Today’s post contains some comments on a few passages from the proto-novel Kādambarī, by the Indian author, Bāṇabhaṭṭa.
Bāṇabhaṭṭa has to be one of the greatest literary figures of Indian literature, second only to Kālīdāsa.
The first time I read Kādambarī, I was completely awestruck by the luscious richness of the prose – the bubbling word play bursting out in almost each & every line – the intricate metaphors & powerful similes – and the incomparable vividness of Bāṇabhaṭṭa’s descriptions.
If Kālīdāsa’s genius lies in restrained language – Bāṇabhaṭṭa’s brilliance lies in luxuriant, exuberant prose.
Though all Indian litterateurs are incurable romantics, Kālīdāsa is comparatively austere, while Bāṇabhaṭṭa is marked by being passionate in his expression.
I had never quite read anything like this, except, of course, the Mahābhārata itself – and even the Mahābhārata isn’t so poetic.
Still, I need to add that Bāṇabhaṭṭa may not have been strikingly original for his times, and might have been using some literary tropes & the style, which were/was, prevalent in Indian literature then.
One can detect the same style in the vibrant Bhāgavata Purāṇa, for instance.
I’m not sufficiently qualified to comment on the originality of his style, but I can definitely vouch for an exhilarating literary experience.
It would not be quite right to look for a very suspenseful plot – the greatest value of this work lies in its wordplay & usage of metaphor & simile.
I think Bāṇabhaṭṭa is original enough to be placed amongst the great authors of the Pre-Modern world (i.e. before the 17th century CE).
Unfortunately, he couldn’t complete Kādambarī, and the story is wound up quickly by his son, who wasn’t as gifted.
Despite some minor drawbacks, I still think Kādambarī is one of the great proto-novels of the world, unsurprisingly ignored by the global intellectual elite.
Beneath, what I’ve done is take a couple of mails written to a few friends in 2017, and corrected, annotated, and edited them extensively – basically, re-written them.
I’d selected a long passage from the novel, and commented on various images & similes etc. used.
I’ve added much more, and altered the text significantly.
But the base material had been written in 2017.
It’s quite unrecognizable, as it stands now, though :)
I have praised Caroline Ridding’s translation, and it is definitely a superb introduction to the exuberance of Bāṇabhaṭṭa’s world.
But after going through the passages over & over again after so many years, I feel she has made way too many errors – which probably has more to do with the peculiarity of the languages involved, rather than any ability or intention on part of the translator.
Her translation should be considered a thrilling preview, a glimpse, a foretaste.
------------------------------
From private email/forward written in 2017:
This is from what might be one of the world’s earliest novels, Kādambarī, by the Indian author, Bāṇabhaṭṭa.
I have mentioned this author before, and quoted an interesting description of the mountain Kailāsa.
As I said earlier, we should not try to gauge the merits of Bāṇabhaṭṭa by comparing him to modern authors, or using our modern (& rapidly shifting) conceptions of literature as a measuring rod.
He wrote in the 7th century CE.
I’m not very sure what was the literary scenario of India then.
Who all read these works?
Were they limited to the literary elite, or were they read in every household?
... Did people in villages read them?
How were they written out?
We are told that the great revolutionary innovation of the printing press was done sometime late in the 15th century CE by Johannes Gutenberg, and that the original printing press was invented in China, in the 10th-11th century CE.
So how did Indians read the massive tomes of the Rāmāyaṇa & especially the Mahābhārata?
We are told that Indians – the Brāhmaṇas at least – used to memorize these texts.
Trust me, it’s not possible.
It’s just not possible to mug up any of these books, simply by hearing them.
Nor is it possible that these texts, which can runs into hundreds & thousands of A4 sheets, in a normal font, were merely written on bark & banana leaf.
And there aren’t just 3-4 books.
There are THOUSANDS of them.
It is more likely the texts were painted on cloth, but even that seems a little unconvincing.
I’d like to return to this topic sometime in the future, and won’t digress now.
Point is, I am not sure what constituted Bāṇabhaṭṭa’s audience.
But he has been quoted in glowing terms by Indian litterateurs as late as the 11th century ... perhaps later, but I’m forgetting.
I have said before that Kādambarī is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read.
Unfortunately, nobody who isn’t thoroughly acquainted with Indian mythology, scriptures & myths & legends, symbols & images, can appreciate his work.
Nor will it suit the modern mindset, with its obsession with rapid-motion & quick succession of events.
Bāṇabhaṭṭa’s greatest power is his descriptive power, and some of his descriptions can run into pages.
The quote below, somewhat long, will introduce you to the narrative power of this seriously underrated Indian genius.
However, what is most important is the word play and punning.
It often becomes difficult to unravel the intricate word-play & double-entendre of Bāṇabhaṭṭa.
The extensive punning in the text itself relies on the mythology or the stories & legends of India – that’s why nobody can appreciate his fascinating literary genius without a good knowledge of those stories & legends.
The translation by Caroline Ridding is excellent, if not superlative.
Apparently, Ridding is a Cambridge scholar.
That has to count for something.
Well, the original must be much lovelier, & but nobody who doesn’t know Sanskrit can quite feel the beauty of the original.
