The Sound of the Kiss

by Pingali Suranna

  But then he suddenly noticed Kalabhashini standing there and swallowed his words. She, however, addressed him: “Why hesitate? What has to happen will happen.”

  He appreciated what she said. “You’re a wise woman. That’s why you talk like this. A tragedy that has to happen can’t be averted. Truth is harsh. But tell me what happened to you after I grabbed you and you yelled, and I was scared and ran away. When I came back, you weren’t there. Begin from that point and tell me.”

  There’s much more to report, great king, more generous than the monsoon or the Wishing Cow or the Wishing Trees or the All-Giving Gem in heaven. When you smile, your face lights up the world like the moon. In particular, it is scholars and poets whom you delight.

  This is the third chapter in the long poem called Kalapurnodayamu made by soft-spoken Suraya, son of Pingali Amaranarya, whose poetry all connoisseurs enjoy throughout the world.

  1. The campaka flower is traditionally compared to a woman’s nose.

  2. The kuruvaka tree is said to blossom when a beautiful woman embraces it, as the aśoka does when kicked by a woman, and so on. See D. Shulman, The Wisdom of Poets (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2001), 163.

  3. Manikandhara may know this from the initial encounter between Kalabhashini and Narada in the garden, when Manikandhara was also present.

  4. Reading dacanamuna, following Bommakanti Singaracarya and Balantrapu Nalinikanta Ravu, Kaḷāpūrṇodayamu (Madras: Emesco, 1997] and the v.l. listed in the Vavilla edition.

  5. Surpanakha—but in the Rāmāyaṇa literature, this demoness comes either in her own form or in the form of some beautiful woman, never in Sita’s form. Suranna’s innovation merits attention.

  6. See 2.48, pp. 22-23.

  7. Nalakubara is the son of Kubera, the gods’ banker.

  8. We read anta bratirambha jūci in 238, taking pratirambha as accusative. Surviving manuscripts generally lack the nasal arasunna which could determine the issue. Our reading has the merit of suggesting that Rambha One is attempting to bluff her way through.

  CHaPTer 4

  Listen, Krishna Raja: your grace and fame perfume all space.

  Kalabhashini smiled and said to Manistambha, “You yourself have narrated all that I did. What is left for me to say? That Rambha was me—the one you saw when Nalakubara forced you to come back to search for me. I’m the one who made him let you go, and then he and I made love just as I wanted to. Then the real Rambha came. I was the one who kept her from her husband, fought with her, and at the end was cursed by her.”

  Everyone was astonished and wanted to hear more. “How did you do that? How did you finagle your way into Rambha’s shape and Nalakubara’s arms? We know you’ve wanted this for a long time.”

  She looked at Manistambha and said, “When Nalakubara was chasing after you, Rambha followed him—until a deer came across her path, and she hesitated to go on. I saw my moment. I took her shape and appeared as if she had come there. Everything worked just fine, because he didn’t know that his woman had been delayed, and because I looked and sounded exactly like her. Long ago, Narada had given me that ability. This you’ve already heard form Narada himself, at the time of our quarrel. Of course, Narada knew at that moment exactly who I was, but out of consideration for me he didn’t give me away. But that’s all ancient history. In disgust I put off that shape, which led to this unavoidable curse. I’ve come here to suffer it in front of the goddess. Maybe somebody at least will benefit. What your guru said is true. Your sword is infallible. It’s well known. God has brought both of us together here. I’m fulfilled. Do as you like.

  “Still, I was under the comforting impression that I had got my Nalakubara, after all the trouble I’d gone through. Now you tell me that the real Nalakubara showed up later and cursed the first one. So who could that imposter be?”

  “It was me,” said Manikandhara, smiling. “Don’t say another word.”

  “How did you manage that?” she asked. “Rambha’s girlfriends told us—Manistambha and me—that right after ruining your self-discipline, she and Nalakubara went off together.”

