Malavikagnimitram
Page 1
Kalidasa
MALAVIKAGNIMITRAM
The Dancer and the King
Translated from the Sanskrit by
Srinivas Reddy
Contents
Dedication
Note on Transliteration
The Mālavikāgnimitram of Kālidāsa: The Making of a Mahākavi
The Dancer and the King
Act I
Act II
Act III
Act IV
Act V
Notes
Bibliography
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PENGUIN CLASSICS
MALAVIKAGNIMITRAM
KALIDASA, perhaps the most extraordinary of India’s classical poets, composed seven major works: three plays, two epic poems and two lyric poems. According to legend, he lived at the end of the fourth century, and was one of the ‘nine jewels’ in the court of the Gupta king Chandragupta II. Although very little is known about his life, Kalidasa’s popularity has endured for centuries.
SRINIVAS REDDY began studying Sanskrit with his grandfather. Later he trained in classical South Asian languages and literatures at Brown University and University of California, Berkeley. In 2010 his translation of Krishnadevaraya’s Telugu epic Amuktamalyada was published as the Penguin Classic The Giver of the Worn Garland. Srinivas is also a concert sitarist and has given numerous recitals around the world. He now lives in Ahmedabad and teaches at IIT Gandhinagar.
Praise for the Book
‘A real pleasure to read . . . [Reddy’s] translation restores a light deftness to Kalidasa’s play . . . We are able to enjoy [the] simple joys of cunning Brahmins, lustful kings, playful and flirtatious young women, spurned lovers and jealous queens . . . The dialogue weaves and dips between direct responses, poetic double entendre, innocence and mischief. Reddy captures all this in an easy contemporary idiom, his verse translations sing sweetly even as his prose is appropriately laconic and lucid’ Mint
‘[Reddy’s] illuminating introduction leads smoothly into the poem-play . . . [He] has done justice to the talent of young Kalidasa’ Asian Age
for my grandmothers
Ammamma and Nannamma
Raja Rajeshwari and Jaya Lakshmi
Note on Transliteration
Standard international diacritics for the transliteration of Sanskrit words and proper names have been used in the notes and introduction. For ease of reading, no diacritical marks have been used in the translated text. Below is a rough guide to pronunciation.
a like the u in cup
i like the i in kin
u like the u in put
ṛ like the r in drill
e like the ay in day
o like the o in go
ā like the a in father
ī like the ee in need
ū like the u in flute
ai like the ai in aisle
au like the ow in cow
Sanskrit consonants come in a variety of forms and are categorized according to their point of articulation. In addition, all consonants (barring nasals, semi-vowels and sibilants) come in unaspirated and aspirated forms. The latter forms should be pronounced with a burst of breath after the initial consonant. Lastly, the ḥ, or visarga, is pronounced with a slight echo of its preceding vowel.
Un-aspirated Voiceless Aspirated Voiceless Un-aspirated Voiced Aspirated Voiced Nasals Semi-vowels Sibilants
Velar k kh g gh ṅ
Palatal c ch j jh ñ y ś
Retroflex ṭ ṭh ḍ ḍh ṇ r ṣ
Dental t th d dh n l s
Labial p ph b bh m v
Velar: Back of the tongue touching the soft palate
Palatal: Body of the tongue raised against the hard palate
Retroflex: Tip of the tongue curled back against the palate
Dental: Tongue touching the back of the upper teeth
Labial: Articulated by the lips
The Mālavikāgnimitram of Kālidāsa:
The Making of a Mahākavi
nirgatāsu na vā kasya kālidāsasya sūktiṣu
prītir madhura-sāndrāsu mañjarīṣu iva jāyate 1
Pleasure blooms in Kālidāsa’s poems,
like a full bouquet of fragrant flowers!
The Mālavikāgnimitram of Kālidāsa is arguably the least refined work of the most celebrated Sanskrit poet. Although this dubious distinction has preserved the text in the minds of Indian literati for centuries, it has simultaneously relegated it to a position of triviality. Even today the work remains underappreciated, finding mention only in the context of enumerating the great poet’s oeuvre. Nonetheless, a close reading of the text reveals several remarkable passages and, more importantly, a window into the mind of a master poet in the making.