All I can say is that Ridding’s translation, with all its errors, is better than the trashy work by many other authors.
What has been quoted beneath, is the description of a Shabara given in the Kādambarī.
The Shabaras were supposed to be a mountain hunting tribe – or tribes.
The dictionary defines Shabara as “the son of a śūdra and a bhillī” – i.e. a Shūdra male & a Bhilla female – the Bhillas being another mountain-tribe.
Essentially, then, they must have been a very low caste, or maybe outcastes.
But one must not rely too much on these definitions of the castes & communities: they are not always convincing, and may often lead to more confusion than clarity.
The Shabaras seem to be commonly associated with the Vindhya mountains, located in Central India.
I have mentioned the character of Shabarī (which may not be a proper name) from the Rāmāyaṇa, before, in relation to the practice of religious self-immolation.
I guess she’s of the same tribe.
... The word Mātanga (or technically Mātaṃga), literally means “Elephant”.
Let me give the quote, for now.
I’ll have to elaborate on the intricate wordplay, later.
P.S. The Ç is simply Sh.
------------------------------
Personal commentary on some passages, based on mail written in 2017:
“And in the midst of that great host of Çabaras I beheld the Çabara leader, Mātanga by name.
He was yet in early youth;
from his great hardness he seemed made of iron;
he was like Ekalavya in another birth
(Ekalavya is a character from the Mahābhārata who belongs to the Niśāda community – a community outside the caturvarṇa system, or Veda-based society made of 4 castes.
People often forget that Ekalavya was not a Shūdra – he was a (tribal) prince first, and a king later.)
“from his growing beard, he was like a young royal elephant (gajayūthapati-kumāra) with its temples encircled by its first line of ichor (prathama mada lekhā) ...
(Mātanga is very young, and his beard (śmaśru) is just sprouting, or breaking out (udbhid).
It makes him look like the young prince of an elephant herd, with its cheeks (gaṇḍabhitti) adorned or circled by its first “lines” – i.e. flow – of “ichor” (prathama mada lekhā) marking the fresh onset of sexual maturity.)
“he filled the wood (pūrita araṇya) with beauty (deha-prabhā) that streamed from him sombre as dark lotuses (asita kuvalaya), like the waters of Yamunā ...
(The waters of this river are portrayed in Indian literature as being very dark, probably a dark-blue, sapphire color – this evidently means that he is dark-skinned.
The original says Kālindī, which is appropriate, because the word has the connotation of darkness.)
“he had thick locks curled at the ends and hanging on his shoulders, like a lion (kesarin) with its mane stained by elephant’s ichor (gaja-mada-malina);
“his brow was broad (āyata-lalāṭa – he had a broad forehead);
“his nose was stern and aquiline (ati-tuṇga-ghora-ghoṇa – atituṇga should mean very high or very straight);
“his left side shone reddened by the faint pink rays of a jewelled snake’s hood (bhujaṅga-phaṇa-maṇi) that was made the ornament for one of his ears, like the glow of shoots that had clung to him from his resting on a leafy couch (parṇa-śayana);
(An instance of intricate wordplay, with a dash of poetic hyperbole.
There are 2 simultaneous images conflated here.
The Shabara is wearing a jewel proverbially found on a snake’s hood.
This jewel is said to be red in colour.
As he wears this jewel in an ornament made for one of his ears, it sheds its crimson luminousness on one side of him.
This is compared to the reddish lambency of young shoots which cling to his body from his lying down on a couch made of leaves etc.)
“he was perfumed with fragrant ichor, bearing the scent of saptacchada blossoms torn from the cheeks of an elephant freshly slain, like a stain of black aloes;
“he had the heat warded off by a swarm of bees, like a peacock-feather parasol, flying about blinded by the scent, as if they were a branch of tamāla;
(I’m not absolutely sure about this, and will rely on the Indian scholiast.
There are various objects used in Indian literature to poetically represent the rich, beautiful deep color of dark blue or green or blue-green.
The tamāla tree, the peacock’s neck (or plumage in general) and the dark blue-black honey bee, are some of them.
Apparently, the tamāla leaf or some sort of fan made of tamāla leaves, might have been used to fan important people.
We are told that there is a constant swarm of bees around Mātanga, intoxicated by the smell of elephant “ichor” coming from his body – and this swarm appears to be like a parasol made of peacock-feathers which ward off the heat, like a tamāla leaf, or branch thereof.)
“he was marked with lines of perspiration on his cheek rubbed by his hand, as if Vindhya Forest, being conquered by his strong arm, were timidly offering homage under the guise of its slender waving twigs, and
“he seemed to tinge space by his eye somewhat pink, as if it were bloodshot, and shedding a twilight of the night of doom for the deer;
“he had mighty arms reaching to his knees, as if the measure of an elephant’s trunk (kuñjara-kara) had been taken in making them, and
(Permit me to point out that all Indian gods & kings & other great figures are endowed with long hands which reach down to the knees.
That includes the Buddha.
And one can see the same in the Jain Tīrthaṅkaras.
One can even see long arms on the Goddesses.