  “No, it was me. I’m the one she made love to. I’ll tell you the whole story. First she ruined my self-control. But while she was making love to me, she revealed how much she loved Nalakubara by calling out his name. I hated it. I wanted to get rid of her. At the same time, I still wanted her—even more. I wanted to satisfy her the way she wanted. So I expended some of the power I’d acquired by my discipline and took her husband’s form. I went back to her, said the right words, and made love to her in a total, mutual way. But as it happened, in the course of our lovemaking, you appeared, and then I enjoyed loving you. I got this curse as an immediate consequence of my disguise. Then I came to my senses, went back to my hut, took off the mask, picked up my vina and the necklace, and came here—because I know the special power of this place. Maybe something good will happen.” He smiled. “When I wanted more of Rambha and made love to her at the height, she turned out to be you. And when you made a huge effort to find Nalakubara and joyfully made love to him, he turned out to be me. In the end, I got what I wanted.

  “Let me confess. I was afraid of Narada, so I never let anybody know. My mind was on you all the time, all those years, during our music lessons. At last, my dream came true. I was lucky.”

  Kalabhashini answered him. “My mind is at rest. I was getting worried, wondering who that ugly-minded man could be who made love to me by tricking me. Now I have nothing to regret. Don’t think your love was something I didn’t want. I thought I wasn’t worthy of you, and I didn’t know your mind. So I turned my heart away whenever I saw you. You’ll never know how much I was captivated by your arresting beauty, your superb music, your perfection in every way. You made me happy all the time. Only my heart knows. There’s no point in talking about it all at this point.

  “You know what else? Once when I saw you, the name Manigriva came to my mind. It’s very much like your name. There’s that story about how Narada cursed him and his older brother to become huge trees.1 I kept thinking about that. As a result of that scare, my desire to enjoy your body completely disappeared, as if I’d sworn an oath. From that time on, my mind turned toward Nalakubara. He resembles you to some extent. It was some terribly inauspicious moment that I set my eyes on him. I was focused only on the external form. I thought I was making love to Nalakubara, but actually it was you. I was incredibly lucky. It was like being pushed off the roof and landing on a bed of flowers.

  “What a fool I was. I held a precious jewel in my hand and threw it away for a glass bead that had some of its color. Then I got the jewel back, but now I won’t live long enough to enjoy it. But no one will believe me anyway. They think a courtesan speaks only to flatter. Moreover, it’s very clear that I wanted the other man, isn’t it?” She bent her head, suddenly shy.

  Manikandhara could see that she was overcome by love and grief. “My dear,” he said, “I don’t think of you as being like those other courtesans, who tell lies. Do you think I’m that simple minded? In fact, I have a sign that you wanted me even before. Think of what Narada said to you when he sent you home. ‘Now you will happily make love to the man you wanted, a man so beautiful that he could win Rambha’s heart. Trust me. Go home.’2 Those were his words. Narada didn’t say you’d make love to Nalakubara. His words came true. I’m the one you wanted, the one you were in love with before. It’s not so unusual for a wish like that to fade under the pressure of a deep fear of being cursed by a powerful sage. Such things happen in the world.

  “It’s also no surprise that Nalakubara made such an impression on your mind that you showed no interest in anybody else. He glows with Rambha’s presence and is enlivened by her attention. It even happens to men sometimes. I’ll tell you a story to prove that. It’s a good story—that also washes away your sins. Listen carefully. I’ll begin at the beginning.”

  [ The Story of Salina and Sugatri ]

  “Not long ago, I went to see the go
d Padmanabha, here in Kerala, to bring my vow to conclusion. I saw some excellent poets singing great poetry to the god. I wondered how I could achieve that skill. They told me the stories of this Lion-Rider Goddess, and I also learned that she wasn’t far away. So I came here and followed the instructions inscribed on the pillar. I had the courage to do that deed, and I reaped the results.3 Then I went back to Padmanabha’s temple. An assembly of Vishnu devotees was gathered there. Some were chanting the eight-syllable mantra.4 Some were meditating on Narayana.5 They had turned away from all other gods. They were free from passion and anger, lucid in mind, masters of the ancient wisdom in the Vedic books and scientific texts. They knew the stable relationship between god and themselves—between essence and extras.6 They saw themselves as his slaves.

