Thirteen plays of bhasa pdf

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The Classical Drama of India

Studies in its Values for the

Literature and Theatre of the World

HENRY W. WELLS

Issued under the auspices of

THE LITERARY lfALF-YEARLY

ASIA PUBLISHING HOUSE

BOMBAY· CALCUTTA· MADRAS· NEW DELHI

LUCKNOW . LONDON · NEW YORK

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© HRNRY W. WELLS

PRIN TED IN INDIA

BY Z. T. BANDUKWALA AT LEADERS PRESS PRIVATE LIMITED, BOMBAY AND PUBLISHED BY F. S. JAYASINGHE , ASIA PUBLISHING HOUSE, BOMBAY

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KAPILA VATSYAYANA

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/ Contents

1 INTRODUCTION 1

2 . POETIC DRAMA IN ENGLAND AND INDIA 6

,I( 3 SANSKRIT DRAMA AND THE WORLD STAGE 20

4 SANSKRIT DRAMA AND THE MODERN STAGE 31

5 SANSKRIT DRAMA AND INDIAN THOUGHT

6 ACHIEVEMENT IN EQUILIBRIUM 52

7 SACRED DRAMA 71

8 DEFICIENCIES 81

9 THE ART OF. SWOONIN G 90 /

;( 10 THEATRICAL TECHNIQUE ON THE SANSKRIT

STAGE 99

II SANSKRIT DRAMATIC STYLE II5

12 A PRAKARANA: THE LITTLE CLAY CART 131

13 A NAT AKA : RAMA'S LATER HISTORY

Index 193

'] / Sanskrit Dram a and the World Stage

ONE OF the most remarkable of dramatic literatures has for nearly a thousand years been wrapped in a cloud tlrrough which, it may fairly be said, only occasional beams of light have emerged. Such is the drama of ancient India, never adequately interpreted by criticism since the period of its flourishing shortly after the begin- ning of the Christian era to a little before the completion of the first Christian millennium. We know it as arising largely under the stimulus of the brilliant court cultures once distributed through- out India and as gradually becoming extinct as a creative force during years when the Islamic invasions materially altered the face of the Asian sub-continent. Many of the legends forming its plots survived all changes and do survive even to the present day. I ts influences, as well-known, are still felt . in the presentational arts-drama, puppetry, symbolic dance-extending even from as far as Tibet to Bali. But the languages in which the plays were written have become almost as divorced from world-currency as Anglo- Saxon from the average American or modern Englishman. More- over, it must be acknowledged that the acting styles are nearly as far removed as the original languages. Although Indian dramatic traditions are older and probably more important in a comparative View than those of the Far East, the Indian heritage has been less well preserved than that in Japan or even in China. Nor have the vicissitudes of this heritage in its native land been relieved by any consistent efforts abroad. Many surviving plays have, to be sure, been translated into the European languages, especially into English. It is well-known that they have at times been much praised as dramatic poetry and their original force as pieces for the theatre has been at least acknowledged by scholars. Most of

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Sanskrit Drama and the W orld Stage

the translations, however, were made from fifty to a hundred years ago; many are either stylistically out of date or were origin- ally intended merely as aids to linguistic study, not contributions to dramatic literature. But changes are now visible. Under the spell of an increasing national pride in India since the Second World War there have been a fair number of productions in Sanskrit, given as a rule under academic auspices, the learned character of the languages promoting such presentation. Elsewhere two of the plays, Kalidasa's Shakuntalii, and Siidraka's The Little Clay Cart, have been seen at widely spaced intervals, usually given by ama- teurs, and generally with a sentiment of esotericism, in versions greatly altered and abridged, colored by strong incursions of Western romantic sentiment.