The question is: why isn’t this ferocious outcast tribal not an ugly dwarf-like creature? Why is he described in such heroic terms?
Why is there an indubitable sense of grandeur around him?
If “Dravidian” India was invaded by Caucasian “Aryans”, who were relegated to the lower castes or were outcastes, how is it that one of the most emphatically outcast men is described as massive, tall, strong, with a straight (“aquiline”) nose, a broad forehead, why is his chest compared to the surface of a mountain, why is he depicted as as leonine – basically in the same terms as Rāma, Kṛṣṇa, and Arjuna?
Of course, Mātaṅga is ugly (though one cannot figure out why!) – but he’s majestic & powerful.)
“his shoulders were rough with scars from keen weapons often used to make an offering of blood to Kālī (the original says Canḍikā);
“the space round his eyes was bright & broad as the Vindhya Mountain, and with the drops of dried deer’s blood clinging on it, and the marking of drops of perspiration, as if they were adorned by large pearls from an elephant’s frontal bone (kari-kumbha-muktā-phala) mixed with guñja fruit;
his chest was scarred by constant & ceaseless fatigue;
(I think the translation is wrong & confusing.
His chest (vakṣa-sthala) is as wide as the broad surface of the Vindhya Mountain.
The original says: vindhya-śilā-tala-viśālena vakṣa-sthaleno-udbhā-samānam.
The comparison of the space between the eyes to the wide surface of the Vindhya Mountain doesn’t make much sense.)
...
“he was clad in a silk dress red with cochineal ...
(This is probably the dye made from an insect called indragopa (also lākṣā, used here) a mysterious creature or insect quoted for its redness.
If yes, the translation is utterly nonsensical: the cochineal is not found in India, it belongs to South America.
To translate lākṣā as cochineal is seriously misleading, even if the lākṣā is an insect like the cochineal.
Also note that a “savage” tribal hunter is clad in ... red silk (kauśeya)!)
“and with his strong legs he mocked a pair of elephants’ posts (ālāna-stambha) stained with elephants’ ichor (ibha-mada-malina);
(It should be noted that the English translation can never capture the richness of the original.
The translator has to use the word “elephant” twice – this is not so in the original.
Think of how many words you have, in Sanskrit, for “sky”, and how many, in English, and you’ll know the difference!
Or for that matter “elephant” – what seems boringly repetitive in English, in the original, maybe hastin, gaja, kuñjara, karin, ibha, nāga, kambu, etc. in Sanskrit.)
“he seemed from his causeless fierceness to have been marked on his dread brow by a frown that formed three banners, as if Durgā, propitiated by his great devotion, had marked him with a trident to denote that he was her servant.
(The imagery is complex.
The original says Katyayanī.
The idea is that he seems to be perpetually frowning because of his intrinsic fierceness, and his frown forms three wavy creases on his forehead.
These creases on the forehead look like lines drawn by the trident of Katyayanī, who has done it to mark him an ardent devotee of Hers.)
“He was accompanied by hounds of every colour, which were his familiar friends;
they showed their weariness by tongues that, dry as they were, seemed by their natural pinkness to drip deer’s blood, and which hung down far from tiredness;
as their mouths were open they raised the corners of their lips and showed their flashing teeth clearly, like a lion’s mane caught between the teeth (???????);
their throats were covered with strings of cowries, and they were hacked by blows from the large boars’ tusks
(Probably means they’re scarred by the tusks of boars whom they’ve been hunting.)
“though but small, from their great strength they were like lions’ cubs with their manes ungrown;
they were skilled in initiating the does in widowhood
(That is, in hunting male deer – killing male deer made their mates – the female deer – “widows”.
A ruthless but impactful simile.)
“with them came their wives, very large, like lionesses coming to beg an amnesty for the lions.
He was surrounded by troops of Çabaras of all kinds:
some had seized elephants’ tusks (gaja-daṅta) and the long hair of yaks;
some had vessels for honey made of leaves closely bound;
some, like lions, had hands filled with many a pearl from the frontal bones of elephants (gaja-kumbha-muktāphala);
some, like demons (yātudhāna), had pieces of raw flesh;
some, like goblins (pramatha), were carrying the skins of lions (kesari-kṛti-dhārin);
some, like Jain ascetics (kṣapaṇa), held peacocks’ tails;
some, like children (śiṣu), wore crows’ feathers;
some represented Kṛishṇa’s exploits by bearing the elephants’ tusks they had torn out
(I actually don’t recollect any exploit of Kṛṣṇa involving an elephant, but the translator refers to the Harivaṁśa; there might be some event there which I’ve forgotten.)
(Added 20th May, 2024:
Ah, this refers to the fight between the elephant Kuvalayāpīḍa and
Kṛṣṇa & Balarāma, when they come to Mathura, before the killing of Kaṁsa.
The Bhāgavata Purāṇa says (10.43.14-16):
“Playfully, Hari leapt (on the elephant) with his feet, pulled out a tusk (danta), and with it, killed the elephant (ibha) and his keepers (hasti-pān).
Leaving behind the dead elephant (dvipa), He held the tusk (danta) in his hand, and entered (the arena).
