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of Indian Aesthetics
A Student’s Handbook
of Indian Aesthetics
By
Neerja A. Gupta
A Student’s Handbook of Indian Aesthetics
By Neerja A. Gupta
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Chapter Seven............................................................................................ 61
Abhinavagupta and His Contribution to Aesthetics
Appendix I ................................................................................................. 67
Between Srinagar and Benares
Sunthar Visuvalingam
Appendix II................................................................................................ 77
The Relevance of Sanskrit Poetics to Contemporary Practical Criticism
Umashankar Joshi
Appendix IV .............................................................................................. 99
The Relevance of Rasa Theory to Modern Literature
K. Krishnamoorthy
Neerja A. Gupta
Prabodhini Ekadashi, 10 November 2016
Ahmedabad
CHAPTER ONE
The word “aesthetics” belongs to the field of the science and philosophy
of fine art. Fine art has the capacity to present the “Absolute” in sensuous
garb and aesthetic relation. Indian aesthetics is primarily concerned with
three arts—poetry, music, and architecture—however, sculpture and
painting are also studied under aesthetic theories.
Poetry is the highest form of literature. Indian art is the art of sign and
symbols. This can be seen in the art practice of the eleven participating
artists in “From the Tree to the Seed.” The “adequacy” and “inadequacy”
of symbols are directly related to their “truth” and “frailty.” This adequacy
or inadequacy of the symbol is determined by the degree to which it
symbolises its referent symbol of art, because by being its likeness its
“truth” is iconic and becomes the projection of its intended referent.
Consequently, it communicates super-sensuous truths or forms. Hence,
when symbols of art lack the attribute of likeness, it leads to frailty.
Alternatively, these symbols raise poetry to the mount of aesthetic
pleasure.
Introduction
The first seekers of aesthetic pleasure were the ardent followers of
Vedantic principles. Vendantism seeks pleasures in both attainment and
renouncement, yielding it a unique attribute. “We can assume that there
are two kinds of men in Hindu India, those that live in the world and those
that have renounced it, and begin by considering things at the level of life
in the world.”1
Unfortunately, the whole idea of Hinduism has been disseminated
primarily through one channel of the Veda-UpaniΙad philosophy, in
particular, through ĞaՉkara’s monistic-monolithic idea of Advaita-
1
Louis Dumont, Homo Hierarchicus: The Caste System and Its Implications,
trans. Mark Sainsbury, Louis Dumont, and Basia M. Gulati (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1980), p. 270.
2 Chapter One
VedƘnta. For the Indian aesthetic tradition also, this idea supplied the
primary motifs through which to interpret aesthetic experiences, which
itself presents the impossibility of an aesthetics environment in this
environment. And why, instead of going against the Veda-UpaniΙad
tradition, major early schools of Indian philosophy (except LokƘyata) were
anti-aesthetic and there was pessimism towards life behind all their claims
of moral and ethical beauty.
Vijay Mishra in his interesting study of Indian aesthetics sees two
principles at work: the first is the principle of “non-differentiation and
absolute non-representation,” the second—its complete opposite—is
“excessive representation and differentiation.” He further emphasises that
at first the conception of non-differentiation and absolute representation
led to the mystical tradition in which the relationship between the one and
many is kept intact through an essentially mystical logic.
A critical overview
It has been said that the UpaniΙads tried to find the philosophical
conceptions of religions and gods through deep speculations and the sheer
idea of consciousness. But, as is articulated by Ananda K.
Coomaraswamy, in general the UpaniΙads were too preoccupied with
deeper speculations to exhibit a conscious art, or to discuss why the art of
their times lacked “explicit aesthetics.”2 On that given freedom, neither
free thought nor free sense could have been developed. Coomaraswamy is
right to deny the existence of “explicit aesthetics” in the Upaniԕadic
period. However, he was only considering aesthetics in the context of art;
indeed, in his thought the non-exhibition of art accompanied the non-
existence of aesthetics as a whole.
In terms of their intrinsic nature, Indian philosophical schools can be
divided into two broad categories, Ƙstika (orthodox schools) and nƘstika
(heterodox schools); the first believes in the authority of the Vedas (as a
whole), the second does not accept the authority of the Vedas—in this
category are Jainism, Buddhism, and LokƘyata (although the categories
overlap). The division has also been understood as a division between the
Indian non-atheist school (Ƙstika) and the atheist school (nƘstika)—here,
mainly LokƘyata.
Contemporary debates in Indian aesthetics are a result of dominant
views of the Indian aesthetics tradition and its cross-cultural interactions,
which came about via oriental exigencies and through nationalist
discourses—full of idealisation, sometimes as a total negation of the
2
Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, The Dance of Shiva: Fourteen Indian Essay, p.23.
Concept of Indian Aesthetics 3
3
K. C. Pandey, “A Bird’s-Eye View of Indian Aesthetics,” Journal of Aesthetics
and Art Criticism 24, no. 2 (1965), 59–73.
4 Chapter One
with prayoga (practice)4 and praised as the best among all poetry due to its
effectiveness and wider approaches and significance. In other traditional
performances it is lưlƘ or attam (KΩΙΧalưlƘ, RƘmlưlƘ, Kuddiattam,
Mohiniattam, etc.)—the term also stands for “play.” Moreover, since in
these performances, the performer is at the centre—or one can say that
traditional Indian performances are performer-centric—from this
perspective whatever is performed (presented) by nata (performer) is
nƘΛya (performance). From the viewpoint of presentation, it is an imitation
of that world in which we live (lokavritinukarnam nƘΛyametanmayakrita)
or the representation of the states of three worlds (trailokashyashay
sharvashya nƘΛyam bhƘvanukirtanam). In the words of Brahma, “I have
devised this nƘΛya as the mimicry of the ways of the world, endowed with
various emotions and consisting of various situations.” Therefore, it is
very clear that, although it is an imitation, it is not the imitation of the real
but the ways of the real that is in fact very suggestive (based on
nƘΛyadahrmi), rather than realistic acting based on lokadharmi.5
The NƘΛyağƘstra also discusses the performative and major
psychological aspects of nƘΛya and emphasises the moral and religious
aspect of art with its typical elite and feudal concerns based on Veda-
UpaniΙad philosophy. The purposive definition of nƘΛya in the Indian
aesthetic tradition locates art from the purpose of religion and morality,
rather than in its actual aim of aesthetics, which rests in the free realm of
art. In fact, the differences among different schools of the Indian aesthetic
tradition lies in how they have treated that free realm or ideal condition of
art. This moral and religious aspect of nƘΛya has been well established by
D. C. Mathur. Citing Abhinavagupta’s conception of art, he says:
4
G. H. Tarlekar, Studies in the Natyashastra (Delhi: Motilal Banarasidas, 1975), 2.
5
Ibid., 1.
6
Dinesh C. Mathur, “Abhinavagupta and Dewey on Art and Its Relation to
Morality: Comparisons and Evaluations,” Philosophy and Phenomenological
Research 42, no. 2 (1981): 224–35.
Concept of Indian Aesthetics 5
Long, long ago people of this world of pain and pleasure, goaded by greed
and avarice, and jealousy and anger, took to uncivilised ways of life. It [the
world] was then inhabited by gods, demons, yakshas, rakshas, nagas, and
gandharva Shudras. Various lords were ruling. It was the gods among
them who, led by Mahendra, approached God [Brahma] and requested him
[thus]: “Please give us something which would not only teach us but be
pleasing both to eyes and ears. [True] the Vedas are there but [some like]
the Shudras are prohibited from listening to them. Why not create for us a
fifth Veda which would be accessible to all castes?”8
7
For the original text, see NƗܒyaĞƗstra of Bharata-Muni, Chapter 1, Verses 109–
111.
8
For the original text, see NƗܒyaĞƗstra of Bharata-Muni, Chapter 1, Verses 8–12.
Translation quoted from Adya Rangacharya, The NƗܒyaĞƗstra, 1.
