The Kadambari of Bana

[Dark Saint Alaick]

REFERENCES TO KADAMBARI IN THE SAHITYA-DARPANA AND ELSEWHERE


The author of the Sahitya-Darpana [7] speaks of the Katha as follows:
'In the Katha (tale), which is one of the species of poetical
composition in prose, a poetical matter is represented in verse,
and sometimes the Arya, and sometimes the Vaktra and Apavaktraka are
the metres employed in it. It begins with stanzas in salutation to
some divinity, as also descriptive of the behaviour of bad men and
others.' To this the commentary adds: 'The "Kadambari" of Banabhatta is
an example.' Professor Peterson corrects the translation of the words
'Kathayam sarasam vastu padyair eva vinirmitam,' giving as their sense,
'A narration in prose, with here and there a stray verse or two,
of matter already existing in a metrical form.' [8] According to his
rendering, the Katha is in its essence a story claiming to be based
on previous works in verse, whether in this case the original were
Bana's own metrical version of 'Kadambari,' [9] or the work which
was also the original of the Katha-Sarit-Sagara story.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

The story of Pundarika and Mahaçveta receives mention, firstly, for
the introduction of death, contrary to the canon; secondly, for the
determination of the nature of their sorrow, and its poetic quality,
and consequent appeal to the feelings of the reader. Firstly: (215)
'Death, which is a condition to which one may be brought by love,
is not described in poetry and the drama, where the other conditions,
such as anxiety, etc., are constantly described, because it, instead
of enhancing, causes the destruction of "Flavour." [10] But it may be
spoken of (1) as having nearly taken place, or (2) as being mentally
wished for; and it is with propriety described (3) if there is to be,
at no distant date, a restoration to life.' The commentary takes
the story of Pundarika as an example of the third condition, and
describes it as a 'case of pathetic separation.' Secondly: (224)
'Either of two young lovers being dead, and being yet to be regained
through some supernatural interposition, when the one left behind is
sorrowful, then let it be called the separation of tender sadness'
(karunavipralamhha). The commentary gives Mahaçveta as the instance,
and continues: 'But if the lost one be not regainable, or regainable
only after transmigration in another body, the flavour is called the
"Pathetic" simply, there being in this case no room for any admixture
of the "Erotic"; but in the case just mentioned--of Pundarika and
Mahaçveta--immediately on Sarasvati's declaration from the sky that
the lovers should be reunited, there is the "Erotic in its form of
tender sadness," for desire arises on the expectation of reunion,
but PREVIOUSLY to Sarasvati's promise there was the "Pathetic";
such is the opinion of the competent authorities. And as for what
some say in regard to the case of Pundarika and Mahaçveta, that
"moreover AFTER the expectation of reunion, excited by Sarasvati's
promise to that effect, there is merely your honour's variety of
"love in absence," (222) the one which you call "being abroad"
(221)--others hold it to be distinct, because of the presence of
that distinction, DEATH, which is something else than merely being
abroad.' These are the passages in which direct mention is made of
'Kadambari,' and in 735, which defines special mention (parisamkhya)
as taking place 'when something is affirmed for the denial, expressed
or understood, of something else similar to it,' the commentary adds:
'When founded upon a Paronomasia, it is peculiarly striking, e.g.,
"When that king, the conqueror of the world, was protecting the earth,
the mixture of colours (or castes) was in painting, etc.,"--a passage
from the description of Çudraka in "Kadambari" (P. 5).'

[Dark Saint Alaick]

References to Bana in other works are given by Professor Peterson, so
that three only need be mentioned here. The first I owe to the kindness
of Professor C. Bendall. In a collection of manuscripts at the British
Museum (Or., 445-447) 'consisting chiefly of law-books transcribed
(perhaps for some European) on European paper in the Telugu-Canarese
character,' one, Or., 446 c., the Kamandakiya-Niti-Çastra, contains
on folios 128-131 a passage from 'Kadambari' (pp. 76-84, infra) [11]
on the consecration of a crown-prince, and the duties and dangers of a
king. It forms part of an introduction to the Kamandakiya-Niti-Çastra
and occurs without any hint of its being a quotation from another
work. The author of the Nalacampu not only writes a verse in honour
of Bana, [12] but models his whole style upon him. A curious instance
of the long popularity of 'Kadambari' is that in the 'Durgeçanandini'
by Chattaji, an historical novel, published in 1871, and treating
of the time of Akbar, the heroine is represented as reading in her
boudoir the romance of 'Kadambari.' [13]