Placing the tusk (viṣāṇa) on his shoulder – sprinkled with drops of the elephant’s blood (asṛk) and ichor (mada) – exuding fine drops of his own perspiration – His lotus-face shone.
... Baladeva and Janārdana, surrounded by several cowherd-boys, entered the arena (raṅga) carrying the elephant’s tusks (gaja-danta) as their chosen weapons.”
I had forgotten this little incident.
It is barely referred to, in the translation by H.H. Wilson of the Viṣṇu Purāṇa which I have (5.20): “Covered with must and blood from the elephant, whom, when goaded upon them by his driver, they had slain, and armed with his tusks, Balabhadra and Janárddana confidently entered the arena, like two lions amidst a herd of deer.”
That’s all I have in my text!
The original contains a proper account of the fight, in which Kṛṣṇa tears out the elephant’s left tusk with his right hand, and Balarāma tears out its right tusk and kills it with a kick from his left leg.)
...
“some, like the days of the rainy season, had garments dark as clouds.
(Added 20th May, 2024:
Again, I’m not absolutely sure of this – I feel Ridding has missed something.
What has been translated as days of the rainy season, is, in the Sanskrit original, jaladāgama-divasa.
jala means water.
jalada means giver (da) of water, i.e. cloud.
jaladāgama means “the approach of clouds”.
In the next part of the sentence, instead of jalada, the author uses jaladhara, the container/bearer/possessor of water.
I guess the words are used alliteratively.
I really can’t break down the rest of a very long compound word confidently.
It says: jaladhara-chāyā-malina-
chāyā basically means shadow, though it may mean a lot many other things like:
a reflected image, reflection;
shading or blending of colours, play of light or colours,
lustre, light, colour, colour of the face, complexion, features;
gracefulness, beauty; a series, multitude.
ambara interestingly, means both clothes, apparel, robes, as well as the sky, atmosphere, ether.
Thus, some of the followers are compared to those days (divasa) when the dark water-laden rain-clouds approach (jaladāgama) – when the sky (ambara) is overcast with dark clouds (jaladhara).
Why?
Because of their soiled, dirty, or dark-colored/gray (malina)
That is, they’re wearing clothes which are dirty/soiled (they’re hunters) or clothes which are dark or gray or black or
I think Ridding ignores the pun or wordplay when it comes to the word ambara which also means sky.
The punning amounts to this: (the followers of Mātanga) are like the days of the rainy season (jaladāgama-divasa) when the sky (ambara) is darkened (malina) by the tenebrosity of rainclouds (jaladhara-chāyā) – as their clothes (ambara) are also dark (colored) (malina), or perhaps, simply soiled/dirty (malina).)
...
“He had his sword-sheath, as a wood its rhinoceroses;
(khaḍga means a sword, scimitar, or a large sacrificial knife, as well as rhinoceros.
The translator says “She-rhinoceros”, which may be khaḍgadhenu which also means a small knife.
Thus, He had his khaḍgadhenu i.e. sword – like a forest (araṇya) which has its khaḍgadhenu (she-rhinoceros).)
...
“like a fresh cloud (abhinava-jaladhara), he held a bow bright as peacocks’ tails;
...
“like the demon Vaka, he possessed a peerless army;
(There is a Rākṣasa (a sort of supernatural being in our literature) known as Baka, who had terrorized a town known as Ekacakra (lit. “having one wheel”), from which he exacted a tribute of human sacrifice, in the Mahābhārata.
ekacakra also means possessing only one army.
The translator gives a footnote:
Ekacakra = (a) a city possessed by Vaka; (b) one army, or one quoit.
Why peerless? Probably in the sense of “only one of a kind” i.e. incomparable.
Thus, like Baka possessed (the city) Ekacakra, he possessed an incomparable army (ekacakra).)
...
“like Garuḍa, he had torn out the teeth of many large nāgas;
...
“he was hostile to peacocks, as Bhīshma to Çikhaṇḍī;
{In the Mahābhārata, the invincible warrior Bhīshma dies because of the character Shikhaṇḍī;
śikhaṇḍi also means peacock;
since he’s a hunter, he’s an enemy of śikhaṇḍi (peacocks) just like Bhīshma was an enemy of Shikhaṇḍī (the character).
Strictly speaking, it was the other way round: in the story, Shikhaṇḍī was hostile to Bhīshma; Bhīshma refuses to fight her in battle, because she’s not a man or warrior, & is defeated.}
...
“like a summer day (nidāgha-divasa), he always showed a thirst for deer;
(mṛgatṛṣṇā: the dictionary says “deer-thirst” , mirage, vapour floating over sands or deserts, fancied appearance of water in deserts.
Apparently, the meaning is “thirst for deer”, i.e. desire to hunt down deer.
The pun is: Like the hot summer day always manifests (āvirbhūta) a mirage – he manifests (or expresses) a desire to hunt down deer.)
...
“like a heavenly genius, he was impetuous in pride;
(This is ... inaccurate.
Rather, it doesn’t convey the layers of thought hidden beneath the external shell of the words.
The original says vidyādhara, which is a special class of beings in Indian mythology, somewhat wrapped up in the mist of mysticism & esotericism.