6 Chapter One
and the like (i.e., speech, dress, and make-up and temperament)” it is
called nƘΛya.9 NƘΛya is said to provide the ultimate happiness (Ɨnanda),
which recommends both pleasure and pain in the same intensity.
9
For original texts see NƗܒyaĞƗstra of Bharata-Muni, Chapter 1, Verse 121.
CHAPTER TWO
NƖTYAĝƖSTRA:
ORIGIN AND CONCEPT
Love is the main theme of most of the dramas and vidushaka is the
constant companion of the hero in his love affairs.
(2) The interchange of lyrical stanzas with prose dialogue.
(3) The use of Sanskrit and PrƘkrit languages. Sanskrit is employed by
the heroes, kings, BrƘhmanas, and men of high rank, PrƘkrit by all
women and men of the lower classes.
(4) Every Sanskrit play begins with a prologue or introduction, which
opens with a prayer (nandi) and ends with Bharatavakya.
(1) What were the circumstances that led to the creation of the fifth
Veda, and for whom was it created?
(2) Into how many parts is the NƘΛyaveda divided? Are there so many
parts that it can’t be fully grasped?
(3) What are the various arts that are necessary for the presentation of
drama? Of how many parts is drama made? Is it an organic whole
or merely a jumble?
(4) What are the various means of knowledge that are necessary in
order to know the different parts of drama? And, if drama is an
organic whole and not a mere jumble, “is there any special means
of knowing the interconnection of part”? And, if so, “what is it”?
(5) How are the different parts of drama to be presented?
The answers to the first three questions are given in the very first
chapter. The answer to the first question may be stated as follows: The
circumstances that led to the creation of dramaturgy were the product of
time. During Treta yuga, when Vaivasvata ManvantarƘ was running, the
gods who headed India approached Brahma with a request for him to
create a play thing that would be pleasing to both the eye and the ear and
lead people automatically to follow the path of duty, without the need for
any external compulsion, such as the order of a king.
Such a diversion was necessary for humanity. For humanity, being
under the influence of Rajas, was deviating from the right path, pointed
out by the Vedas, and was ignoring the rites due to the gods. The gods
therefore wanted an instrument of instruction that could be utilised for
instructing all, irrespective of caste, and which would not merely be a
command but instead would be a delightful instruction made palatable by
mixing the bitter tones of command with the sweetness of aesthetics.
These were the circumstances that led to the creation of the fifth Veda.
The second question, into how many parts is the NƘΛyaveda divided?,
is answered as follows: primarily there are four parts, which deal with the
following topics: (1) art for effective speech or recitation (vƘcikabhinƘya),
(2) the art of music, (3) the art of acting, and (4) rƘgas.
10 Chapter Two
The answer to the third question, how are the various parts connected?,
is that drama, with the science or theory of which the NƘΛyaveda is
concerned, primarily presents rƘga, and that the three arts are the means of
its effective presentation. Thus, it is an organic whole.
The answer to the fourth question is that it is apprehended directly
through the eyes and ears. The reply to the fifth question takes up the
whole of the rest of the work.
The Indian dramatic art is the “nƘΛya” in NƘΛyağƘstra. In Indian
tradition, ğƘstra refers to holy writing dedicated to a particular field of
knowledge. The NƘΛyağƘstra is a compilation of work by various sages but
the tradition assigns its authorship to the sage Bharata. Thus, it came to be
called Bharata-Muni’s NƘΛyağƘstra. Its date is not definitely known: it is
taken be from 200 B.C. to 200 A.D. Its present form must have been
reached sometime during this period. The NƘΛyağƘstra is an encyclopaedic
work in thirty-seven chapters; it deals with various topics that are
necessary for the production and presentation of drama before spectators.
With a basic postulation that aesthetics is a study of the state of
fundamental human capacity, a state of the non-alienated condition of the
senses, nƘΛya stands for a broader meaning of art, aesthetics, and
philosophy and envisions the idea of artistic life. For instance, the
NƘΛyağƘstra claims that there is no art, no knowledge, no yoga, and no
actions that are not found in nƘΛya.
The four Vedas were created by Brahma, but lower-caste people and
women were not allowed to study them. So, the myth says, Brahma
created the fifth Veda, called NƘΛyaveda—that is, the art of drama, which
can be studied and practised by everyone. While creating this NƘΛyaveda,
Brahma adopted its constituents from four other Vedas. Recitation was
adopted from Rigveda, music and song from SƘmaveda, histrionics from
Yajurveda, and sentiments from Atharvaveda. Subordinate Vedas, called
Upavedas, were also connected with NƘΛyaveda—for example, Ayurveda
was used to show expressions of diseases, their symptoms, and certain
mental moods, and so on, as explained by Charaka and Sushruta.
Dhanurveda (archery) was made use of in the representation of fights on
the stage. Gandharvaveda was used in the preliminaries and in the actual
performance of drama. SthƘpatyaveda (architectural science) was
necessary for construction of the theatre. Bharata assures us that we cannot
think of any piece of knowledge or lore, art or craft, design or activity that
will not enter into the composition and stage presentation of drama.
The story goes that this NƘΛyaveda was handed over to Indra and Indra
handed it over to Bharata, who supposedly had one hundred sons. This
probably means that Bharata made use of all kinds of people in society,
people who came from all different parts of the country or who had
NƗܒyaĞƗstra: Origin and Concept 11
deformities like squinting eyes, stammering speech, or were very tall, very
short, bald, hunchbacked—just about anybody—in the presentation of the
drama. To play the role of women, Brahma created Apsaras (celestial
maidens), who were experts in dramatic art.
Ancient dramas were danced and presented. The dance form was
attributed to Ğiva. He requested one of his disciples named TƘndu to teach
the dance, hence it was called the TƘndava. The feminine form of dance,
called LƘsya, was taught by PƘrvatư. The drama was performed on the
slopes of the mountains or in the open. Later it was found that it needed
protection from natural calamities and from bad elements in society,
especially when protests from some groups of people take a violent form.
This can be seen even today. Thus, theatres were constructed. Bharata
gives details of the construction of a theatre, including the selection of
land and its preparation, construction materials, building plans, pillars,
measurements, and so on and so forth.
There are rituals it is essential to practise before the presentation of
drama: The principle deities of drama—viz. Brahma, ViԕԜu and Ğiva—are
worshipped. Ğiva is in the form of NatarƘja. Even today, NatarƘja is
offered a puja before any stage performance. Then the well-being of the
spectators is wished for.
The Vedic traditions can be considered intrinsic constituents of the
Vedas and their further substitutes in the form of UpaniΙad and Arnayaka.
The Vedas are divided into four parts, Rig-Veda, SƘma-Veda, Yajur-Veda,
and Atharva-Veda, which are further divided into Samhita, BrƘhmana,
Arnayka, and UpaniΙads. (Due to its complexities and gradual
development, Veda can be divided into four parts: Samhita (a collection of
abstract ritualistic mantras), BrƘhmana (little developed religious texts),
Aranyaka (wilderness texts), and UpaniΙads (philosophical texts). The
early Samhita of the Rig-Veda shows its ritualistic and sacrificial
composition by a primitive society; it is believed to be greatly important
for ceremonial rites that can definitely be considered an art but not
necessarily one with a concept of aesthetics. Because the concept of
aesthetics does not depend on philosophy, it cannot be understood without
philosophy; second, directly or indirectly, aesthetics is a conscious effort
to search for beauty. Therefore, the early development of the Rig-Vedic
period cannot be considered to fall under the scope of aesthetics. In its
gradual development, the Vedic poet exclaimed: “I do not know what kind
of thing I am; mysterious, bound, my mind wonders.” If the same poem
could have been uttered now, it would have been provided with a sense of
aesthetics; however, the truly unaware self cannot perceive the aesthetic.
Thus, it can be explicitly stated that NƘΛya as an art can be evaluated
from its moral and religious philosophy. Here we cannot say that religion
12 Chapter Two
was an aesthetic choice in that society; rather, it applies vice versa that
aesthetics was a religious choice.