The prospect that the unfavorable conditions will be materially relieved derives from the persistent view that the plays are of high intrinsic value and the fact that they are gradually becoming better understood and more effectively reinterpreted. In India itself the dramas seem destined to be increasingly performed both in the original languages and even in translations addressing a wider audience than these tongues can ever be expected to reach. Outside India the prospect brightens perceptibly. New and more useable translations are becoming available, while the restive departure of Western stages from nineteenth-century realism or naturalism encourages the cultivation of this supremely imaginative drama. Its myths have persistent value; its poetry is much closer to the mind of the West than is the poetry of the Far East; its sheer theatricality and continuity in pantomime elevate it far above a merely provincial theatre. To the greater part of the world, Sans- krit may be a "dead language," but both the poetry and theatric- ality of Kalidasa, Bhavabhiiti, Bhasa, Siidraka and others still prove eminently alive. Their plays must always .have much to teach us regarding the arts of acting and playwriting as well as of poetry itself and offer inexhaustible treasures of psychological, religious, and spiritual insight. Ranging from the comparatively naive to the superlatively sophisticated, they serve many purposes and many different audiences.

A discussion of the problem calls for a brief introductory state- ment regarding its scope, though the circumstances are, naturally, well-known to scholars. The full extent of the early Indian dramatic literature cannot be computed. To begin with, the chronology

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The Classical Drama of India

presents insuperable difficulties. Fragments of early works exist and the tradition merely peters out around 1000 A.D. with a gradual decline in force that can neither be strictly dated nor defined.

. Plays that have survived are of many sorts and in several languages. Although their key-language is Sanskrit, scarcely a single important play is wholly in that tongue. Sanskrit is, of course, used in con- junction with one or more dialects, the former serving almost as a liturgical language, for the chief characters or scenes, and the popular dialects for the less exalted roles. The most important features of Sanskrit drama extend to the Tibetan stage and to drama entirely in other tongues, especially the Tamil of Southern India. It must be frankly acknowledged that many plays are of small value, indeed of almost no value whatsoever as surviving works for the modern theatre either in or outside India. Some of these inferior works are erotic trifles, others, wooden. allegories, the one, too slight, the other, too rhetorical and pretentious to rise to imaginative or lasting power. Probably some fine pieces still remain to be unearthed. It will be remembered that less than fifty years ago thirteen plays, several of high worth, were discovered in a single manuscript collection ascribed to Bhasa. From the total deposit at the present time at least fifteen representative plays lie within range of successful production in virtually any quarter of the civilized world. This chapter is in substance a defense of this statement.

The putting on of the plays calls for a strenuous !hough by no means an impossible exercise of thought, patience, imagination, and research. None is easy. But their production rests potentially within the grasp of any actors reasonably acquainted with poetic drama and stylized acting. Though large audiences cannot be expected for long runs, the plays are within the reach of good repertory companies. University theatres and groups with some training in dancing or in poetic speech enjoy an advantage. A few plays are metaphysical, a few appeal to children; several are dis- tinctly urbane and witty in the connotation of these words imply- ing high sophistication. Almost all encourage spectacular presen- tation, researches in pantomime, the aesthetic use of costume and stage-properties, and artful elocution. Though no play is according to Western terms completely secular or religious, the range extends from works predominantly secular to those predominantly religious. Our view begins with consideration of the more secular as possibly,

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Sanskrit Drama and the World Stage

though by no means certainly, the more readily serviceable today. It is regrettable that Shakuntalii has been more often read and

seen abroad than The Little Clay Cart, for the former has leant itself to much sad dilution , to sentimental, rom antic interpretation, leaving Kalidasa's sterner and more religious conceptions un- realized. The Little Clay Cart is, on the contrary, theoretically at least more ingratiating and rewarding for contemporary actors. /fo be sure, it is very long. In fact, it is the length of two plays and was presumably compounded of two. But abridgment to proportions which seem reasonable to modern playgoers is at least possible and the separate acts, ten in number, may occasionally be given with far more success than implied merely in theatrical exercises. Sudraka's words all but define an inspired stylized acting; pantomime is wedded to language with a firmness hardly dupli- cated in the entire scope of world drama. The detailed picture of customs and manners of a medieval Indian city-life notwithstanding, the play remains astonishingly fresh and universal. Both the pathos and the humor, the emotional depth and the intellectual acuteness, are wonderfully sustained and clearly intelligible. It is probably an easier work for an intelligent modern reader or actor to understand than any by Aristophanes cr even by Plautus. Although Indian critics, as a rule devoted to a more metaphysical stage, do not regard it as their chief drama, it is potentially by far their best dramatic export. Both Shakuntalii and The Little Cl-ay Cart have been sadly diluted but Sudraka's play has never been dissipated and perverted as Kalidasa's has been. A school of acting anywhere in the world can hardly find a work from which more can readily be learned. Especially for theatrical purposes,