They might have been initiates or sorcerers who had acquired special magical powers.
The literal meaning is “Wielder of Knowledge” or “One who bears (dhara) Knowledge (vidyā)”.
The word “heavenly” doesn’t even occur in the original.
The non-Indian reader who reads the translation will understand nothing, none of the connotations of the term vidyādhara.
What is meant is: He is mānasavega like a Vidyādhara.
...
The punning is focused on the word mānasavega which can be broken up into mānasa and vega.
I think Ridding translates as vega (impetuous) in mānasa (pride).
māna does mean haughtiness, arrogance; pride.
The punning is, of course, lost in this translation.
I don’t know if Vidyādharas are supposed to be proud, but they may be associated with the Lake Mānasa (“Of the Mind”) – which is how the pun is built.
Thus, the punning with the two words refers to the vidyādharas eager for – or moving (flying) swiftly, with great velocity (vega) towards – the sacred Lake Mānasa – and being full of pride (mānasavega = “quick as thought” as well as “active with pride”).
(I wonder if the statement can also be read as: as a bearer of knowledge (i.e. a realized initiate or mystic who has acquired mystic powers) he is as quick as thought.)
...
I must note that “Heavenly being” means absolutely nothing in specific.
There are many sorts of “heavenly beings” in Indian mythology.
The only possible justification for the peculiar choice of words by Ridding is that the Vidyādharas are typically known to be flying around in the air, and are portrayed pretty much like the Angels of Christian art: i.e. the Angels of Christian art have been taken verbatim from the Indian Vidyādharas.
In Indian art they are portrayed as flying beings holding garlands, and approaching the Divinity or sacred figure represented in the center of any sculptural depiction.)
...
“as Vyāsa followed Yojanagandh
(I don’t get this either; the original text has Parāśara, the father of Vyāsa.
Yojanagandhā is the mother of Vyāsa, begotten by Parāśara.
yojanagandhā also means musk, or probably the musk-deer.)
...
“like Ghaṭotkaca, he was dreadful in form...
(The wordplay here is that what has been translated as “dreadful in form” is bhīma-rūpa; and Ghaṭotkaca was the son of Bhīma, in the Mahābhārata;
bhīma means “terrible, dreadful, awful, terrific, fearful” etc..
Thus bhīma-rupa can be translated as “who has assumed, or who bears, a terrific form”.
Now Ghaṭotkaca was not only terrible to behold, he is also the son of the 2nd Pāṇḍava brother, Bhīma – and thus, can be said to have the form of Bhīma.
Thus, the pun is: Like Ghaṭotkaca, he (the Shabara) was terrible in form (bhīma-rupa) – just as Ghaṭotkaca had the form (rūpa) of Bhīma.
In the epic, Bhīma himself is quite a formidable, violent giant-like figure himself, proverbially endowed with the strength of 10,000 elephants.
But he isn’t a monstrosity like his Rākṣasa son – he is supposed to be a very beautiful man.
rūpa has many meanings such as “nature, character, peculiarity, feature; likeness, image, reflection”.
Ghaṭotkaca having the rūpa of his father Bhīma may not refer to Bhīma’s beauty, but to his gigantic strength, his impetuous & violent nature, his proud bearing, his terrible prowess & so on.)
...
“as the locks of Umā were decked with Çiva’s moon, so was he adorned with the eyes in the peacocks’ tails;
(I hope I got this correct: part of the wordplay is that one of Shiva’s names is nīlakaṇṭha, “blue-throated”; but nīlakaṇṭha also means peacock;
I’m not sure why are the locks of Umā decked with Shiva’s moon: Umā is Shiva’s consort; probably a reference to the half-man-half-woman form of Ardhanārīśvara.
The original says Acala-rāja-kanyaka – (Daughter of the King of Mountains) – not Umā.
candraka means both Moon as well as the eye of a peacock’s tail.
Thus, as Acalarāja-kanyaka’s locks of hair were decked with Nīlkaṇṭha’s (i.e. Shiva’s) Candraka (Moon) – his (the Shabara’s) hair was decked with nīlkaṇṭha’s (i.e. peacock’s) candraka (tail-eye) – i.e. he was wearing peacock feathers on his head.
...
“as the demon Hiraṇyakaçipu by Mahāvar
(This is also wrong; completely wrong.
The original says Hiraṇyākṣa, who was the brother of Hiraṇyakaśipu.
The Mahāvarāha, Great Boar, is Viṣṇu, who kills both “demons”, but in two different episodes altogether, in two separate incarnations.
But Bāṇa is correct & Ridding is wrong: The Varāha incarnation kills Hiraṇyākṣa – on the other hand, it is the Narasiṁha incarnation which kills Hiraṇyakaçipu.
The punning is simple enough: since he’s a zealous hunter, his chest (vakṣa-sthala) has been torn (vibhinna) by the tusks (daṁṣṭra) of mighty/huge boars (mahā-varāha), like the breast of the Dānava Hiraṇyākṣa was cleft open by (the incarnation) Mahāvarāha.
Ridding might have been puzzled by the fact that Indian sculptures always show the Lion-headed Avatāra, Narasiṁha, tearing open the abdomen of Hiraṇyakaśipu.)