In the first chapter of the NƘΛyağƘstra, Bharata gives a mythical
account of the creation of nƘΛya. NƘΛya was created by Brahma, the god of
creation, to meet a demand for a plaything—a source of pleasure to minds
made weary by the strife, wants, and miseries of daily existence. An art
form such as drama fulfils this demand very ably because it has a visual
and aural appeal. Any piece of advice communicated through a visual-
aural form has more of an impact on the human mind than any other form.
A drama, besides offering entertainment, can also influence and uplift the
minds of spectators. Further, there is a chapter discussing the aesthetic
theories, definitions, characteristics, and so forth in detail.
NƖTYAĝƖSTRA:
STRUCTURE AND DESIGN
distinct sequence. The structure of the text can be restated in terms of the
concern of the author to present all levels of artistic experience and all
forms of expression, nature, and level of response.
The thirty-six chapters of the NƘΛyağƘstra can also be grouped from the
point of view of: (i) artistic experience; (ii) the artistic content or state of
being, the modes of expression through word, sound, gesture, dress,
decorations, and methods of establishing correspondences between
physical movement, speech, and physical states also as communication
and reception by audience and readers; and (iii) structure of the dramatic
form, popularly translated as plot. The ittivΩitta is, however, a more
comprehensive term for both structure and phrasing.
On this conceptual foundation, the physical structure of the theatre is
created. Chapter 2 deals with the actual construction of the stage and
theatre including different sizes and shapes of theatre. It is a micro model
of the cosmos. The physical place replicates the cosmic place. He deals at
various lengths with a great variety of subjects all of which together are
needed to build up nƘΛya. He begins with architecture, in the sense that the
second chapter of the NƘΛyağƘstra contains an expert description of the
nƘΛyagrha, the theatre hall. He describes a number of possible structures
of various sizes and shapes, recommending those with the best acoustics
and the best view of the stage for all viewers. More integral to the theatre
itself is the division of the stage space into separate sections, known as the
kaksya-vibhaga (described in chapter 13).
NƘΛya for Bharata was a representation of the triloka—the three worlds
of gods, men, and demons. The kaksya-vibhaga divisions symbolically
transform the stage into the cosmos, allotting separate space to separate
lokas; furthermore, since it is the world of men that is mostly to be
represented, the kaksya-vibhaga divides the stage into different geographic
categories, such as the city, the village, the forest, the mountain, the river,
and the like.
The chapters that follow, chapters 3, 4, and 5, are closely linked.
Bharata begins with conceptual, mythical, and physical space in chapters 1
and 2. Chapter 3 concerns the methodology for consecrating the physical
space that is created so that for the time and duration of the play the space
is cosmic.
The formal ĞƘstra of the nƘΛya begins with chapter 6. ĞƘstras formally
begin with a catalogue of the major concepts and categories that together
describe and articulate the field to be surveyed. Such a catalogue, a
conceptual itinerary of what is to follow, was often termed uddesa (aim).
Bharata calls it sangraha (a collection).
Introducing the sangraha, he says that it is difficult to say everything
about nƘΛya in its entirety. Why? Because it consists of many fields of
18 Chapter Three
Buddha broke the seven strings one by one and still the notes
continued. It shows that the influence of music lasted even after the
actual music stopped. There are other types of vưԜƘs that have
fourteen strings for two saptakas (mahati) and twenty-one strings
for three saptakas (mattakokila).
2. Wind-blown instruments are called sushira: these wind blown
instruments include the flute. They are hollow and have holes to
control the airflow. The flute is the major instrument while the
conch and the tundakini are the subordinate ones. The shahanai is
also a wind-blown instrument. The flute is the key leading
instrument. The magic cast by KԞԕԜa’s flute is well known. In
many dance panels in ancient Indian sculptures, the flute is seen
though the vưԜƘ is absent. In the Khajuraho temple structure, the
vưԜƘ is seen with the flute, drum, and cymbal.
3. Percussion instruments are called Avanaddha: the third group
encompasses percussion instruments such as drums. These
instruments are covered tightly with hide. The tightening or
loosening of the hide changes the pitch higher or lower. Mrudanga,
Panava, and Dardura are the major ones and Pataha and Zallary
are the minor ones. The face of the drum is called pushkara and is
covered by mud. A drum with three faces, tripushkara, is seen in
the NatarƘja temple at Chidambaram. It is said that sage Swati
heard the raindrops falling on the petals of the lotus. The sound
thus produced appealed to him and he created this instrument. In
the detailed treatment we get mrudanga (two faces), panava (two
heads then thinning in the middle part and fastened with strings),
and dardura (a drum with one face shaped like a pitcher, i.e.,
ghata). Bharata also describes how to play these instruments.
4. The cymbals are called ghana: the fourth is group includes zanza
and manjira. They supplied rhythm—that is, tƘl. TƘl is derived
from tƘla—that is, stability—and is the foundation necessary for
music. It is indicated also by handclaps. Bharata describes various
tƘls. He says that music, whether vocal or instrumental, and dance
should be performed harmoniously to give a pleasant experience
like a fire band (alƘtachacra). A stick with fire at both ends, when
rotated fast enough in a circular movement, creates an impression
of a circle of fire. That is called alƘtachacra.
Having laid out the parameters, Bharata puts emphasis on the “core” of
his work. The famous chapters 6 and 7 on rasa and sthƘyưbhƘva have
captured the imagination of theoreticians and practitioners alike. The
abstraction of life into primary moods, sentiments, and primary emotive
20 Chapter Three
states is basic and universal to humans. The primary human emotions are
expressed in many ways. Rasa theory shall be dealt with separately.
From chapter 8 onwards, Bharata’s concern is with the formal values
of art, technique, and systems of communication and response. He begins
with the anatomy of the body—the motor and sensory system. His main
concern is joints rather than musculature. The ƘngikabhinƘya chapters
have to be understood as the study of body language and not merely as
gestures, poses, or positions. He divides the principal parts of the body
into the head, trunk, pelvis, and upper and lower limbs. He then explores
the possibility of these parts’ movements. He is precise anatomically and
physiologically. These he terms anga and upanga.
In chapter 9 he explores the direction and height of movements away
from and towards the body. His study of vertebrae, ball-and-socket joints,
and wrist and elbow joints are points of articulation. Then in chapter 10 he
moves to other parts, like the pelvis, trunk, and lower limbs. The
possibilities of each part of the body and its related activity with other
parts are then discussed. He adds comments to bring beauty, grace, and
meaning into bodily movements. He adopts the term viniyog from Vedic
ritual and applies it to ƘngikabhinƘya.
Bharata’s study of the body doesn’t stop there. He goes further,
providing a broad spectrum of movement techniques in chapter 11, in
which the whole body is employed. Training the body is essential.
Without vyayƘma (exercise) and proper nourishment, drama is not
possible. He combines the concepts of hathayoga on one hand and the
modern concept of martial arts on the other. Equilibrium and equivalence
while holding the spine with an equiweight is suggested by two terms,
sƘma and saushthava. These terms are later used in relation to music and
language too. Foot movements are described in chapter 12 and gati related
to character types in chapter 13. Bharata provides detailed notes covering
postures of sitting and gati to suit gender, character, occasion, mood, and
dramatic situation.
Chapter 2 dealt with physical space. This is limited, defined space.
Bharata transforms this physical space into a grid to formulate space for
earth, water, and sky, diverse regions, and different locales of outside,
inside, proximity, and distance. Chapter 14 brings out Bharata’s entire
concept of space. It also touches the concept of style (vΩtti), regional schools
(pravΩtti), and two schools of delivery and movement—namely,
nƘΛyadharmi and lokadharmi. To understand how nΩtta (a term applicable to
both drama and dance) became nƘΛya samagri, a part of the dramatic whole,
it is helpful to be acquainted with Bharata’s concept of the nƘΛya dharmi.
