Just a place to jot down my musings.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Bhavabhūti on language

The Sanskrit dramatist Bhavabhūti is reckoned second only to Kālidāsa in his command over the Sanskrit language, his exquisite depiction of the emotions, and his mastery over the art and the science of literary composition. His Uttararāmacarita is a fascinating and powerful retelling of the seventh chapter of the Rāmāyaṇa, the Uttara Kāṇḍa. This powerful, even tragic, chapter is in fact not included in many versions of the Rāmāyaṇa, in particular Kampan's Irāmāvatāram (also known as the Kamba-ramayanam).

One of the things that makes Bhavabhūti so fascinating is his self-conscious reflection on the power of language and art. While Sanskrit literature in general abounds in such reflection—indeed, there is a Ṛgvedic verse on speech uttered in the voice of Speech personified, which promises to bestow speech upon those Speech favors—Bhavabhūti seems to take it to a whole new level in his work. One verse in particular struck me, because of its self-contained meaning, its particular signification in the immediate context of the play, and its more general meaning in the context of literary works as a whole.

laukikānāṃ hi sādhūnām arthān vāg anuvartate |
ṛṣīṇāṃ punar ādyānāṃ vācam artho 'nuvartate ||



For the good people of this world, their words conform to external reality;
but as for the seers of old, reality conforms to their speech.

This is by no means an original theme in literature, but is expressed succinctly in a highly elegant verse brimming to an astonishing extent with parallelisms. Even if you know no Sanskrit, you can merely look at the verse to identify aural and semantic parallels and contrasts between the two lines. Add, of course, the fact that the word artha simultaneously bears a variety of meanings, from "the meaning of a word" to "external object" to "goal / purpose", and you have a truly hard-hitting verse.

Bhavabhūti was undoubtedly aware of, and possibly responding to, Kālidāsa's famous maṅgalam (benedictory verse) that opens the Raghuvaṃśa, also interesting enough a tale about Rāma's dynasty. This verse is:

vāg-arthāv iva saṃpṛktau vāg-artha-pratipattaye |
jagataḥ pitarau vande pārvatī-parameśvarau ||

I salute
    the Parents of the Cosmos,
    Pārvatī and the Supreme Lord,
        who are intertwined like word and meaning
for the [correct] cognition of word and meaning. 

In the Uttararāmacarita, the verse is recited by Rāma himself in response to a benediction proclaimed by the sage Aṣṭāvakra in which he declares that Sītā will be the mother of heroes. This fact is, of course, well known to Bhavabhūti's intended audience; it is also absolutely central to the plot that lies ahead.

And finally, Bhavabhūti's verse takes on additional significance given his position as playwright. The reality of the play to come is entirely shaped by his words, for he is, in a way, the "seer of old" who represents the truth he has cognized in words in order that it may then be presented—in accordance with his words—to an educated audience sensitive enough to understand the genius of this master dramatist.

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