...
“like an ambitious man, he had a train of captives around him...
...
“like a demon (piśitāśana), he loved the hunters...
(Again, the translation doesn’t make much sense.
The original says: Like a piśitāśana – a flesh eater/ flesh-eating demon/cannibal – he is greedy for (lubdha) blood (rakta).
The punning seems to be for the second part, because lubdhaka also means hunter, and rakta means “attached to”, “fond of”.
Thus, He was like a flesh-eating fiend, to whom the hunters were attached.)
...
“like the gamut of song, he was closed in by Nishādas...
(In India, the musical scale’s highest note is known as Nishāda;
Nishādas are mountain-hunting tribes, either the same as, or one of, or like, the Shabaras.
In other words, Niṣādas are hunting along with the Shabaras, in this scene.)
...
“like the trident of Durgā, he was wet with the blood of buffaloes...
(The Goddess is worshipped as the slayer of the Asura (anti-god) called Mahiṣa, also means buffalo.
Mahiṣa himself was originally depicted as a buffalo, & later, as a man stepping out of a decapitated one.
The original says Ambikā, which is another name for Durgā.
Thus, since he’s such a ferocious hunter, his body is wet with the blood of the hunted buffaloes (mahiṣa) like the trident of Ambikā red with the blood of the “demon” Mahiṣa.)
...
“though quite young, he had seen many lives pass...
(Translator footnote:
(a) Had passed many ages;
(b) had killed many birds.
The second part says: kṣapita-bahu-vayas.
kṣapita means ruined, diminished, destroyed, etc. & evidently carries the sense of passing away.
As we say of someone dead: so-&-so has passed away -- so-&-so died.
bahu: many
vayas means both bird, as well as “vigorous age, youth, prime of life, any period of life, age”.
I think the sentence is meant to be paradoxical – but I’m not sure if the meaning is clear.
It seems to be: Though his age is quite young, he has seen the passing away (kṣapita, i.e. death, slaughter) of many (bahu) ages (vayas, which also means “birds”) – pun being on: he has killed so many birds though being very young.)
...
“though he had many hounds (sārameya), he lived on roots and fruits...
(I think the meaning is that he has much wealth (sāra) and corn (
meya meaning “that which is fit to be measured/measurable/ to be measured” – yet he lives on roots & fruits.
A strange statement made for a tribal chief, who lives in mountain forests, seems to do nothing but hunt quite brutally, & makes bloody sacrifices to the Mother Goddess.
sārameya also means dog or hound.
The pun maybe that though he has many hounds (to hunt so much game) – (he doesn’t eat all that animal meat) – he lives on roots & fruits.
Similarly, though he has much wealth, he has only frugal fare.
I return to this point below.)
...
“though of Kṛishṇa’s hue, he was not good to look on...
(The translation doesn’t seem to convey the original thought precisely.
The idea is: his complexion is black (kṛṣṇa), hence, he’s like Kṛṣṇa (who is also black, or blue-black).
Now Kṛṣṇa wields a fiery, flaming wheel-discus known as Sudarśana.
However, sudarśana also means beautiful, lovely.
Thus, though he is (like) Kṛṣṇa (i.e. literally, dark), he doesn't possess Sudarśana, i.e. is not beautiful (asudarśana).
A rather strange statement, the implication being that if he is dark – if he has Kṛṣṇa’s complexion – he ought to be handsome.
I think the meaning is somewhat different.
The implicit idea is that Kṛṣṇa is considered an an epitome of male beauty – thus, though the Shabara is Kṛsṇa (black-complexioned/like the god Kṛsṇa who is stunningly beautiful) – he does not possess sudarśana (is not beautiful/the fiery disc).
This seems to contradict the statement made earlier: “he filled the wood with beauty that streamed from him sombre as dark lotuses, like the waters of Yamunā”.
However, the original says deha-prabhā – which might be accurately translated as lustre of his body – not beauty.)
...
“though he wandered at will, his mountain fort was his only refuge...
(Fort/fortress/citadel is durga.
And his refuge is the goddess Durgā.
That is, he is a worshipper of Durgā (the word durgā is the feminine of durga).)
...
“though he always lived at the foot of a lord of earth (kṣitibhṛt), he was unskilled in the service of a king.”
(kṣitibhṛt can be interpreted both as King and as Mountain.
Thus, though he always lived at the foot of a King (i.e. a Mountain) – he was unskilled in the service of a King – i.e. he served no master.)
I’d like to write a little more on some of the lines above:
§ “some, like Jain ascetics, held peacocks’ tails...”
The original is kṣapaṇa.
This is a footnote from another work by Bāṇa:
“The Digambara Jainas carry peacocks’ tails in their hands to sweep insects from their path.”
So that they won’t step on them & deprive them of their lives.
These kinds of ideas are found in Hinduism too.
Digambara means one who has the “directions” (or sky, or space) (“dik”) for his apparel (“ambara”): i.e. one who is naked.
The other types are Shvetāmbara Jains: those whose robes are white (shveta).