NƘΛya was an anukarana of the world, especially the human condition
(lokasvabhava); however, it did not attempt to replicate the world. What it
NƗܒyaĞƗstra: Structure and Design 21
and rasa (sound, touch, form, smell, and taste, respectively); however, at
the deeper level he is creating a more poignant relationship of senses,
body, mind, and soul.
At this juncture, Bharata brings in the concepts of kƘma, mokΙakƘma,
ƘrthakƘma, dharmakƘma, and so forth. In Chapter 25 he is concerned with
the types of men and women based upon the concept of kƘmatƘntra. He
puts the two genders in juxtaposition and judges them on the basis of
kƘmatƘntra. His classifications of consciousness, mind, and feeling are
reflected in deep arrangements. He uses highly technical aspects of
pratyaksa and paroksa, abhyantarƘ, and bƘhya (explicit, implicit, inner,
and outer, respectively), bringing them into the layers of study.
Chapter 26 forms a conclusion to the matters of concept, structure, and
design. Bharata talks about citrƘbhinaya and sƘmanyabhinƘya. He talks
about universality, specificity, abstraction and generalisation, flexibility,
structured realities, and interpenetrating levels.
From Chapter 27 he returns to his concept of an organic whole.
Bharata defines two levels of communication: daivik and manusi (divine
and human, respectively). The artist, the creator-dramatist, can only
achieve both through inner control. For this purpose, he uses the word
sadhaka.
The next few chapters deal with music, both instrumental and vocal. In
chapters 28 to 33 Bharata outlines the principles of voice production,
notes, and gati and tƘl. Bharata merely enunciates the notion of kaku,
borrowing the musical concepts of svara and sthƘna to explicate it and to
talk of its various modes and types. SthƘna, in this context, means the
various registers, low, medium, and high, over which the voice ranges in
affective speaking as much as in singing. Svara stands for musical notes or
tones; speech, inevitably, uses these too. Unlike song, svaras in speech
remain vague approximations of musical tones, unclear and subsidiary to
linguistic communication. Yet an actor should remain aware of sthƘna and
svara if he wants to command expressive speech and wield it as an art.
Music, too, was an integral part of theatre. The sastrically articulated
form of music in Bharata’s days was the form known as gandharva. It was
an ancient form, born from the still more ancient sƘma, and said to be the
progenitor of all other contemporary forms. Very thorough and
analytically rich, sastra, was the basic framework within which all later
forms were understood and analysed. Like the sastriya music of today,
gandharva was a very formal art. It was nonrepresentational while the soul
of drama is anukarana. To become an uparanjaka of drama, to lose its
own individual voice in the totality of forms that constituted drama (to
echo Abhinava once more, who uses in this context the phrase
nƘΛyasamgrimadhyanimajjitanijasvara, it was necessary that gandharva
NƗܒyaĞƗstra: Structure and Design 25
be changed in both its form and its conception). Phonetics became pƘthya
by the addition of an extra element, kaku. To turn gandharva into gana or
dhruva, terms in the NƘΛyağƘstra for theatrical songs, Bharata in a manner
of speaking stands it on its head, inverts it. Gandharva was defined as
svaratƘlapadatmakam, “consisting of patterns of svara, associated with
tƘla, and sung to pƘdas words.” In this group pƘda was a partner only in
name. It could be dispensed with, as in the instrumental playing of
gandharva, or become a string of nonsense syllables such as jhantum,
titijhala, or kucajhala, parallel to the modern nomtom. Even meaningful
words in gandharva were mere pegs upon which to hang the music.
Gandharva was, obviously, analogous to modern dhrupad or khyal. It
could not be used in nƘΛya as such. This could only be done by letting
svara and tƘla be dominated by pƘda—that is, the sung text. This, in fact,
is how Bharata defines dhruva: “A dhruva,” he says, “should be so
composed that its music has an affinity with the meaning [of the sung
text]; it should be able to project the meaning.”
In dhruva (as opposed to gandharva), svara and tƘla were at the
service of pƘda, they were there to lend the power of melody and rhythm
to the sentiments expressed in the sung text. To change the independent
spirit of gandharva in this manner and make it an uparanjaka of nƘΛya,
necessitated structural changes in gandharva; it called for a different
approach to form. Bharata has a lengthy section on how gandharva forms
are to be converted to dhruva. He gives us certain rules to be followed; let
us take up the more important ones that reveal his approach. It begins with
two important negative rules: (1) várΧaprakarΙa is to be avoided in
dhruva, (2) certain alaΧkƘras should not be used. To explain further:
várΧaprakarΙa means “stretching a syllable.” This is common enough in
dhrupad and khayal and evidently was common in gandharva too. It is a
typically music-oriented approach to a sung text.
The last three chapters, 34 to 36, sum up the text of NƘΛyağƘstra.
Chapter 35 deals once again with types of characters as Bharata provides
the types with more specific terms in relation to heroes and heroines. He
brings out clearly the qualifications and equipment of all the characters of
the group and also includes poet, dramatist, script-writer, director, actors,
dancers, master musicians, orchestrator, costume designer, head-gear
expert, maker of ornaments, maker of garlands, theatre designer,
carpenter, painter, dyer, and other professionals who are in any way
associated with the art of nƘΛya. He covers the whole range of motivation,
creation, performance, and appreciation, involving everyone from behind
the stage to the prekshakagruh (audience hall) and beyond.
The concluding chapter, 36, introduces a change in tone, questioning
rsisis and quenching their thirst for knowledge. Bharata brings about an
26 Chapter Three
BhƘva
BhƘva is a very common term used in poetic expression and a well-known
principle. BhƘvas are essentially connected with the emotions, in the same
way that the moon is connected with the mind and the sun with atma.
Emotions cause certain kinds of rasas to be created that are important for
creative activity. The basics of bhƘvas and rasas are better explained in
the NƘΛyağƘstra. There is a verse in the NƘΛyağƘstra that explains the
context of bhƘva and rasa as follows: “Yato hastastato dristi Yato
drististato mana: Yato manastato bhavo Yato bhƘvastato Rasa” (the sight
resides with action, the mind resides with sight, the emotions reside with
mind and the rasas reside with emotions). It will be difficult to get into the
concept of bhƘva, mana, and rasa without going into the basics.
VibhƘvas
VibhƘva is that which leads to a perception. So vibhƘva is a cause. It is the
cause of words, gestures, and facial expressions. So, in ordinary parlance,
vibhaavita means “understood.”
28 Chapter Four
AnubhƘvas
AnubhƘvas are accompanied (anu) by words, gestures, and facial
expressions. According to a traditional verse, an anubhƘva is conveyed
with the help of words, gestures, and so forth. There are three categories of
bhavas—sthƘyưbhƘvas, vyabhicƘribhƘvas, and sƘttvikabhƘvas. There are
eight sthƘyưbhƘvas, thirty-three vyabhicƘribhƘvas, and eight sƘttvikabhƘvas.
Thus, forty-nine bhavas are the source of expression of the rasas of
creation. Rasas are produced when bhƘvas encounter common qualities.
SthƘyưbhƘvas
The eight sthƘyưbhƘvas are the eight rasas. The one is the other’s
expression—both involuntary (anubhƘvas) and voluntary (vyabhicƘribhƘvas).
The eight rasas or the sthayibhavas are ğΩφgƘra, hƘsya, karuΧa, raudra,
vưra, bhayƘnaka, bưbhatsa, and adbhuta. These are explained separately
beneath the rasas.
The other vibhƘvas are:
VyabhicƘribhƘvas
(1) Nirveda: poverty, disease, insult, humiliation, abuse, censure,
anger, beating, separation from dear ones, detection of truth, and
such like are the stimulant causes. In the case of women and low
characters, its expression takes the form of crying, heavy sighs,
hesitation, and so on.