. the best recent translation is that by Revilo Pendleton Oliver. An erotic element is conspicuous in most Hindu dramas, as in

most Hindu art. But there are a few outstanding exceptions in the theatre and, incidentally, where the relations of men and women are not in question, sex is seldom conspicuous, partly because where friendship is regarded as ethically quite as important as love between the sexes and second in ethical value only to family life, homosexuality has nothing remotely as conspicuous a place in Hindu thought as in that of Greece, Rome, or even modern Europe. The concept "plotting" suggested to the Hindu mind plots both of statecraft and of drama. Thus, the central figure in a few plays is a witty and idealized prime minister, utterly devoted to his

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The Classical Drama of India

sovereign and resorting to fantastic devices to achieve political ends. Two such statesmen are at times pitted against each other. These features govern the story of a notable play by Visakhadatta, Mudriiriiksasa. The conduct and quality of this work seem only superficially removed from us in time. It is a tense drama, clear, sustained, and consistent from beginning to end, artistically effec- tive and realistically convincing. Though lacking the poetic and religious profundity of possibly more important and representative Sanskrit plays, it shares with them great driving force and is, in fact, one of the most concentrated of all in its effect. It could easily prove gratifying to a modern audience.

Less austere in sentiment and more lightened by humor and fan- tasy is Bha.sa's The Minister's Vows, which also centers attention on intriguing ministers. A love story is implied but not presented in action. Thus, two major figures in the plot, the king, Udayana, and his destined bride, Vasavadatta, are both bypassed with extra- ordinary ingenuity. In almost every scene they are the chief subjects of discussion yet nowhere appear. Nevertheless action remains lively. By analogy, several elephants, all named, are important in the action yet they, too, are not represented on the stage. The scenes are animated and the story easy to follow. The action grips attention. Suspense is handled theatrically. The whole is a political fable, lacking deep poetic significance but with the bright sparkle of a truly ingratiating poetry. It has long been and will long continue to be notable dramatic entertainment. The audience fairly smacks

_ its lips in gusto at the contention of the rival ministers. These two plays, though of good quality, are in a distinct minority,

political plays being less popular and amorous themes, whether in secular, mythological, or religious drama, taking the ascendency. Two amorous romances of superior merit, Bhasa's Vision of Viisava- datta, and Kalidasa's Miilavikiignimitra, have collected astonishingly little dust through the centuries. The former contains mu~h the same element of political intrigue as found in The Minister's Vows, but is far more inspired in its passages of romantic sentiment depicting a kingly lover and two rival queens. In its theme Bhasa's play is remarkably modern, for it deals in Proustian fashion with the rival claims of imminence and memory, and in virtually an Expressionist fasJ:lion with the similar demands of reality and illu- sion, actuality and dream. Not a word is wasted in a succinct and almost perfect work of art. In its fantasy it resem bles Twelfth Night,

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yet is in some ways more poetic, for it dispenses with the hard, Plautan core of Shakespeare's play, which, all its Elizabethan fecundity notwithstanding, rests on a Latin foundation. There is great emotional warmth in Bhasa's romance, resembling in this respect the finest scenes in Beaumont and Fletcher's tragicomedies.