The seven works attributed to the early fifth-century Sanskrit poet Kālidāsa comprise three plays, two epics and two long poems. Of these, the text at hand is certainly one of his earliest productions, if not his very first. Before the start of Act I, a director calls out to his assistant and announces that a new play (nāṭaka) by Kālidāsa should be staged for the spring festival. The assistant, or pāripārśvika, 2 replies: ‘Oh no! How can we disregard the works of widely celebrated poets like Bhāsa, Saumilla and Kaviputra, and choose this composition by Kālidāsa, a modern poet?’ The assistant questions the choice of Kālidāsa, a contemporary poet, or vartamāna kavi as he calls him. From the poet’s perspective, Kālidāsa skilfully uses the meta-language of the prastāvanā, or prologue, to humbly place himself within a well-established literary tradition. 3 The poet Bhāsa has been well-studied by scholars as an exemplar of early Sanskrit dramatics, particularly after a stash of thirteen of his plays were unexpectedly discovered in south India in the twentieth century. Of Saumilla and Kaviputra, however, we find mention only here, and sadly none of their works survive—thus pointing to a vibrant history of literary composition with unfortunately scanty textual evidence. The quotation at the beginning of the introduction is accredited to the famed seventh-century poet Bāṇa and evidences how influential Kālidāsa had become to later poets of antiquity and the Sanskrit literary tradition at large.
Returning to the prologue, the cultured brahmin director recites the following verse in response to the assistant’s query:
Not all old poetry is good,
nor new bad.
The wise search to discern one from the other,
while foolish minds are guided
by the opinions of others. 4
This view encapsulates Kālidāsa’s vision of bringing newness (navam) into an established tradition (purāṇam). In short, he exudes a confidence in regard to his contributions, and an unmistakeable self-awareness of his propriety.
Although the language of Mālavikāgnimitram is undoubtedly less polished than Kālidāsa’s later works, all the qualities of his mature talents are evident here in embryonic form. Contrary to popular legends that speak of Kālidāsa’s astonishing conversion from dimwit to genius, his surviving works evidence a writer whose poetic skills evolved, developed and refined over time. As Devadhar puts it, the countless legends about him ‘are no more than a mere farrago of absurd anachronisms’. 5 All the stories tell the tale of the poet’s miraculous transformation into a mature wordsmith through the grace of the powerful goddess Kāli whom he worshipped as a humble servant or devotee (dāsa). In truth, he was not born a master poet, nor was he magically transformed into one as the stories seem to suggest—Kālidāsa, like all great artists, evolved. An early work like Mālavikāgnimitram demythologizes the legend of Kālidāsa and makes him a living poet who honed his craft over a lifetime and developed a deeper, more refined poetic sensibility in later works like the Kumārasaṃbhavam. This empiricist outlook in no way discredits the
poet’s deep and sustained devotion to the goddess and her cosmic consort, Śiva—a genuine sentiment that flows through all his works. As Miller remarks: ‘The powerful images of nature that dominate his poetry and drama are ultimately determined by his conception of Siva’s creative mystery. This is implicit in the doctrine of Śiva’s eight manifest forms (aṣṭa-mūrti), which he states in the benediction of the Śākuntala.
The water that was first created,
the sacrifice-bearing fire, the priest,
the time-setting sun and moon,
audible space that fills the universe,
what men call nature, the source of all seeds,
the air that living creatures breathe—
through his eight embodied forms,
may Lord Śiva come to bless you!’ 6
A similar praise of Śiva’s iconic form is available from the poet’s earlier imagination in the nāndi, or benedictory verse, of Mālavikāgnimitram. Juxtaposing these two examples highlights a continuity in both theme and register, allowing us to track the formation of a distinctive poetic style that we now recognize as the inimitable voice of Kālidāsa.
He stands with sole supremacy
as his suppliants reap rich rewards
and yet he clothes himself in garments made of hide.