(2) Gtani: hurt, emptiness, illness, starvation due to vows and fasts,
anxiety, highly intoxicating drink, excessive exercise, and such like
are its vibhƘvas. Its expressions are weak speech, dull eyes,
emaciated cheeks, trembling and drooping body, and so on.
(3) Shanka: associated with doubting, low, and female characters.
Robbing, offending authorities like the king, committing sinful
acts, and such like are its vibhƘvas. Its anubhƘvas are frequently
glancing to and fro, covering the face, pale face trembling, and so
on.
(4) AsuyƘ: its vibhƘvas are hatred of the good luck, riches, and
intelligence of others. Its anubhƘvas are proclaiming faults and
obstructing good deeds, looking with a knitted brow, and contempt
and ridicule.
(5) Mada (intoxication): is of three kinds—lively, middling, and low.
Its cause is fivefold. It is said that one intoxicated person sings,
another cries, a third laughs, a fourth uses harsh words and the fifth
sleeps.
(6) Shrama (fatigue): its vibhƘvas are walking, exercise, and so on and
its anubhavas are rubbing and shampooing the body, heavy sighs,
stern steps, making faces, and such like.
(7) AlƘsya: its vibhƘvas are depression, satiety, and so on. Its
anubhƘvas are aversion to all activities, stretching on a bed,
drowsiness, and such like. It is depicted by both men and women.
(8) Daivya: bad luck, worry, and so on are its vibhƘvas. Its anubhƘvas
are diffidence, bad headache, restlessness, and such like.
(9) Chinta (anxiety): its vibhƘvas are loss of prosperity, poverty, and so
on. Its anubhƘvas are sighing, heaving, worrying, and such like.
(10) Moha (fainting): its vibhƘvas are bad luck, fear of illness,
calamity, excitement, and so on. Its anubhƘvas are
unconsciousness, giddiness, falling, and such like.
(11) SmΩti (memory): the remembrance of happy and unhappy
experiences. Its vibhƘvas are loss of peace of mind, insomnia,
constant worrying over memories of similar experiences, and such
like. Its anubhƘvas are shaking the head, looking down, raising the
eyebrows, and such like.
30 Chapter Four
(23) Supta (being asleep, being overcome by sleep): its vibhƘvas are
bewilderment, enjoying objects of the senses, and so on. Its
anubhƘvas are drooping body, stretching as on awakening, closing
the eyes, the limbs of the body being stationery, and such like.
(24) Vibodha (awakening): hunger, the end of a dream, the touch of a
hard substance, and loud sounds are the vibhƘvas. Yawning and
rubbing the eyes are the anubhƘvas.
(25) Amarsa (intolerance, impatience): is produced in a man who is
insulted and ridiculed by others richer, stronger, and better
educated than himself. These are the vibhƘva stimuli. The
anubhƘvas are shaking of the head, sweating, looking downcast,
moodiness, determination, and such like.
(26) Avahittam (dissimulation): is in the nature of covering up real
things. Its vibhƘvas are a sense of shame, fear, defeat, loss of
dignity, and so on. Its anubhƘvas are appearing different,
distracting from or distorting facts, and such like.
(27) Ugrataa (fierceness): its vibhƘva is offending a king. Its
anubhƘvas are killing, binding, beating, condemnation, and such
like.
(28) Mati (understanding, judgement): its vibhƘvas are studying
various ğƘstras, consideration of pros and cons, and so on. Its
anubhƘvas are raising doubts, arguing, and removing doubts in the
interest of students.
(29) Vyaadhaii: the three humours are vaata (wind, gas), pitta (bile),
and kafa (phlegm). Combinations of any of these result in diseases
that are characterised by fever and such like. The anubhƘvas of
these characteristics are trembling and quivering all over, folding
up the body, craving for warmth, tossing the body, hands, and feet,
and so on.
(30) Unmaada (insanity): separation, loss of wealth, natural calamities,
and disturbances of the three humours are the various vibhƘvas. Its
anubhƘvas are laughing or crying, moving in a chaotic manner, and
so on.
(31) Maranam (death caused by illness or violence): its vibhƘvas or
causes are weapons, poison, animals, diseases, accidents, and so
on. The anubhƘvas are symptoms of illness and its consequent
effects, quivering, hiccup, drooping shoulders, and such like.
(32) Traasa (dread): the vibhƘvas are lightning, meteors, rainstorms,
and so on. Its anubhƘvas are covering the body, trembling, shaking,
and such like.
32 Chapter Four
SƘttvikabhƘvas
SƘttva means “emotions” or “genuineness,” which are qualities of the
mind. Things like feeling thrill, tears, pallor, and such like can be achieved
only when the mind is composed. Pain and pleasure can be shown or
expressed only when being emotionally correct.
There are eight sƘttvikabhƘvas. They are as follows:
Rasa
Rasa is a cumulative result of vibhƘva (stimuli), anubhƘva (involuntary
states), and vyabhicƘribhƘva (voluntary states).
Origin and colour of the rasas. The basic rasas are four: the erotic
(ğΩφgƘra), the heroic (vưra), terror (raudra), and disgust (bưbhatsa).
Further, hƘsya (horror, laughter) is derived from raudra, adbhuta (wonder,
magic) from vưra, and bhayƘnaka (dread) from bưbhatsa.
(1) ĞΩφgƘra: based on love (rati), it results in the case of men and
women in healthy youth. It is of two kinds: (a) sambhoga
(fulfilment); (b) viprabalambha. The ğΩφgƘra rasa must be
expressed by loving looks, lifting or raising the eyebrows, sideward
glances, and graceful steps and gestures. The vipralambhƘ ğΩφgƘra
Basics of BhƗva and Rasa 33
Essentially, there are eight rasas, which are called ashta rasa, and the
ninth one is the ğƘnta rasa, which is nothing but the combination of all the
rasas. As we find in the colour white, there is a combination of each
colour.
Emotions have their logic:
1
Baroda edn, 2:1–2.
36 Chapter Four
rasa. These topics are: (1) the ten literary qualities or excellences (gunƘs),
(2) the ten blemishes (dosƘs), and (3) the four stylistic figures
(alaΧkƘras)—namely, upamƘ (simile), dipaka (zeugma), rǍpakƘ (metaphor),
and yamaka (rhyme). The gunƘs, dosƘs, and alaΧkƘras belong in the first
instance to the words used in a drama and to the senses conveyed by them.
Nevertheless, in the last instance, they have the effect of augmenting or
spoiling the beauty of the portrayal of emotions in a drama. Though the
number and nature of the gunƘs, dosƘs, and alaΧkƘras have undergone
considerable modifications in their treatment by later writers on poetics,
still their vital bearing on the portrayal of emotional situations in poetry
and drama is unanimously recognised by all. The connection between
poetry and drama on the one hand and the presence of gunƘs and absence
of dosƘs on the other is invariable and vital.
The connection between poetry and alaΧkƘras is, however, invariable
rather than vital. Nevertheless, as Mammata says, poetry is largely
adorned with figures of style and only occasionally marked by their
absence. Even Ɨnandavardhana and Abhinavagupta—the chief exponents
of the rasa-dhvani doctrine—recognise the importance of figures of style
in poetry, as is clear from their express statements in this matter and from
the pains they take to lay down rules for the judicious employment of
figures of style in a way congenial to the portrayal of the emotional
situation. It is clear that Bharata anticipated later writers in the matter of
literary excellence because he precisely stated the relationship between
rasa, on the one hand, and the gunƘs, dosƘs, and alaΧkƘras, on the other.
Vamana was the first writer on poetics who tried to define the nature
and role of the gunƘs and alankarra in poetry and said that rưti (style),
which consists in the presence of literary excellence, is the soul of poetry;
that the gunƘs are intrinsic, invariable, and indispensable attributes (nitya-
dhrama) of poetry; and that the alaΧkƘras are extrinsic and dispensable
properties (anitya dharma) of poetry. Dandin also said that the ten gunƘs
are the life-breath (prƘΧa) of the vaidarbha mƘrga (i.e., vaidarbhi rưti). It
was Ɨnandavardhana and Abhinavagupta who first defined the relation
between the gunƘs and alaΧkƘras and the suggested emotional content
(rasa) of poetry and formulated a philosophy of literary excellence,
blemishes, and adornments. Bharata’s NƘΛyağƘstra does not contain any
hints of this subsequently developed philosophy.