  “I bowed to them over and over. At their request, I gave them my name and told them I was a gandharva. I told them I wanted to sing for the god. ‘Receive my song,’ I said to them, ‘as if you were my god.’ They looked at me and made me sing for him, for they said to me, ‘He is complete inside and out, unchanging, without beginning, middle, or end. He has no equal or superior. He knows everything. He has all power and controls all. He is in everything. All phenomena are his excesses, and he exists in excess. He and the goddess are inseparable, like sun and sunlight, moon and moonlight. Sing for him.’ They wanted me to sing of the conversation between God and the goddess, for the good of the world. And they blessed me that I would have deep feeling for the god, if not in this life, then in some other one.

  “But I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted my poetry to be approved by the Sarada Academy in Kashmir, where the goddess presides. So I went there. Now the real story begins. Listen carefully.

  “The Academy was in session. I heard people performing all the chants of the Rig, Yajur, Sama, and Atharvana Vedas. Some were discussing household rituals; others were deep in grammar, or arguing over astrology, or studying Dharma. There were seminars on the two Mimamsas, Logic, and Yoga. And there was poetry.

  “There, in one of the halls, I saw a Brahmin master engrossed in teaching Veda: first he would give the proper tone, to ensure precision in word and syllable; then he would guide the pupils in the tonal accents by dramatic movements of his eyebrows; he also gave them mnemonic devices to help them to distinguish one section from another. If one of them was not concentrating and uttered a wrong note, the teacher would pinch his cheeks in punishment. When I approached him, he said: ‘Come. Who are you? You shine with an internal brightness.’ And he asked me about my family and my name. Then he dismissed his class—since the arrival of a guest was reason for a holiday—and offered me hospitality.

  “Soon a student arrived, wearing a belt of munja grass and a garment yellow with turmeric draped around his delicate body. His face was alive with intelligence and inner fire. He had an antelope skin, a sacred thread, a brilliant forehead-dot and the marks of a servant of Vishnu, a ring, a staff, and a thin tuft of hair. He was carrying a book and seemed rather agitated. The teacher looked at him and said, ‘Why are you so late?’ He answered: ‘There’s a good reason. You must not have heard. I’ll tell you. I went at your command to the flower garden where Salina was sitting in a pergola while his wife, Sugatri, was rubbing his feet, resting in her lap. They were conversing happily. He saw me and smiled: “Has your teacher sent you for the book? I have kept it here for you.” He pointed to a branch above his head. “You can take it; just sit with us for a while.” And he showed me a seat in the shade of a young mango tree. Then he put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and said to her, “Have you been drinking the juice of lasting life, my dear, or have you found some magical potions? You become more beautiful and youthful day by day. They say women age faster than men, so what is it that constantly enhances your vitality?” She smiled a little and said, “I don’t really know. Probably it’s because you are so much in love that you always see in me such youth and beauty.” Salina replied, “No, I’m not imagining things. If you don’t know, I’ll tell you. I am the reason.” He bent her head close to his mouth and whispered something, with a smile, in her ear. She made a face, surprised. Looking into his eyes, she said, “When I asked that goddess earlier for something, she said yes. How is she going to keep her word? Listen, I’ll tell you what I asked for.” And she brought her lips close to his ear and whispered something. Suddenly, Salina was furious. He rushed off in a huff, with his wife racing after him, and jumped into the lake deep as a hundred palm trees. She cried, “What is there for me to do except to follow his footsteps? I won’t leave him even if he has left me!” And she took a running jump into the lake, at the very same spot. You probably didn’t hear of this because the place is far from here. All the villagers have been dredging the lake with nets, with no success. They’ve only now given up. I went back to get the book from the place Salina had shown me.’

