted

the view that they were by an important author. The ascription of the

Svapnavāsavadattā to Bhāsa gives us the right to accept his authorship

of the rest if internal evidence supports it. That this is so is

undeniable, even by those who suspect the attribution to Bhāsa; the

coincidences in technique, in the Prākrits, in metre, and in style are

overwhelming. Finally, there is the evidence of the Cārudatta; it is

undeniably and obviously the prototype of the Mṛcchakaṭikā, and it

proves, therefore, that the dramas are older than that work which was

well known by Vāmana, and is certainly a good deal earlier.

The arguments [165] against the authenticity are all inconclusive. They

are based on the fact that a drama, Mattavilāsa, of

Mahendravikramavarman, of the seventh century A.D. presents the same

characteristics as regards the form of opening the drama as the plays

of Bhāsa, and the suggestion that Rājasiṅha is to be identified with a

prince of the south of that name (c. A.D. 675). The evidence is clearly

inadequate; Bhāsa’s fame was evidently more prevalent in the south than

in the north, for a scene from one of his plays has survived in a

mutilated form in the popular theatre there, and it is easy to

understand how a seventh-century writer imitated him in technique.

Moreover, the imitation is very partial; the omission of the name of

the author and the play is not followed, and this is certainly a sign

of a later date for the Mattavilāsa. The guess regarding the

identification of the king is without probative force, for the term

seems deliberately vague, and is in keeping with the silence of the

author regarding his own name and that of his drama. The introduction

of immediate reality is incongruous, and, therefore, avoided.

2. THE DATE OF BHĀSA’S DRAMAS

It is difficult to arrive at any precise determination of Bhāsa’s date.

That Kālidāsa knew his fame as firmly established is clear, and, if we

may fairly safely date Kālidāsa about A.D. 400, this gives us a period

of not later than A.D. 350 for Bhāsa. The fact of his priority to the

Mṛcchakaṭikā leads us to no definite result, for the view that this

play is to be placed before Kālidāsa in the third century A.D. is not

at all plausible. An upper limit is given by the fact that Bhāsa is

doubtless later than Açvaghoṣa, whose Buddhacarita is probably the

source of a verse in the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa, and whose Prākrit is

assuredly and unquestionably older in character. It is useless to seek

to estimate by the evidence of the Prākrit whether Bhāsa is more

closely allied in date to Kālidāsa than to Açvaghoṣa, because changes

in speech and the representation of them in literature are matters

which do not in the slightest degree permit of exact valuation in terms

of years. The most that can be said is that it may be held without

improbability that Bhāsa is nearer to Kālidāsa’s period than to

Açvaghoṣa’s.

An effort at more exact determination is made by Professor Konow [166]

on the ground that Bhāsa’s dramas in part deal with the story of

Udayana, of which Ujjayinī was specially fond, as we know from

Kālidāsa. Hence we may assume that the home of the poet was Ujjayinī,

an assumption which obviously is not legitimate in any degree. Further

we may assume that he lived under one of the Western Kṣatrapas, which

again goes too far. Now the usual ending of a drama is not regularly

observed in Bhāsa’s dramas; the introductory question is found only in

the Avimāraka, Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa, Bālacarita, and Dūtavākya. The

description of the final benediction as Bharatavākya is omitted in the

Madhyamavyāyoga, where Viṣṇu is praised; in the Dūtaghaṭotkaca, where

his commands are given; in the Pañcarātra, where the wish is expressed

that the king (rājasiṅha) should rule the whole earth; and in the

Ūrubhan̄ga, where the wish is that the prince should conquer his foes

and rule the earth. In the other plays a change of form of the

Bharatavākya is asserted; in the Karṇabhāra there is the desire for the

disappearance of misfortune; in the Pratimānāṭaka the wish is that the

king may fare as Rāma who was reunited with Sītā and his kinsmen; in

the Avimāraka, the Abhiṣekanāṭaka, and the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa,