Miilavikiignimitra has suffered unjustly from some blunt compari- sons with Kalidasa's two other plays, which obviously stand on a higher plain of poetic achievement, not to mention enthusiasm. The lesser play looks like deft craftsmanship in work done on commission, the two others appear as spontaneous art. Yet as contribution to a Spring Festival this light and graceful comedy proves highly gratifying. Though not as rich a drama as A Mid- summer-Nighfs Dream, it occupies a place in Kalidasa's trilogy of plays comparable, perhaps, to Shakespeare's "Dream" among his more than thirty works. One is reminded, too, of the light com- edies by John Lyly with mythological themes presented at Queen Elizabeth's court, as Endimion, and The Woman in the Moon. Apart from the extraordinary delicacy and sophistication of the Sanskrit play on intrigues within a Hindu harem there is little to perplex a modern audience. The mythology itself is inescapably channing and acted before us, not left in the obscurity of allusion to a faded Pantheon. For example, that so young and sprightly a heroine as we have here will cause a spring-time tree to blossom at the touch of her foot may offend science but seems crystal clear to poetry. Unquestionably the play was often given in India out-of-doors. A more attractive comedy for an out-of-door summer theatre today would be hard to discover. It is light but by no means slight, for such precision of footing is rare.

Unlike Miilavikiignimitra , the majority of Sanskrit plays surviving as potential theatre do more than introduce myth incidentally; they rely upon it as the major element in their story. And this finn basis in myth goes a considerable distance to accounting for their survival, or, in other words, for their nearly timeless, or universal, appeal. The plots are based largely, though not exclusive- ly, on the two great classical epics of India, the Miihabhiirata, and the Riimiiyana. For many centuries these massive poems stood behind a large part of Indian presentational art , their fertility in inspiring at least the folk-arts extending even to the present. Their force was most powerful in the earlier periods of the literary drama. The majority of Bhasa's plays, the earliest important body of drama

The Classical Drama of India

known to us, treat these epic themes, as a rule to much advantage. There are, to be sure, relatively poor plays based on the epics . Thus Bhasa's The Coronation reads more like a hastily composed, rapid-fire scenario than a dramatic poem. His Statue Play, on the contrary, is a highly sensitive and well composed poetic drama on a major episode in the Riimiiyana. Especially after its opening scene, action progresses with the utmost clarity, Rama's story told almost as directly as Shakespeare tells Othello's. The many verbal indirec- tions and understatements are as a rule thoroughly perspicuous to a reasonably appreciative audience familiar with the best idiom of dramatic poetry. Bhasa's Karna's Task, deserving unqualified praise, is one of the most moving of all one-act plays, in some ways not unlike the late, verse dramas by William Butler Yeats. Played with the high seriousness which it demands, it should deeply impress any spectator favoured with a moderate degree of spiritual insight. In substance it dramatizes the Bhagvad-Gitii, the most spiritually elevated section of the Miihabhiirata. Doubtless the original audi- ence experienced the force of this profound drama more deeply than could be expected of a modern audience; yet even without a philo- sophical understanding of the Bhagvad-Gitii, and even in translation, this succinct little tragedy becomes almost unspeakably moving. Bhasa's play will always be a reflective and spiritual drama of the highest magnitude, all the better artistically because the predo- minantly didactic poem that stands behind it is so thoroughly translated into the action of an enthralling drama.

Many pages of the Indian epics are, indeed, far removed from meditations such as the Bhagvad-Gitii. Some will seem to modern readers more like the saga mythology of Scandinavia or to resemble the early and relatively savage mythology of pre-Homeric Greece. This violent, primitive, and brutal action at times transfers itself into impressive drama. Venisamhiira, by Bhatta Narayana, possess- es these qualities. To be successfully produced it must, accordingly, be played in a very different manner from any style required by other plays mentioned in this discussion. But it is a moving story, firmly of a piece, full of pain, trouble, tragedy, and despair. Though possessing little of the grace or luminosity found in the works of the more famous Sanskrit dramatists, it comes close to expression which the violent West has long known and knows only too well today. It may remind us of The Song of Roland, or even of stark dramas based on heroic incidents of the latest war. Potentially,

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at least, the play has by no means passed out of the repertory of world drama.

Kalidasa is exceptional, for he possesses a suavity and dignity, a poetic richness and containment, matched seldom and possibly most closely by Sophocles. Both his two masterpieces are myths for the stage and must be so understood and presented if they are to yield their true meaning. The heroine, Shakuntala, in other words, must not be made to resemble Goethe's Dorothea, no matter how well the producer recalls Goethe's praise of Kalidasa's work. Her play is not a romantic drama but a sacred drama. The same holds even more clearly for Vikramorvaci, a less elaborated work, though a little more difficult for modern actors to present, especially because of the climax of its poetry, the long soliloquy comprising the greater part of Act Four. The hero, to be sure, vehemently addresses many living forms of nature. But for most of the scene no response follows, unless a barren echo be held an exception. Yet without question, save for minor reservations, Vikramorvaci clearly comes within the potential of outstanding dramatic per- formance today, though still one of the most intensely Indian of all plays.