[Dark Saint Alaick]

THE INTEREST OF 'KADAMBARI'


It may be asked What is the value of 'Kadambari' for European
readers? and to different persons the answer will doubtless
be different. Historical interest, so far as that depends on the
narration of historical facts, appears to be entirely lacking, though
it may be that at some future time our knowledge from other sources
may be so increased that we may recognise portraits and allusions in
what seems now purely a work of romance. But in the wider sense in
which history claims to deal with the social ideas that belong to
any epoch, 'Kadambari' will always have value as representing the
ways of thinking and feeling which were either customary or welcome
at its own time, and which have continued to charm Indian readers. It
is indeed true that it probably in many ways does not give a picture
of contemporary manners, just as a mediæval illuminated manuscript
often represents the dress and surroundings prior to the time of
the illuminator, so as to gain the grace of remoteness bestowed by
reverence for the past. In India, where change works but slowly,
the description of the court and city life, where all the subjects
show by outward tokens their sympathy with the joys and sorrows of
their ruler, as in a Greek chorus, is vivid in its fidelity. [14]
The quiet yet busy life of the hermits in the forest, where the day
is spent in worship and in peaceful toils, where at eve the sunbeams
'linger like birds on the crest of hill and tree,' and where night
'darkens all save the hearts of the hermits,' is full of charm. [15]

[Dark Saint Alaick]

The coronation of the crown prince, the penances performed by the
queen to win a son, the reverence paid to Mahakala, also belong to
our picture of the time. The description of Ujjayini, surrounded by
the Sipra, is too general in its terms to give a vivid notion of what
it then was. The site of the temple of Mahakala is still shown outside
the ruins of the old town. A point of special interest is the argument
against the custom of suicide on the death of a friend. Candrapida
consoles Mahaçveta that she has not followed her lover in death
by saying that one who kills himself at his friend's death makes
that friend a sharer in the guilt, and can do no more for him in
another world, whereas by living he can give help by sacrifices and
offerings. Those, too, who die may not be reunited for thousands of
births. In the 'Katha-Koça' [16] a prince is dissuaded from following
his wife to death because 'Even the idea of union with your beloved
will be impossible when you are dead'; but the occurrence of the
idea in a romance is more noteworthy than in a work which illustrates
Jain doctrines. The question of food as affected by caste is touched
on also (p. 205), when the Candala maiden tells the parrot that a
Brahman may, in case of need, receive food of any kind, and that
water poured on the ground, and fruit, are pure even when brought by
the lowest. Another point to be remarked is the mention of followers
of many sects as being present at court. Çiva, especially under the
name of Mahakala at Ujjayini, receives special worship, and Agni and
the Matrikas (p. 14) also receive reverence. The zenanas include aged
ascetic women (p. 217); followers of the Arhat, Krishna, Viçravasa,
Avalokiteçvara, and Viriñca (p. 162); and the courtyard of Çukanasa
has Çaivas and followers of Çakyamuni (p. 217), also Kshapanakas
(explained by the Commentary as Digambaras). The king, [17] however,
is described as having an urna (the hair meeting between the brows),
which is one of Buddha's marks; but the Commentary describes the urna
as cakravartiprabhritinam eva nanyasya, so probably it only belongs to
Buddha as cakravarti, or universal ruler. This shows that the reign of
Harsha was one of religious tolerance. Hiouen Thsang, indeed, claims
him as a Buddhist at heart, and mentions his building Buddhist stupas,
[18] but he describes himself as a Çaiva in the Madhuban grant, [19]
and the preeminence yielded in 'Kadambari' to Çiva certainly shows
that his was then the popular worship.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

Another source of interest in 'Kadambari' lies in its contribution to
folklore. It may perhaps contain nothing not found elsewhere, but the
fact of its having a date gives it a value. The love of snakes for
the breeze and for sandal-trees, the truth of dreams at the end of
night, the magic circles, bathing in snake-ponds to gain a son, the
mustard-seed and ghi put in a baby's mouth, may all be familiar ideas,
but we have a date at which they were known and not despised. Does
the appeal to the truth of her heart by Mahaçveta in invoking the
curse (p. 193) rest on the idea that fidelity to a husband confers
supernatural power, [20] or is it like the 'act of truth' by which
Buddha often performs miracles in the 'Jataka'?