DHVANI THEORY:
AN INTRODUCTION
1
Sanskrit–English Dictionary, Monier-Williams, 522.
2
A. Hota, Sphota Dhvani and Pratibhaa, thesis, University of Pune, 78.
44 Chapter Five
dosƘ in the word (ğábda) make for correction of language, and in the
meaning (Ƙrtha) tends to promote coherence of thought. Language,
according to the later aestheticians, has the power to convey a meaning by
suggestion, or indication, except for the power of communication by overt
expression. The meaning suggested by the words is called vyangyƘrtha; it
is different from and beyond the meaning explicitly and directly conveyed
by the words (vƘcyƘrtha). When the content of a poem is emotion (bhƘva),
the method necessarily consists in suggested meaning, or vyangyƘrtha,
which is also called dhvani. Dhvani is the real core of the poetic method—
its Ƙtman (kƘvyasyatma dhvani). The expression, consisting of words
(ğábda) and explicit meaning (vƘcyƘrtha), constitutes only the seat of
dhvani, its vesture, or embodiment—its ğarưra.
The concept of dhvani arose from the demand to explain how the
emotional content of a poem is transmitted to a reader to produce rasa in
him. We owe this concept to the author of the DhvanyƘloka,
Ɨnandavardhana, who lived about the middle of the ninth century A.D.
The concept was not entirely unknown to poeticians before
Ɨnandavardhana: traces of the idea are found in their writings. But these
writers did not accord any independent status to dhvani. To explain the
concept of an expression that was sufficient in itself, they dealt mainly
with poetry that had a predominantly imaginative content. Unlike the early
poeticians, the early dramaturgists recognised that emotion is the essential
content of their art. In fact, Bharata (second or first century B.C.) was the
first to write a treatise—the NƘΛyağƘstra—that deals extensively with the
concept of rasa. In it, he analysed the constituents of rasa experience.
About the time of Ɨnandavardhana, the NƘΛyağƘstra had been
commented upon by Bhatta Lollata (800–840 A.D.) and Sri Sankuka (a
younger contemporary of Bhatta Lollata). And yet, neither Bharata nor his
early commentators had said anything about dhvani as the method with
which to communicate the emotional content of drama to the spectator.
Bharata took the communication of the emotion for granted and discussed
only the necessary relation of the content, bhƘva, to the experience called
rasa. Even though Bhatta Lollata and Sri Sankuka turned their attention to
the problem of the method by which the emotional content of a drama is
communicated to the spectator, they did not acknowledge that the method
involved is dhvani. They had other explanations to offer. The credit for
formulating the theory of dhvani goes entirely to the author of the
DhvanyƘloka. The title means “the lusture [Ƙloka] of suggested meaning
[dhvani].”
The Navina school of AlankƘrikƘs beginning with Ɨnandavardhana
recognised that emotion (bhƘva) is the best theme for poetry. With this
recognition they had to explain how the emotional content of a poem is
Dhvani Theory: An Introduction 45
Primary sound
Primary sounds are those, without which the form of sphoΛa would remain
unmanifested and therefore unperceived (tatra praakrto naama yena vinaa
sphotarUpamƘnabhivyaktamna paricchidyate | Vrtti on Book 77 ||).
Primary sounds are considered the root cause of sphoΛa, because, as soon
as we hear the primary sounds, sphoΛa is perceived. Due to this close
relationship between the two, the features of primary sounds are often
attributed to the sphoΛa.
Another character of primary sounds is that they determine the exact
nature of the sphoΛa, as short, long, or prolonged, for example a1, a2 and
a3. The length of the vowel as short, long, or prolonged is considered the
primary feature of sounds because, in the case of length, we find some
significant differences in the concerned articulating position of the vocal
organ.
Duration seems to be the basis for this distinction. According to this
distinction, primary sounds are classified into three: apacita, pracitƘ, and
pracitƘtara. When a primary sound is apacita (brief in duration), it
manifests a short vowel; when it is pracitƘ (long in duration), it manifests
a long vowel; when it is pracitƘtara (longer in duration), it manifests a
prolated (extended or elongated) vowel:
kaanicidapacitarUpaavrttigraahyaaNi |
tathaa svabhaavabhedaadapacitadhvanidyotyo hrasvaH |
taavataa’bhivyaktinimittena svarUpasya
graahikaa buddhistatrotpadyate |
pracitadhvanidyotyastu dIrghaH |
pracitƘtaradhvanipratipaadyastu plutaH |
46 Chapter Five
sa ca praakrtadhvanikaalo
vyatirekaagrahaNaadadhyaaropyamaaNaH
sphoTe sphotakaala ityupacaryate shaastre ||
Vrtti on Book 77 ||
Secondary sound
The second type of sound is called vaikrta dhvani (vaikrtastu
yenaabhivyaktam sphotarUpam punaH | punaravicchedena pracitƘtaram
kaalamupalabhyate || Vrtti on Book 77). It arises out of the primary sounds
after the manifestation of sphoΛa, and therefore does not affect the quality
of sphoΛa. It can be perceived repeatedly and uninterruptedly for a long
time. The duration of the period depends upon the tempo (vrtti of the
speaker). Drtatva (rapidity) and Vilambita (sthitibhede nimittatvam
vaikrtaH pratipadyate [Book 78]) (slowness) are the properties of
secondary sound. These qualities depend on the movements of the vocal
organ from one position to another at a slower or faster rate.
These properties of secondary sounds are not superimposed on the
sphoΛa (tasmaadupalakSitavyatirekeNa vaikrtena dhvaninaa samsrjyamaano’pi
sphotaatmaa taadrUpyasyaanadhyaaropaat shaastre hrasvaadivat
kaalabhedavyavahaaram naavatarati || vrtti on Brahmakanda, verse 79 ||).
The length of time of continued cognition of sphoΛa fully depends on the
tempo with which the secondary sound is associated.
The term never refers to a single phonemic unit taken by itself; instead,
it refers to the relation of sounds within a series.
The words of the poem have undoubtedly their own explicit or primary
meaning (vƘcyaratha, mukhyƘrtha). It is the meaning directly conveyed by
the words. But the primary meaning does not stand for the emotion
because emotion cannot be expressed, or described in words (vƘcya). It
cannot be directly communicated. What the primary meaning stands for is
only the situation, consisting of the causes and effects of the emotion,
which are partly human. It is from the description of the situation that the
reader catches the underlying emotion. On reading the poem, one
understands in the first instance its primary meaning, which represents the
situation. The primary meaning then suggests, indicates, or hints to the
mind of the reader the presence of the emotion. Thus the meaning
representing the emotion, called vyangyƘrtha or “suggested meaning”
(from the verb vyanj which means “to suggest,” “to indicate”), is arrived at
indirectly from the words through the medium of the primary meaning.
The power in language by which vyangyƘrtha is said to be conveyed is
called vyanjanƘ-vrtti. The vyangayƘrtha is called dhvani.
Being indirectly conveyed, the suggested meaning (vyangyƘrtha) may
Dhvani Theory: An Introduction 47
Varieties of dhvani
(1) A suggested sense, or what is suggested (vyangya): When what is
suggested is a fact (vƘstu), whether a fact of nature or of human affairs, it
is called vƘstu-dhvani. When a fact that has been idealised and
transformed into an image (alaΧkƘras) is suggested, it is called alaΧkƘras-
dhvani. An emotion (bhƘva) can only be suggested; it cannot be described.