Although popular India has devotedly cherished the Shakuntala legend, Indian scholars have expressed scarcely less esteem for Bhavabhiiti's masterpiece based on epic sources, Riima's Later History, than for Kalidasa's ShakuntaUi. Bhavabhiiti's work is a treasure for the theatrically elite, one of the most intense and stirring of all Sanskrit plays and marking in many ways the high-point of the great mountain range of serious dramas on Hindu epic themes. Action is at a minimum. There is virtually no plot, no intrigue, no antagonist, no comic relief. Yet as lyric drama profoundly adapted to stage performance this work has few rivals. Its theatrical qualit- ies, no less than its psychological, moral, and philosophical pro- perties, make it typical of the Indian theatre at its best. A major dramatic poem, indeed almost a miracle of virtuosity, it offers a supreme opportunity for the producer. Little in the play clouds it from modern eyes if only it be performed with a fair degree of imagination and skill. The theme is at heart simply the disinte- gration and reintegration of family life, revealed in a myth on nature's fertility, the loves of earth and sun. Whereas The Little Clay Cart is the most practicable of Sanskrit plays throughout the world, Riima's Later History is the most challenging.

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The Classical Drama of India

A final instance of myth in a play that strikes one first of all as secular and mythological rather than as religious is Bhasa's The Adventures of the Boy Krishna. This apparently was originally performed, as it must be performed today, with a spirit of naivete, conscious and sophisticated, perhaps, but none the less frankly naive, as though directed, Blake-like, to the child-mind. It is Krishna at play. It relates the miraculous adventures of its hero as a child, one of the symbolic themes most deeply beloved in Hindu art. Much singing and dancing is called for. The conception is that of a pastoral but of a pastoral, like A Midsummer-Night's Dream, whose plot is propelled by Puck, vastly enlivened and invigorated by folkore, a play not so close to the decadent, Hellenistic, purely literary pastoral of ancient Sicily as to the folk- dramas of medieval, rural England. The Indian fantasy retains complete freshness and captivating charm. It can best be given today in the Western World before an audience in which there are many children, probably as a production primarily for children, possibly even by children. This is the type of play which every- where successful directors of theatres for the young, as the inspired and cosmopolitan-minded leader of the famous theatre for children in Antwerp, Cory Lievens, have consistently found popular. Exotic as the play's imagery or fable is to the world at large, its heart is native everywhere and always. For successful performance it calls, of course, for good dancing, good music, and bright spectacle.

Though all the plays dealing with myth partake generously of religious feeling, those just considered do so with some degree of indirection and we naturally think of them first of all as poetic mythology, not religious propaganda. But there are several deeply religious plays explicitly pious and even more fit, it would seem, for the temple than for the court and proclaiming the ascetic virtues of sacrifice, rectitude, non-resistance and contemplation. Their auster- ities may not be generally put into practice but even today are still powerful and in some respects more compelling to man's conscience than ever. Conspicuous among works that contain such idealism and retain high theatrical potency are Harsa's Niigananda, and two lyrical dramas a little outside the pale of Sanskrit literature but clearly a part of the great Indian dramatic tradition, the celebrated Tamil play, Arichandra, ascribed to Renga Pillai, and the Tibetan buddhistic drama, Tchrimekundan , ascribed to the Talelama, Tsongs-Dbyangsrgyamthso. These are very eloquent works, quite

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capable of presentation today on a poetic stage. The story of the Tamil masterpiece is basically that of The Book of Job, with the considerable differences occasioned respectively by their Hindu and Semitic origins. Arichandra gives relatively much more attention to the wife and offspring, revealing the central place of family life in Indian thought. The Tibetan drama further presents a contrast between power and mercy.

