Just a place to jot down my musings.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

A beautiful verse on Kṛṣṇa (but what does it mean?)

This is a gorgeous verse on Kṛṣṇa, in a style that I've never seen before.

mand(r)a-kvāṇita-veṇur ahni śithile vyāvartayan gokulam
barhâpīḍakam uttamâṅga-racitaṃ go-dhūli-dhūmraṃ dadhat |
mlāyantyā vana-mālayā parigrahaḥ śrānto 'pi ramyâkṛtiḥ
gopa-strī-nayanôtsavo vitaratu śreyāṃsi vaḥ keśavaḥ ||

The version that Michael Coulson cites in Teach Yourself Sanskrit to illustrate the meter (the awesomely named Śārdūlavikrīḍitā) uses the word manda; another version of the verse I found online here (which claims that this is from the Subhāṣita-ratna-kośa anthology of Vidyākara, who attributes it to a certain Śubhaṅkara) uses mandra. The Padyāvalī of Rūpa Gosvāmin (available here) also cites the verse with the word mandra, and opens it with the context atha sāyaṃ Harer Vrajâgamanam. I'm going to try to translate it thus:

The day slackens—
His flute's music slow and soft, he circles Gokula,
        embraced by a garland of withered wildflowers,
        the crest-jewel peacock feather adorning his head all red from the cows' dust,

        tired, and yet beautiful to look at:
May Keśava—
        the delight of the gopīs' eyes!—
bestow felicity upon us!

Śreyas is a difficult word to translate. It conveys all manners of positive qualities—"virtue," "blessings," "good," "happiness," possibly "excellence".

I'm curious about the possible theological implications of such a depiction of Kṛṣṇa. What does it mean to depict a form of God (and at least for Rūpa Gosvāmin and many modern Hindus, the supreme form of God) in this particular mode? This is a very human portrayal of Kṛṣṇa, much more so than those of Kṛṣṇa as a playful child or a beautiful young man, and associates with him the human qualities (some would call them "failings") of exhaustion and dustiness; even the flowers he wears are withered. And despite all of that, he is gopa-strī-nayanôtsavaḥ, the limitless joy and exultation of the eyes of the lovely women of Vraja. Why? How? What does this mean?

One possibility is that the composer was simply building poetically on the image of Kṛṣṇa the cosmic cowherd, but that just doesn't seem as interesting to me. What is really interesting is the phrase śrānto 'pi ramyâkṛtiḥ / gopa-strī-nayanôtsavaḥ, where the presence of the particle api suggests that the verse really is intentionally drawing a contrast between the fact of Kṛṣṇa's "objective" tiredness on the one hand and his "objectively" beautiful form that is "subjectively" delightful to the gopa-strīs. Is it that they are willing to overlook Kṛṣṇa's "faults" because of their love for him? Or is it that Kṛṣṇa chooses to manifest as a tired cowherd for the sake of "realism," for the sake of the milkmaids who know no other life? Perhaps what is mundane and prosaic for those of little faith is in fact what is truly transcendental for those of faith.

(An expanded version of this Swadharma post)

PS: For those of you who care, the meter Śārdūlavikrīḍitā ("playful like a tiger"?) is defined thus:

sūryâśvair yadi māt sa-jau sa-ta-ta-gāḥ Śārdūlavikrīḍitā

In other (non-)words, — — — x x — x — x x x — / — — x — — x — (where the / marks a caesura). Best of all, in the tradition of Sanskrit meter, the definition of a meter is offered in the meter itself!

1 comment:

  1. hey,
    used to be part of the quizzing tribe in the u.a.e.
    you have a wonderful site here. this kleinian friend of mine was recently talking about how vyasa meant diagonal and it triggered off something.
    again, great site.

    ReplyDelete

Why pearls, and why strung at random?

In his translation of the famous "Turk of Shirazghazal of Hafez into florid English, Sir William Jones, the philologist and Sanskrit scholar and polyglot extraordinaire, transformed the following couplet:

غزل گفتی و در سفتی بیا و خوش بخوان حافظ

که بر نظم تو افشاند فلک عقد ثریا را


into:

Go boldly forth, my simple lay,
Whose accents flow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung.

The "translation" is terribly inaccurate, but worse, the phrase is a gross misrepresentation of the highly structured organization of Persian poetry. Regardless, I picked it as the name of my blog for a number of reasons: 
1) I don't expect the ordering of my posts to follow any rhyme or reason
2) Since "at random strung" is a rather meaningless phrase, I decided to go with the longer but more pompous "pearls at random strung". I rest assured that my readers are unlikely to deduce from this an effort on my part to arrogate some of Hafez's peerless brilliance!

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What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
—W.H. Davies, “Leisure”