  “The teacher was overcome with grief and amazement. ‘Alas,’ he said, ‘that happy couple has suffered an undeserved fate. That lake is famous for its depth. No one who falls into it can survive. Who can escape their karma?’ I then asked him, in his sadness, ‘Who are these two people, Sugatri and Salina? You have praised them as noble; tell me their story.’ He replied, ‘This book tells their story. It’s good luck to hear it—especially now that we no longer have the good fortune to be able to see them.’ He picked up the book that his student had brought, touched it to his head and to his eyes, then gave it back to the boy and asked him to read it. Here is what he read:

  Once there was a Brahmin girl called Sugatri, daughter of a priest who served the goddess of learning, who is established on her throne in the middle of the land of Kashmir. Her husband, Salina,7 lived with his in-laws. Sugatri’s girlfriends decorated her sumptuously on her nuptial night and sent her to her husband, while they waited outside. But he was so startled by all her jewels that he hesitated to touch her. She waited for some time and left.

  Her girlfriends told her mother. They were thinking: “This is unheard of on this earth. What could be the reason? What a fine young fellow you’ve got! Anyway, tonight is lost; tomorrow he’ll show us his wild ways.” They laughed, and the mother said: “Quiet, you silly girls! He’ll hear you. Shy people sometimes give up everything if they suspect they are being ridiculed.”

  So she sent her daughter to the son-in-law for two or three more days. But he treated her in exactly the same way as the first night. The young bride went and came for nothing. Her girlfriends, with the mother’s permission, said to her: “It doesn’t look like you’re acting as husband and wife. Both of you are clearly experts. What can we say?

  If the man knows what to do, it’s right for the woman

  to be shy. If, however, the man is a moron,

  and the woman is also timid, what’s the point

  of being married?

  “Listen. You’re no longer a little girl. You can’t just sit around waiting, just because he doesn’t talk to you. Men are lucky, but a woman cannot keep her pride too long. You should serve him on your own initiative; eventually, his heart will melt. You shouldn’t have come back just because he hasn’t called you lovingly right away. Offer him betel nut with camphor and a folded leaf.8 You must be a fool. It just isn’t right that you waste your youth, so ripe for pleasure, on an empty bed. Women need the joys of a husband when they’re young; what good are they when youth is gone?”

  She listened and said, a bit coy, “You’re killing me with all these words. I can’t bear to hear them.” But that night she tried out their advice—with no results. She thought: “If I do anything more, he’ll probably leave me for good. It’s no use. At least I have a living husband and a marriage thread.” She went on decorating herself fully, each day, to bring good luck to her husband,9 and she begged her mother not to humiliate him. The mother held her tongue for many days, waiting patiently. One day she said, “I’ve never seen such a good-for-nothing. If I say anything against him, you defend him. Are you about to give birth to a male child who could take care of m
y property? We’ve seen his ways. It’s like giving a loan with a barren cow for collateral. But if I throw him out, you will be distressed. At least we could use him in the flower garden.” So she called him respectfully and put him to work, taking care to instruct him and to discipline him in the necessary skills.

  Salina was happy because this work was a service to the goddess Sarada, so he performed it with concentration. He tended the lovely flowers, heavy with honey, pollen, and masses of drunken bees. He watered at the proper times, making channels for every plant; he turned over the earth, carried baskets of manure in his own hands, without any hesitation; grafted plants together, gently bending their tender branches; prepared seedbeds and planted grafts—all with mounting excitement. He would get up early each morning and say his prayers, meditate on the line of his gurus, and carry out the chants as they had prescribed. Then he would skillfully cut the flowers and weave them into garlands and bouquets in many inventive ways to be offered to the goddess of arts.

  Now Sugatri, out of a sense of duty as a wedded wife and unable to watch from afar the hard work her husband was doing at her mother’s behest, wanted to go there and help him—but she was too shy to do so. One day when Salina had gone off to the garden, lightning streaked through the skies, striking everywhere; there was thunder, and a terrifying downpour of rain. From the moment the clouds appeared and the first drops smashed down to earth, Sugatri was afraid her husband would be soaked. She addressed him in her mind: “How will you survive this torrential rain, beloved husband? How did you get stuck with this miserable work in the garden?” She scanned the skies over and over and prayed to her family goddess, Sarasvati: “O Sarada, our compassionate mother, please watch over my husband. I have no support except for you. If I have done anything good in this body, or in some previous bodies—some vow, or act of meditation, or donation—may its merit save my husband from the calamity of this rain. Let me bear the effects of whatever evil he has done that has brought this upon him.”