that the king should, after destroying his foes, rule the whole earth,

while in the Svapnavāsavadattā, Dūtavākya, and Bālacarita, the wish is

for universal rule. This suggests that for a time the king reigned in

peace; then enemies arose and disturbed his power; finally he again won

the upper hand, and his friends could without absurdity pray for his

attaining imperial rank. This would agree with the history of the

Kṣatrapa Rudrasiṅha, who held from 181–8, and again from A.D. 191–6 the

high rank of Mahākṣatrapa, and whose name may be hinted at in the use

of the term rājasiṅha. That the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa is older than

the Svapnavāsavadattā is held to support this suggestion, but it is

clearly without any merit save ingenuity.

Nor is there more to be said for Konow’s other suggestions of date; the

fact that the term Nāṭaka is used, and that the Vidūṣaka appears,

cannot show that he is early, for they are used on continuously to the

latest days of the drama, and the view that Bhāsa was an innovator who

shortened the preliminaries, which is given as a reason for making him

early, because the Nāṭyaçāstra gives the preliminaries in detail, is

abandoned sub silentio in the author’s later work, [167] where it is

candidly admitted that we do not know whether he shortened the

preliminaries at all. Nor can we say anything regarding his relation to

the Nāṭyaçāstra which will aid us to a date; there is even a tradition

that he himself wrote on the theory of the drama. Nor can any weight be

attached to the view that Bhāsa stands nearer Açvaghoṣa in technique

than Kālidāsa; these matters do not permit of precise evaluation in

time, and, if we place Bhāsa about A.D. 300, we go as far as the

evidence allows.

3. THE DRAMAS AND THEIR SOURCES

The derivation of the drama in part from epic recitations is peculiarly

clear in Bhāsa, who shows the influence of the two great epics in its

clearest form. In the Madhyamavyāyoga [168] we have a reminiscence of

the tale of the love of the demon Hiḍimbā for Bhīma, the third of the

five Pāṇḍavas, and their marriage which has Ghaṭotkaca as its fruit,

though the parents part. The play opens with preliminary rites, after

which the director pronounces a benediction on the audience, and begins

to address them, but is suddenly interrupted by a sound, which is

revealed as the cry of a Brahmin, who with his three sons and his wife

is being pursued by the demon Ghaṭotkaca. The demon has received orders

from his mother to bring her a victim; he offers, therefore, to spare

the rest of the family, if one is willing to go with him, and the

midmost, Madhyama, of the sons decides to go, though there is a

generous rivalry among the three in self-sacrifice. He asks, however,

time to go to perform a rite of purification, and, as he tarries, the

demon in anger calls aloud for him. Bhīma responds, as the midmost of

the Pāṇḍavas; he will go in the boy’s place, but not by force. The

demon, not knowing his father, seeks to compel him, but, failing,

accepts his offer to go willingly. Hiḍimbā greets her husband with joy,

and reproaches her son and bids him express regret. She explains that

her demand was made expressly to win for her a visit from Bhīma, who

suggests that they should all accompany the aged Brahmin and his family

to their destination, and with a verse in praise of Viṣṇu the piece

ends.

Ghaṭotkaca is again the leading figure of the Dūtaghaṭotkaca, which may

also be classed as a Vyāyoga, a term indicating primarily a military

spectacle. The Kurus are jubilant over the defeat of Abhimanyu,

Arjuna’s son, at the hands of Jayadratha, though Dhṛtarāṣṭra warns them

of the dangers that overshadow them. Ghaṭotkaca appears to them and

predicts their punishment at the hands of Arjuna. Of the same general

type apparently is the Karṇabhāra which deals with Karṇa’s armour; he

makes himself ready for his fight with Arjuna, and tells Çalya, the

Madra king, of the trick by which he won it from the great Paraçurāma,

though the latter retaliated for the deception by the curse that the

arms should fail him in the hour of his need. The curse is fulfilled,

for Indra comes in the guise of a Brahmin and obtains from Karṇa his

weapons and earrings. Karṇa and Çalya go out to battle, and the sound

of Arjuna’s chariot is heard. In the Ūrubhan̄ga the fight between Bhīma

and Duryodhana, greatest of the Kurus, ends in the breaking of the

thigh of the latter, who falls in agony; his son comes to him in his

childish way, but his father is fain to save him the sorrow of his

plight. His parents and wives surround him; he seeks to comfort them;

Açvatthāman swears vengeance despite his counsels of peace; visions of

his brothers and Apsarases float before him, and he passes away.