[Dark Saint Alaick]

THE STYLE OF 'KADAMBARI'

The unsettled chronology of Indian literature makes it impossible
to work out at present Bana's relations with other Sanskrit
writers. Professor Peterson, [21] indeed, makes some interesting
conjectures as to his connection with other authors of his own country,
and also suggests, from similarity of phrase, that he may have fallen
indirectly under the influence of Alexandrian literature. Be that
as it may, he has been for many centuries a model of style, and it
is therefore worth while to consider briefly the characteristics
of his style compared with European standards. The first thing
that strikes the reader is that the sense of proportion, the very
foundation of style as we know it, is entirely absent. No topic is
let go till the author can squeeze no more from it. In descriptions
every possible minor detail is given in all its fulness; then follows
a series of similes, and then a firework of puns. In speeches, be they
lamentations or exhortations, grief is not assuaged, nor advice ended,
till the same thing has been uttered with every existing variety of
synonym. This defect, though it springs from the author's richness of
resource and readiness of wit, makes the task of rendering in English
the merit of the Sanskrit style an impossible one. It gives also a
false impression; for to us a long description, if good, gives the
effect of 'sweetness long drawn out,' and, if bad, brings drowsiness;
whereas in Sanskrit the unending compounds suggest the impetuous rush
of a torrent, and the similes and puns are like the play of light
and shade on its waters. Bana, according to Professor Weber, [22]
'passes for the special representative of the Pañcali style,' [23]
which Bhoja, quoted in the commentary of the 'Sahitya-Darpana,' defines
as 'a sweet and soft style characterized by force (ojas) and elegance
(kanti), containing compounds of five or six words.'

[Dark Saint Alaick]

But style, which is to poetic charm as the body to the soul,
varies with the sense to be expressed, and Bana in
many of his speeches is perfectly simple and direct.
Owing to the peacefulness of 'Kadambari,' there is
little opportunity for observing the rule that in the 'Katha' letters
'ought not to be too rough, even when the flavour is furious.' [24]
Of the alliteration of initial consonants, the only long passage
is in the description of Çukanasa (p. 50), but in its subtler
forms it constantly occurs. Of shorter passages there are several
examples--e.g., Candra Candala (infra, p. 127); Candrapida Candalo
(Sanskrit text, p. 416); Utkantham sotkantham kanthe jagraha (Ibid.,
p. 367); Kamam sakamam kuryam (Ibid., p. 350); Candrapida pidanaya
(Ibid., p. 370). The ornament of çlesha, or paronomasia, which seems
to arise from the untrained philological instinct of mankind seeking
the fundamental identity of like sounds with apparently unlike meaning,
and which lends dramatic intensity when, as sometimes in Shakespeare,
[25] a flash of passionate feeling reveals to the speaker an original
sameness of meaning in words seemingly far apart, is by Bana used
purely as an adornment. He speaks of pleasant stories interwoven
with puns 'as jasmine garlands with campak buds,' and they abound
in his descriptions. The rasanopama, [26] or girdle of similes,
is exemplified (p. 115), 'As youth to beauty, love to youth, spring
to love' so was Kapiñjala to Pundarika. Vishamam (incongruity) is
the figure used in 'the brightness of his glory, free from heat,
consumed his foes; constant, ever roamed' (p. 48). It can scarcely
be separated from virodha (contradiction)--often used, as in 'I
will allay on the funeral pyre the fever which the moon, sandal,
and all cool things have increased' (p. 195)--or from vicitram [27]
(strangeness), where an act is contrary to its apparent purpose:
'There lives not the man whom the virtues of the most courteous lady
Kadambari do not discourteously enslave' (p. 159). Arthapatti [28] (a
fortiori conclusion) is exemplified in 'Even the senseless trees, robed
in bark, seem like fellow-ascetics of this holy man. How much more,
then, living beings endowed with sense!' (p. 43). Time and space would
alike fail for analysis of Bana's similes according to the rules of the
'Sahitya-Darpana.' [29] The author of the 'Raghavapandaviya' considers
Subandhu and Bana as his only equals in vakrokti, or crooked speech,
and the fault of a 'meaning to be guessed out' ('Sahitya-Darpana,' §
574) is not rare. The 'Kavya-Prakaça,' in addition to the references
given by Professor Peterson, quotes a stanza describing a horse in the
'Harsha-Carita' (chap. iii.) as an example of svabhavokti.

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

[Dark Saint Alaick]

LITERARY PARALLELS


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


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


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

[Dark Saint Alaick]

THE PURPOSE OF 'KADAMBARI'


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