His body is united with his beloved,
yet he transcends even renouncers
whose minds dwell beyond the senses.
He sustains the entire universe with his eight forms,
and yet displays no vanity.
May our Lord dispel the cycle of darkness
and give light to the perfect path. 7
In the following pages I hope to highlight some of the other fascinating elements that make Kālidāsa’s Mālavikāgnimitram not only a great work of world literature, but also a portal into the budding mind of a poetic genius and the dynamic cultural milieu that produced him.
History
Unlike Kālidāsa’s two other dramas—the Abhijñāna-śākuntalam and the Vikramorvaśīyam, which are paurānika, or mythological, in subject—Mālavikāgnimitram is a historical drama. The eponymous hero of the drama is known to historians as the second emperor of the Śuṅga dynasty, an empire that dominated north India for over a century during a fascinating period of transition between the influential Maurya and Gupta state formations. An important element of this era was a rich social and cultural environment in which various religious communities, artistic traditions and scientific pursuits benefited from the generous support of state patronage. At some level, the Śungas represent the contentious shift from a Mauryan administration that sponsored Jain and Buddhist communities to the ‘golden age of Hindu classicism’ of the Gupta period. Ever since Alexander’s invasion of India in 326 BCE, the northern subcontinent was populated and ruled by a diverse mixture of Greek, Scythian, Śaka and Huna groups who were in constant power negotiations with indigenous regional polities. The Śuṅga empire was founded in 187 BCE when the brahmin general Puṣyamitra orchestrated a military coup, assassinated the last ruling Mauryan king, Bṛhadratha, and established rule from the imperial capital of Pāṭaliputra (today’s Patna). Kālidāsa’s play is set in Vidiśā (near modern-day Bhopal) where Puṣyamitra’s son Agnimitra has been stationed as a viceroy. In Act V we learn in a letter that Puṣyamitra has consecrated the holy horse sacrifice or aśvamedha-yajña, one of the many consecration (rājasūya) rites prescribed by Vedic injunction. The event seems to have been remembered by Patañjali in his Mahābhāṣya II.123.3 which states, iha puṣyamitraṅ yājayāmaḥ: ‘Here we are conducting a sacrifice for Puṣyamitra.’ 8 Not much else is known about the event, but the poet goes on to mention that Agnimitra’s son Prince Vasumitra aided in defeating Greek (yavana) cavalrymen on the banks of the Indus River. In addition, Puṣyamitra encourages Agnimitra to keep a mind free of anger (vigata-roṣa-cetasā), referencing some kind of strained relationship between father and son.
Historians have traditionally read Puṣyamitra’s actions as part of a revolt against the Buddhist Mauryans, and as an attempt to establish a brahminical Vedic-based cosmology of kingship. Shankar Pandit’s observations are typical: ‘The real ground for anger seems to be due to the religious opinions of the two. Agnimitra was indulgent towards the Buddhists while Puṣyamitra tried to uproot it out of India.’ 9 This kind of characterization oversimplifies what was clearly a much more complex scenario in which various religious communities were in sustained dialogue with competing state institutions. It also makes us question and re-evaluate our perceptions of what constituted ‘Hindu’ at that period of time and how concepts like ‘otherness’ and even ‘westernization’ were ancient concerns as well. Kālidāsa is believed to have been one of the nine gems (nava-ratna) who adorned the court of the cultured king Candragupta II (aka Vikramāditya) who ruled most of northern India from 380 to 415 CE. As Miller has rightly pointed out, even at the height of this Gupta-era classicism there was a large degree of heterogeneity in regard to cultural and artistic values. 10
Kālidāsa seems to weave this complexity into the fascinating character of Kauśikī, the ascetic nun. He refers to her as a parivrājikā, a female wanderer of an unnamed denomination. Internal references in the text point to a Buddhist affiliation, 11 and the historical record bears out that female bhikkhunīs or therīs were increasingly joining the Buddhist saṅgha, or monastic community, at that time. Kauśikī is accorded great respect by everyone at court, including the king who addresses her as paṅḍita (learned) and bhagavatī (revered one). She is unique in being one of the few female characters in any Sanskrit play who speaks in Sanskrit. She even recites learned and poetic verses on morality, medicine and nature. In Act IV, she seems to quote from an oral tradition when she recites a pithy verse in the standard śloka metre about snake-bite remedies. 12 Elements such as this make it clear that Kālidāsa was versed in a variety of sciences (śāstras). His knowledge ranged over a variety of subjects which he combined with his keen observation of the human heart to craft poetry that was complex and erudite, yet immediately accessible.