These four plays have each but one Act; the Pañcarātra, on the other

hand, has three, and may perhaps be classed as a Samavakāra, in so far

at least as it is a drama in which there are more heroes of sorts than

one, and they more or less attain their ends, which seem to be the

chief features of that dubious kind of play in the theory. It reflects

the period when efforts are being made to save the Kurus and the

Pāṇḍavas from the fatal conflict, which ends in the ruin of the former

and grave loss to the latter. Droṇa has undertaken a sacrifice for

Duryodhana, and seeks as the fee the grant to the Pāṇḍavas of half the

realm to which they had a just claim. Duryodhana promises on condition

that they are heard of within five days. Virāṭa, however, is missing

from those present at the offering; he has to mourn the loss of a

hundred [169] Kīcakas. Bhīṣma suspects that Bhīma must be at the bottom

of this illhap, and on his instigation at the end of Act II it is

decided to raid Virāṭa’s cows, as he hopes thus to bring the facts to

light. The foray, however, fails, for the Pāṇḍavas are with Virāṭa in

disguise; Abhimanyu is taken prisoner and married to Virāṭa’s daughter.

The charioteer in Act III brings back the news, showing clearly that

Arjuna and Bhīma have taken part in the contest, but none the less

Duryodhana decides to keep faith.

The Dūtavākya, a Vyāyoga in one act, is again from the Mahābhārata, but

deals with the Kṛṣṇa legend. Bhīṣma is made chief of the Kuru forces;

the arrival of Nārāyaṇa is announced, but Duryodhana forbids that any

honour be shown to him, and seats himself before a picture, in which is

depicted the indignity shown to Draupadī, when her husband gambled her

away at dice. Kṛṣṇa enters, making a deep impression on all by his

majesty; even Duryodhana falls from his seat. The messenger demands the

half of the realm for the Pāṇḍavas; Duryodhana refuses and seeks to

bind the envoy. Enraged, he calls for his magic weapons, but finally he

consents to lay aside his wrath, and receives the homage of

Dhṛtarāṣṭra. It is interesting to note that the play, in describing the

picture, omits any allusion to the miracle by which in the epic Kṛṣṇa

himself is represented as providing the unhappy Draupadī with fresh

raiment as soon as each garment is dragged from her in insult. But it

would be extremely unwise to assume with Professor Winternitz [170]

that this fact proves that Bhāsa did not know of this episode, and that

it was interpolated after his time in the epic. Obviously it would have

ruined the effect of the picture if such a fact had been hinted at in

it, apart from the difficulty of exhibiting this by the painter’s art,

and Bhāsa is clearly justified on artistic grounds in allowing this

episode to be passed over.