There is an ironic contrast here: these are brutal, fierce hunters, but they’re dramatically compared to the highly sensitive, vegan Jaina monks.
kṣapaṇa, however, needn’t necessarily mean Jaina monk.
§ “like Garuḍa, he had torn out the teeth of many large nāgas...”
This brings out an important point: in India, the word nāga, means both serpent and elephant.
Garuḍa can be called a mythological bird, but he is actually a very singular, significant presence, in Indian literature.
In the Mahābhārata, he is eulogized as a great god, almost in terms of the Supreme Being.
{
· “Thou art Prabhu,
· Thou art Tapana,
· Thou art Sūrya,
· Thou art Parameṣṭhin,
· Thou art Prajāpati...
· Thou art Jagatpati
· Thou art Dhātā
· Thou art Vidhātā...”
– Ādi Parva, Mahābhārata}
In the Rig Ved, he is known as Garutmat, and is equated to the Sun, which praise can also be construed as an eulogy of the Supreme Being {i.e. we may say that Garutmat is an epithet of the Supreme Being}.
Generally, we think of him as an eagle, but there is actually no reason to.
In 18th-19th century paintings, he looks like a composite bird, combining attributes of a rooster & a parrot.
Typically, he is the vāhana, or “vehicle” of Viṣṇu, just as the bull is the vehicle/carrier of Shiva, the lion, of Pārvatī, etc.
That might reveal his inner significance, but even I am not very clear on is he exactly meant to represent.
There are many possibilities, from the “Thunder-Bird” i.e. “Bird of Thunder” to the Sun itself, and many other besides.
At the meteorological level, he may refer to the Dawn, or the Rays of the Sun, or the Morning Sun.
It’s pretty fuzzy.
His brother is Aruṇa, the charioteer of the Sun, whom the dictionary defines as Dawn.
Indeed, in the present quote, in the original of Bāṇa’s text, the precise word used is Aruṇānuja, “the younger brother of Aruṇa”, while the translator has given Garuḍa.
Mythologically, he is depicted as the great enemy of the serpent race, i.e. the Nāgas.
His enmity with the Nāgas is proverbial.
Esoterically & symbolically, this enmity is not to be taken literally, and the meaning seems to be something completely different.
Anyway, the wordplay, the pun is that the Shabara had torn out the teeth (i.e. had killed ) of many Nāgas, i.e elephants, just as Garuḍa had killed many Nāgas, i.e. serpents.
There might be some (esoteric? symbolic) reference to pulling out the teeth of serpents, i.e. depriving them of their fiery poison, as well.
In Indian literature, enemity between the Lion & the Elephant is reflected in the enemy between the Bird & the Serpent.
This is the archetype of a primordial conflict which has been used even in the 20th century by J.K. Rowling, who pits the Lion (Gryffindor) against the Serpent (Slytherin) :)
§ “as Vyāsa followed Yojanagand
As before, this doesn’t make sense, and infact, seems to be a complete mistranslation.
Yojanagandhā is Vyāsa’s mother
His father was a great Rishi, Parāśara.
yojanagandhā means “diffusing scent or fragrance to the distance of a yojana”, 1 yojana = 8 miles.
Basically, this lady was born (with a male child) from the body of a fish (who was, in fact, a celestial dame, i.e. an apsarā́), and used to smell like fish.
She lived amongst fishermen, as a boat-woman (i.e. plying a boat on a river), but was of exquisite beauty (she herself was of celestial origin).
One day the great sage Parāśara saw her &, well, wanted to mate with her.
After having had intercourse with her, Parāśara not only grants her the boon of retaining her virginity, but also of being intensely fragrant.
She becomes so sweet-scented, that she diffused her fragrance (gandha) for a whole yojana around.
Hence, the name Yojanagandhā.
That very day, she begot her son, Veda Vyāsa, who becomes the author of the Mahābhārata, and the grandfather of all the protagonists, and one of the greatest of all Indian sages.
He grows up right before her eyes, asks for her permission to study the Vedas, and leaves – immediately.
It doesn’t make sense that Vyāsa would “follow” his mother.
And the original clearly says Parāśara.
I have no clue why has the author rendered Parāśara as Vyāsa.
She has confused father & son.
Vyāsa is a constant presence in the epic, and does remain in touch with his mother.
Indeed, one of the most crucial events in the epic involves his begetting children on her dead son’s’ widowed wives – at her behest – an event which shapes the course of the entire story.
(It seems Rishis, great sages, often begot children on the wives of Kings who were unable to procreate themselves.)
But that doesn’t make sense, in the present context.
It doesn’t amount to any sort of “following” at all, let alone anything to do with her being fragrant.
There is a sort of obedience to a mother’s request, but it doesn’t fit the punning on a hunter following a deer.
Strictly speaking, it is doubtful if Parāśara follows Yojanagand
There might be some legend or tale somewhere I don’t know of.
But it can taken figuratively: he was attracted to her, and wanted to mate with her (I think she was taking him across the river on the boat) – and they do “make love”.
I do know that the King Shāntanu, much later, does follow her fragrance, and falls madly in love with her.
But that’s a different story altogether.
Anyway, the punning involves the word yojanagandhā, which, according to the dictionary, means musk.