When a transitory emotion (vyabhicƘribhƘva) is suggested, the suggested
sense is called bhƘva-dhvani. When a permanent emotion (sthƘyưbhƘva) is
suggested, the suggested sense is given the name rasa-dhvani, because the
sthƘyưbhƘva culminates in rasa.
(2) The means to suggestion, or that which suggests (vyanjaaka):
(a) The indispensable means to suggestion (vyanjaka) is the primary
meaning of words (vƘcyƘrtha). The suggested meaning (vyangyƘrtha)
occurs only through the primary meaning. (b) In the lakΙaΧamula-dhvani,
the secondary meaning of words (laksyƘrtha) serves as a means to
suggestion. (c) The primary and secondary meanings, if any, reside in a
word (ğábda, pƘda). Hence, along with the primary meaning the word is
also spoken of as a means of suggestion (vyangyƘrtha). (d) In the variety
of abidhƘmula-dhvani called asamlaksyakramƘ, parts and aspects of a
word, such as letters, prefixes, and suffixes, themselves act to suggest in
collaboration with the primary meaning. For example, harsh sounds such
as “rka” and “dha” are suitable for suggesting emotions like anger and
courage but unsuitable for suggesting an emotion like love. (e) Words in
combination appear as phrases, clauses, and sentences. To these
combinations belong syntactical meanings (tatparyƘrtha). The syntactical
meaning may also serve as a means to a suggested sense. If we extend the
above argument, we may treat even the work as a whole as suggested.
(3) The process of suggestion (vyanjanƘ): The indispensable means to
suggestion is the primary meaning of words (vƘcyƘrtha). There are two
ways in which the primary sense leads to the suggested sense. In some
cases the primary meaning itself gives rise to the suggested meaning. The
process of suggestion is then called abhidhƘmula-dhvani. In other cases
50 Chapter Five
the words also have secondary meanings (laksyƘrtha). In these cases the
primary meaning first leads to the secondary meaning, and this in turn
leads to the suggested meaning. Since the immediate means to suggestion
here is the laksyƘrtha, the process is called lakΙaΧamula-dhvani.
Thus, in dhvani kƘvya, the essence or soul of the poetic method is
through the suggested meaning; the primary and secondary meanings also
have a place as the means to the suggested meaning. In fact, the suggested
meaning cannot be reached except through either the primary meaning
itself or the primary and secondary meanings.
The difference between these two broad types of dhvani indicates the
difference in the conditions of consciousness antecedent to the process. In
the abhidhƘmula type, the poet intends that the primary meaning should be
communicated to the reader since it is the direct means to suggestion.
Hence the abhidhƘmula dhvani is also called vivaksit-anyapara-vƘcya-
dhvani (where the literal is intended but is subordinated to a second
meaning). On the other hand, in the lakΙaΧƘmula type, the poet does not
intend the primary meaning to be communicated to the reader since its
function is only to present the secondary meaning, which becomes the
immediate means to suggestion. Hence the lakΙaΧamula-dhvani is also
called avivaksita-vƘcya-dhvani, which means the suggestion where the
primary meaning (vƘcya) is not intended to be conveyed (avivaksita).
The abhidhƘmula, or the vivaksitanyapara-vƘcya, is divided into two
sub-varieties: (1) Samlaksyakrama-dhvani (where the sequence is
apparent), where the stages of realising the suggested sense from the
expressed sense can be well perceived. (2) Asamlaksyakrama-dhvani
(where the suggested sense is produced without apparent sequence), where
the stages in the realisation of the suggested sense are imperceptible. The
latter is more important and is concerned with the suggestion of poetic
emotion.
The samlaksyakrama is further divided into three types: (1) Where the
transition is due to the power of the word (ğábda-saktimula-dhvani); here
actual words are vital to suggestion and cannot be substituted by
synonyms. (2) Where the transition is due to the power of the primary
meaning (Ƙrtha-saktimula-dhvani). (3) Where the transition is due to the
power of both (ubhaya-saktimula-dhvani).
In the lakΙaΧamula, or avivaksita-vƘcya, the suggested sense arises
from the secondary meaning, and not directly from the primary meaning.
The function of the primary meaning is only to arouse the secondary
sense. Once this is fulfilled, the primary meaning either is amalgamated
with the suggested sense or is discarded completely. The two sub-varieties
of avivaksita-vƘcya are: (1) Ƙrthanthara-samkramita-vcya-dhvani (where
the literal meaning is shifted to another sense); (2) atyantatiraskrita-
Dhvani Theory: An Introduction 51
vƘcya-dhvani (where the literal is entirely set aside). It is found that the
nature of the process of suggestion suits the sense to be suggested. For
suggesting emotions, both basic and transitory, the asamlaksya-krama-
dhvani is said to be the most appropriate.
52 Chapter Five
Dhvani Theory: An Introduction 53
CHAPTER SIX
DHVANI:
A SIMPLE ANALYSIS
sphotarUpaavibhaagenadhvanergrahaNamiSyate.
kaishcid dhvaniRasaMvedyaH
svatantro’nyaiH prakalpitaH ||
Book 83 ||
nityapakSe tu samyogavibhagajadhvanivyaNgyaH
sphotaH ekeSaaM
samyogavibhaagajadhvanisambhUtanaadaabhivyangyaH ||
Vrtti on Book 78 ||
According to this view, the word is eternal, and the sphoΛa is revealed
by the sound produced by the contact and separation of the vocal organs.
However, according to some, it is manifested by nƘda resulting from the
dhvani produced by the contact and separation.
Thus, according to this view, nƘda is the product of dhvani. In the vrtti
on Book 47, nƘda is looked upon as a gross form or an accumulation of
58 Chapter Six
Bhartrihari on dhvani
Bhartrihari in his VƘkyapadưya and MahƘbhƘΙya DưpikƘ exhaustively
discusses the dhvani theory. In this regard, he not only gives his own
views, but also records the views of others without mentioning their
names.
According to Bhartrihari, the physical, audible sound manifests the
sphoΛa, which is nothing but the mentally articulated image of the sound
through which the meaning is conveyed to the listener. Thus, dhvani is the
physical body of the word, whereas sphoΛa is the conceptual entity of
sound.
Nature of dhvani
An important feature of sound is its fixed capacity to express a particular
phoneme. For instance, a particular sound, produced by its particular
articulated efforts, reveals a particular phoneme (grahanagraahyayoh siddhaa
yogyataa niyataa yathaa | vyaNgyavyaNjakabhaave’pi tathaiva sphotanaadayoH
|| Book 100 ||).
Dhvani is a divisible entity. It is produced and grasped in a particular
sequence and generally by mistake the same qualities of sound are
superimposed on sphoΛa (naadasya kramajaatatvaanna pUrvo na parashca
saH | akramaH kramarUpeNa bhedavaaniva jaayate || Book 49 ||).
The sound wave emanating from its origin is compared to a light wave
starting from the original flame. Once the first flame has been produced by
the fire-producing machinery, the light wave continues to spread in all
directions, even after the fire-producing machinery has stopped
(anavasthitakampe’pi karaNe dhvanayo’pare | sphotaadevopajaayante
jvaalaa jvaalaantaradiva || Book 109||).
The sound, which contains vibration in it, travels in all directions. The
range covered by the sound depends upon the loudness (intensity) of the
sound. The area covered by the sound may be smaller or larger, but that
does not change the duration of the sphoΛa (alpe mahati vaa shabde
sphotakaalo na bhidyate | parastu shabdasamtaanaH prachayaapacayaatmakaH
|| Book 106||).