Of far greater importance is the Bālacarita, [171] which presents us

with a lively and vivid picture of the feats of Kṛṣṇa, culminating in

the slaying of Kaṅsa, a brilliant exemplification of the value of

Patañjali’s evidence as to the growth of drama. The director enters,

pronounces a verse of benediction asking the favour of the god, who is

Nārāyaṇa, Viṣṇu, Rāma, and Kṛṣṇa in the four ages of the world; he

announces the advent of the sage Nārada and retires. Nārada explains

that he has come from the heaven to gaze on the young Kṛṣṇa, born in

the family of the Vṛṣṇis as son of Devakī and Vasudeva, who is in truth

Nārāyaṇa incarnate to destroy Kaṅsa. He sees the infant, pays homage,

and departs. Devakī and Vasudeva appear on the stage; they have joy in

the birth of a son, but terror, for Kaṅsa has slain already six sons of

theirs and will slay the seventh—a deviation in number from our other

sources which make Kṛṣṇa the eighth child. Vasudeva takes the infant

and decides to remove it from Kaṅsa’s reach. He leaves the city, but

the child’s weight is as colossal as that of Mount Mandara; the

darkness is impenetrable, but a marvellous light comes from the child,

and the Yamunā makes dry a path for him to cross. The spirit of the

tree under which he rests brings to him the cowherd Nanda, bearing a

dead maiden, an infant just borne by his wife Yaçodā, who, fallen in a

faint, does not know whether the child is a boy or a girl. Nanda gives

aid reluctantly, but in memory of past favours. He seeks first to

purify himself from contact with the dead, but a spring of water shoots

forth and renders labour needless. He takes the boy, but his weight

proves too great. Now appear in the guise of herdsmen the weapons of

Kṛṣṇa and his steed, who present themselves each with a verse, ‘I am

the bird, Garuḍa,’ &c., ‘I am the discus’, ‘I the bow’, ‘I the club’,

‘I the conch’, and ‘I the sword’. At the request of the discus the

infant consents to become light, and Nanda bears him away. Vasudeva

finds the dead child awakened to life in his arms, and the weight of it

is oppressive, but the Yamunā once more gives dry passage, and he

returns to Mathurā and Devakī. Act II opens with an entr’acte in

Kaṅsa’s palace. The curse pronounced on him by the seer Madhuka enters,

guised as a Caṇḍāla in hateful form with a necklace of skulls; he and

his retinue of Caṇḍālīs force their way into the heart of the palace;

the royal fortune, Rājaçrī, would bar their way, but the curse

announces that it is Viṣṇu’s will that he enter, and she yields; the

curse seizes then hold of Kaṅsa. The Act then presents Kaṅsa uneasy and

distressed by the portents of the night; he summons his astrologer and

his domestic priests, who warn him that the portents presage the birth

of a god. Kaṅsa has Vasudeva summoned, is told of the birth of a

daughter, refuses to spare the child, and hurls it against a rock. But

part only of the lifeless body falls to earth; the rest rises to

heaven, and the dread figure of the goddess Kārtyāyanī appears to the

king. Her retinue come also, announcing each his advent with a verse,

and declare their purpose to destroy Kaṅsa. In the meantime, in

herdsmen’s guise they will go to the home of the child to share in the

sports of the herdsmen.

The entr’acte before Act III tells us in the mouths of the herdsmen of

their joys since Kṛṣṇa came to live with them, and an old man relates

in a long Prākrit speech his wonderful deeds, including the destruction

of the demons, Pūtanā, Çakaṭa, Yamala and Arjuna, Pralamba, Dhenuka,

and Keçin. We are told then that Kṛṣṇa or Dāmodara, the name won from

an adventure, has gone to the Vṛndā wood for the Hallīçaka dance; the

dance is performed by Dāmodara, his friends, and the maidens, to the

music of the drum and to song. The advent of the demon Ariṣṭa is

announced; Dāmodara bids the maidens and herdsmen mount a hill, and

watch the struggle. It proves unequal; the bull demon recognizes the

superiority of his foe, and that he is Viṣṇu himself, and meets death

with resignation. The victory accomplished, the news is brought of a

new danger, the snake Kāliya has appeared on the Yamunā bank, menacing

cows and Brahmins. Act IV shows us the maidens seeking to restrain

Kṛṣṇa from the new struggle, but he persists and overcomes the demon,

plunging into the waters to grapple with him. He brings him out, learns

that he had entered the waters in fear of Garuḍa who slays snakes at

pleasure, makes him promise to spare cows and Brahmins, and puts on him

a mark that Garuḍa must respect. A herald then enters to challenge

Dāmodara and his brother Balarāma to the festival of the boys at

Mathurā.

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.