It either also means musk-deer (the dictionary doesn’t give all meanings) or refers to the notion that hunters smell the musk of a deer from a distance, which helps them track the deer & hunt them down.
So, just as Parāśara followed Yojanagan
— the Shabara hunter follows the yojanagandhā, i.e. the musk of the deer, or the musk-deer, to hunt it down.
There might be a sexual double-entendre or something, relating to following (& seeking sexual favours) and hunting (mating).
§ “though he had many hounds (sārameya), he lived on roots and fruits...”
This seems to be a complicated sentence, not to mention a very curious fact stated by the author.
Why does a blood-dripping hunter & worshipper of Caṇḍikā live on roots & fruits?
If he eats like an ascetic, why is he such a fervent hunter?
The very next paragraph (not included in this quote), expresses a mixture of awe & aversion for this man & his tribe.
We read:
“For their one religion is offering human flesh to Durgā;
their meat, mead, (madhu-māsa) and so forth, is a meal loathed by the good (sādhu-jana)...”
I have to note that “to Durgā” – or equivalent – isn’t mentioned in the original text.
Yet, puruṣa-piścita – human flesh – or flesh of men – is definitely mentioned as being offered or given as oblation (upahāra).
In the novel, this Shabara is being described by a parrot, and the parrot reminisces about the Shabara, and men like him.
It is in this context we read: “their meat, mead, and so forth, is a meal loathed by the good”.
In the light of such statements, what sense does it make, that the Chief, Mātanga, lives on roots (phala) & fruits (mūla)?
As for the line itself, according to Ridding, “though he had many hounds” may be interpreted as “though he had much wealth”.
The Indian commentator clarifies that sārameya maybe broken up into wealth (sāra) and corn (
Thus, the sentence may be rewritten as: though he has much wealth & corn, he lived on roots & fruits.
Is he being compared to a man who is very wealthy, but still eats frugally like a saint?
And why is has such a comparison been made for a ferocious, murderous, human-sacrificing Shabara whose
“... exercise is the chase;
... çastra (in the original, śāstra) is the cry of the jackal;
... their bosom friends are dogs (paricita – acquainted with; probably simply whose acquaintances are dogs);
... kingdom is in deserted woods;
... feast (utsava) is a drinking bout (āpānaka)
... dwelling is with savage tigers;
... worship of the gods (deva-arcana) is with the blood of beasts (paśu-rudhira),
... sacrifice (bali-karma) with flesh (maṁsa),
... livelihood by theft (caurya)”?
§ “like an ambitious man, he had a train of captives around him (kṛta-bahu-bandī-parigraha) ...”
The original says: ati-rāgin.
rāgin means impassioned, affectionate, enamored, passionately fond of or attached to or hankering after (in compounds); a lover, libertine; even a wanton and intriguing woman.
The fundamental idea, from the root rāga, is that of passion.
The prefix ati signifies extreme, as in extremely passionate.
The Indian Commentator notes: Licentious, Lewd.
ati-rāgin means one who is an excessive voluptary or excessively given to sensuality.
The second part of the statement may be construed as: women in bondage, or women taken captive, or simply female slaves.
However, according to the Indian Commentator:
§ the word relating to captives (bandin) also may be interpreted as bard, i.e. bards singing tales of his renown.
§ ati-rāgin also means “ambitious of glory & renown”.
In Ridding’s translation, the wordplay seems to mean:
The Shabara has a train of captives around him – which makes him look like a highly ambitious man
– just as an extremely licentious, lascivious man is surrounded by female slaves, or has a train of women in bondage around him.
...
The word bandin means praiser, bard, herald, encomiast – the dictionary says: “who sings the praises of a prince in his presence or accompanies an army to chant martial songs; these bards are regarded as the descendants of a kṣatriya by a śūdra female”.
bandin also means a prisoner, captive, slave; also plunder, loot, spoil.
Thus,
§ the Shabara is surrounded with, or followed by a train of captives (also loot – from the forest – as a hunter?)
§ just like a highly ambitious man (ati-rāgin) is surrounded by, or followed by a gaggle of bards or encomiasts (bandin), who keep eulogizing him & singing his praises
§ just like an extremely licentious, lewd man (ati-rāgin) is surrounded by several female slaves or women in bondage (bandin).
Mr. Ridding’s translation does not convey any of these meanings.
However, I don’t want to denigrate it in any way.
Translating such a layered text is a Herculean task, and she must be applauded for attempting it.
The beauty & luxuriance of Bāṇabhaṭṭa’s prose undoubtedly comes through, in Ridding’s work, but to appreciate it as it truly one, one has to be well acquainted with the Itihāsas, Purāṇas and poetics of India, and have some idea of Sanskrit works, and delve deep into each & every sentence & word Bāṇabhaṭṭa writes carefully.
“May the guardians of the world, free from indolence,
protect the orb of the Earth.
May the clouds pour down their rain in due season.
May the whole kingdom be free from calamity, and supplied with grain.
May poets make sweet verses,
which will give undying pleasure to the world.
And may the learned go forth and teach men to delight in the compositions of others.”
– Mahāvīra Carita by Bhavabhūti