Plot and Poetics
The five acts of the play that lead us through the stages of love that King Agnimitra has for the dancer Mālavikā are mirrored by the blooming of the golden aśoka tree. A hallmark of the kāvya poet is to see the inner life of humanity as it is reflected in the natural world. At the beginning of Act IV the king speaks an introductory verse that summarizes the plot from seed to fruit.
When word of her reached me, I sheltered a desire
and the tree of love took root.
Then seeing her, my passion grew
like a new leaf,
and the touch of her hand a blossom
as my hair stood on end.
Weary now, let me taste the fruit. 13
In Act I we hear of Mālavikā but do not see her. We are introduced to her beautiful form on stage in Act II, and in Act III the king touches his beloved in the royal pleasure garden. The machinations of his trusted adviser Gautama contrive against the jealous queen Dhāriṇī and the king’s mistress Irāvatī as Act IV leads to an emotive denouement in Act V and a proverbial happy ending in the play’s final pages.
The forbidden love that blooms in Agnimitra’s heart is paralleled by the poet’s description of the dohada ritual in which the queen must ‘kick’-start the aśoka tree into bloom. Due to the plotting of Gautama, Mālavikā is sent in her stead, and the king meets his beloved against the backdrop of a blossoming garden in springtime. In Act III we see early examples of Kālidāsa’s characteristic use of upamā, or extended similes, in which he perceives natural beauty as a mirror of human yearning. The poem below, written in the powerful śārdūla-vikrīḍita, or Tiger Play metre of nineteen syllables (akṣaras), reads like a forerunner to the more subtle imagery and sonic layering found in the mandākrāntā metre of the poet’s later offerings in Meghadūtam.
raktā-śoka-rucā viśeṣita-guṇo bimbhādharālaktakaḥ pratyākhyāt
a-viśeṣikam kurabakam śyāmā-vadātāruṇam ākrāntā tilaka-kriyāpi tilakair-lagna-dvirephāñjanaiḥ sāvejñeva mukha-prasādhana-vidhau śrīr-mādhavī
yoṣitām 14
u u - u - u u u - | - - u - - u -
The bright red ashoka outshines the crimson lac
on their full red lips like bimba fruit.
The green, yellow and orange hues of the kurabaka,51
and the black bees
hovering around tilaka flowers
surpass their decorated brows
and collyrium-painted eyes—
as if nature’s bounty was mocking these women
as they try to adorn their faces.
Beginning with three long syllables like the stealthy steps of a hunter in the bush, it leaps out with a vigorous string of short syllables to the caesura at syllable twelve, and resolves with a punctuated pounce of seven syllables to bring the line to a triumphant close. Although this rhythm is nearly impossible to translate into English, I have tried to convey the building up and layering of sounds and images that mark Kālidāsa’s high style when dealing with long metrical forms. Unlike in epic form, however, the Sanskrit verses in these dramas are set apart and punctuate the play’s fast-paced dialogues.
Most of the action of the plot is driven by the humorous scheming of Gautama, otherwise known as the vidūṣaka. Often poorly translated as jester or buffoon, the vidūṣaka is usually a ‘fallen’ brahmin who adds a comedic element to the play. In Mālavikāgnimitram the character of Gautama takes on a central role and brings all the elements of the plot together with his silly wit and charm. Who can forget the hilarious image in Act IV of a flailing brahmin running on to the stage with his sacred thread tied around his thumb to hide a fake snake bite!
Art