Nagananda requires little or no cutting or arrangement. The two other works, long and episodic, resemble novels in dramatic form. Nevertheless, where both content and theatrical inspiration are initially so strong, adaptation even to the modern stage is by no means difficult or embarrassing. In fact, there is no really authorit- ative text for either of these dramas, which, like the Western Every-

/ man, have persisted from century to century with extensive accre- tions, deletions, and adulterations. Their initial impulse is powerful and unmistakable, their poetic and theatrical energy no less vigor- ous. Here are two rich mines, one in the loftiest Himalayas, the other in the tropical lowlands of Southern India, from which theatri- cal gold may still .be extracted. Such plays may be successfully produced in an essentially secular theatre but are possibly best suited for production by actors under sponsorship of a religious institution, for they reach the very core of religious consciousness itself, where all distinctions between sects and creeds vanish before the disclosure of the religious heart of univer-sal man.

All fifteen dramas described in this chapter are of value in chal- lenging the skill and inventiveness of the performers. Hardly any artifice or convention known anywhere to the world's stage is missing in this most synthetic dramatic literature. Soliloquies, asides, the pantomimic creation of scene and stage properties, imaginative choreography, musical embellishment, simultaneous speaking, simultaneous action of two or more scenes, elaborate montage , stylized acting, naturalistic acting, poetical expression, realistic and colloquial expression, impressionism, expressionism , the physical and the metaphysical, the secular and the divine, ritual, humor, emotional intensity, farce, parody, and fantasy- all are carried to advanced stages of development. True, the Hindu drama lacks much that exists in the Western drama, just as it achieves much that the Western drama does not achieve. Character delineation, an expression of uncompromising will power, tragic purgation, satirical sharpness, logical or dialectical thinking, are

The Classical Drama of I n di a

not carried into their more advanced phases. The emotions implied are much more violent than in most European drama but in sym- pathetic production are intimated rather than n aturalistically expressed, the aesthetic demand for form and control surpassing the indulgence given to (lirect projection of feeling. The basic theme of all Indian dram a is spiritual equilibrium, poise bet ween opposites, rest and fulfillment at the center of violent motion. Sanskrit drama is from the Western point of view th at ultimate paradox, a successful contemplative drama. In the acute theoretical criticism of their dramatic art Indian actors are enjoined to stand above the emotions expressed, no matter how violent; both they and the audience are charged to maintain with a severe and spiritual discipline the con- templative view of life. This is a highly convincing aesthetic and the modern world has similarly discovered it to signify an ingra- tiating outlook in philosophy and religion. Sanskrit plays commence and conclude with prayers to the god of dancing and art, Siva, destroyer and creator. Surely, much is to be gained, whether in the theatre or in life itself, by propitiation of such a profoundly meditated divinity.

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4 / Sanskrit Drama and the Modern Stage

A MOVEMENT in drama or any other art has two distinct values, namely, the absolute value, or pleasure, which its works afford in direct experience, and the relative value , or degree to which they stimulate fresh activity. Of course these two aspects of a classic as seen in perspective are far from being mutually exclusive . Whatever stirs and delights us must influence our own mental and possibly even our social activity. But at least in terms of an alysis, the two aspects must always stand apart. A classic pleases us in itself and contributes to the forces that fashion our own creations. Whenever it is really alive to us, or, in other words, when it answers the de- finition of a classic, it performs both functions. It is remembered for having distinctive qualities that works of no other school pos- sess, whether reference is made to either time or locality, and yet at the same time it is endowed with the potency to enter into the circulation of our own blood.

Although the conclusion of earlier chapters has been that the best Sanskrit plays are capable at the present time of giving warm enjoyment , they have been considered rather in r espect to them- selves and our own more general standards of value than in relation to specific movements or works of twentieth-century origin. More comparison has been made between Sanskrit works on the one hand and the Greek or Elizabethan on the other than between the Indian stage and specimens of current movements in the the atre. The contention has been that the Sanskrit masterpieces resemble planets circulating about a central sun; that they are present to stay ; that they have the power to delight not only our own century but , in somewhat different terms, any civilization of which we can ourselves at the present time dream . We have been concerned with