According to another view, sphoΛa is the first sound. It results from the
conjunction and disjunction of the vocal organs with points of
articulations. On the other hand, sounds, which originate from the first
sound and spread in all directions and travel over a certain range, are the
dhvanis. In short, the articulated sound is sphoΛa, and its continuation in
the form of sound waves is called dhvani (yah samyogavibhaagaabhyaam
60 Chapter Six
Summary
To sum up, dhvani (meaning sound) is a term of earlier origin. However,
thoughts about its nature can already be found in the works of scholars
such as AudumbaraayaNa and others; its role in ordinary verbal usage and
its relation with the abstract level of sphoΛa were defined only at the time
of Patañjali. Bhartrihari threw more light on this issue by expounding
ideas already met with in MahƘbhƘΙya and by providing an original theory
about the twofold primary and secondary nature of sound. He also
elucidated the relation between sphoΛa and dhvani by explaining it from
the standpoint of the speaker as well the listener. Another merit of his
work is that he also provided the viewpoints of other scholars on the same
issue.
Bhartrihari’s theories about the praakrta and vaikrta dhvani and the
explanation of the dhvani–sphoΛa relationship are very significant as they
provide the solution to some of the linguistic problems.
CHAPTER SEVEN
1
DhvanyƗloka, KSRI ed. (Madras), 244.
2
AbhinavabhƗratƯ, G.O.S. ed. (2nd ed.), 1:343. The term kƗvya (poem) is derived
62 Chapter Seven
from the activity (kavanƯya )ۦdetonated by the verbs -ku or -ko. Here, because the
word meanings and the sentence meanings culminate in the rasas only, the
meaning of the poem is (actually) the rasas, for the latter is both unique
(asƗdhƗra۬ya = “uncommon”) and primary. “Meaning” (Ɨrtha) is that which is
“sought after” (arthyante) primarily. The word Ɨrtha here does not refer to the
denotative meaning, but rather expresses the intended purpose (prayojana).
Abhinavagupta and His Contribution to Aesthetics 63
produces rasa; (2) the rasa is what is inferred and the vibhƘvadis are the
characteristic marks or signs; (3) the rasa is what is to be enjoyed
(aesthetically); and finally (4) the rasa is what is suggested and the
vibhƘvadis are the factors that suggest the suggested meaning.
Abhinavagupta presents the views of Lollata, Sankuka, and
Bhattanayaka; each view is followed by criticism of it. Finally, he sets
forth his own view in great detail. Despite the criticism of the earlier
writers’ views, Abhinavagupta acknowledges his debt to them before
introducing his own position. He informs us that he has built his own
theories on the foundations they laid, and that he has not (completely)
refuted their views but only refined them: “tasmat satam atra na drisitani
matani tanyeva to sodhitani.”
Again, in the course of the exposition of his own siddhƘnta he accepts
the views of Lollata, Sankuka, and the Vijnanavadins in a modified form:
“esaiva copacayavasthastu desadyaniyantranat; anukaro’pyastu bhavanugamitaya
karanat; visayasamagryapi bhavatu vijinavadavalambanat” (We may say
equally well that it [Lollata’s doctrine] consists of a state of intensification,
using this to indicate that it is not limited by space, etc; that it is a
reproduction [using this word to mean that it is a production which repeats
the feelings—lit., “to mean that it is an operation temporally following
feelings”]. This is the view of Sankuka, and it is a combination of different
elements [this conception being interpreted in the light of the doctrine of
the Vijnanavadin]).3
Abhinavagupta in the two commentaries discussed a series of
questions relating to beauty and rasa: What is the nature of beauty? Is it
subjective or objective, or subjective-cum-objective or objective-cum-
subjective? Is the permanent emotion itself rasa-sthayyeva rasah or is
rasa altogether different from the “permanent emotion” (sthayivilaksano
rasah)? Is rasa sukha-duhkhatmaka—that is, are some rasas sukhatmaka
(pleasurable) and others duhkhatmaka (painful)? Or are all the rasas
Ƙnandarupa (characterised by bliss, perfect happiness)? Is rasa laukika
(wordly) or alaukika (nonwordly, transcendental)? Then there is the
question of the sƘttvikabhƘvas (asru [tears], sveda [perspiration], etc; the
involuntary states). Are they physical manifestations (jada and acetana in
nature) or sentient (cetana) in their nature and internally? In other words,
are the sƘttvikabhƘvas like the bhƘvas (rati [love], hƘsya [laughter], etc.;
and nirveda [world weariness], glani [physical weakness], etc.) or are they
like the anubhƘvas (external manifestations of feeling [mental states] such
as sidelong glances, a smile, etc.), or are they of dual nature? Another
important question regarding rasa as discussed by Abhinavagupta
3
As translated by R. Gnoli.
64 Chapter Seven
concerns the asraya (location or seat) of rasa. Could the location or seat
be the poet himself, the character (say, Rama, Dusyanta, etc.), or the actor
who plays the role of Rama, Dupyanta, and so on, or the spectator
himself? Further, are the rasas meant to provide sheer pleasure (priti) to
the spectators or are they also meant to give (moral) instruction in the four
ends of human life (purusƘrthas)?
Naiyayikas like Mahimabhatta vigorously oppose Ɨnandavardhana’s
newly invented sabdavΩtti (power or function of word) called vyƘlijana,
which is readily accepted and defended by Abhinavagupta, and assert that
the purpose for which vyƘlijana was invented is best served by the process
of inference (anumiti, anumƘna). With the sole intention of enabling
readers to judge for themselves how far the criticism of Mahimabhatta
directed against Abhinavagupta is fair and just, the views of
Mahimabhatta on how rasas arise and are enjoyed by sahrdƘyas are
presented at the end of Abhinavagupta’s exposition.
Abhinavagupta, while commenting on kƘvyƘrtha (Dhvanyaloka, I.7)
states “kƘvyasya tattva-bhǍto yo’rthaԓ” (The word Ƙrtha, wherever it
occurs here, [Ƙrtha] is that which is “sought after”). Rasa, then, becomes
an integral part of the poem. The ğábda is used in kƘvya to generate rasa
and it takes the poem beyond the referential meaning.
Thus, the evocative power of a poem itself becomes dhvani to poetic
language as such. The poem thus takes an organic form that has ğábda and
rasa as its unique soul.
Abhinavagupta’s choice of the title AbhinavabhƘratư for his stupendous
commentary on the thirty-six chapters of Bharata’s treatise on dramaturgy,
the NƘΛyağƘstra, reflects his characteristic play upon (the etymological
resonances of Sanskrit) words. Bharata, its eponymous author, is just the
signature left by the generations of “bards” (bharata) who recited the
epics and eventually took over the theatrical traditions. Though bharati is
yet another term for speech, it is derived from bharata the ancient Vedic
tribe from whom the modern Indian nation has borrowed its self
appellation. At the same time, this comprehensive and creative
commentary gave an “entirely new” (abhinava) lease of life to the labour-
intensive edifice bequeathed by Bharata’s “offspring” (bharati), these
mostly anonymous architects of Indian theatre, this mirror of the life of the
people. This is what justifies the liberty I have taken, only in this
invocatory context, in “translating” (the significance of) his commentary
into “Abhinava’s Voice of India.”
After demolishing the views of his predecessors on the nature of rasa,
it is with these verses that Abhinavagupta introduces his own synthesis.
Rasa is aesthetic experience; the story, the characters, and style of a poem
all lead to it and contribute in their own way. Therefore, poetic content or
Abhinavagupta and His Contribution to Aesthetics 65
4
AbhinavabhƗratƯ, G.O.S. ed., 2:292.
66 Chapter Seven
SUNTHAR VISUVALINGAM
Introduction
(1) Benares is the socio-religious centre of Hinduism, yet these cultural
developments took place in the periphery (Kashmir), an itinerary
relevant to the questions underlying this book. Nepal reflects Hindu–
Buddhist relations in Kashmir just before the Muslim invasions. The
role of Bhairava in the Newar festivals provides a better insight into
the status of radical Tantrism in Kashmiri Shaiva philosophy in
relation to Vedism and aboriginal religion.
(2) Two conferences in 1981 (international) and 1982 (all-India) on
“Abhinavagupta’s Contribution to Indian Culture” held at Benares
Hindu University (Musicology Department). All-India seminar of
September 1986 at Srinagar on the “Significance and Future of
Kashmir Shaivism.”
(3) Controversy over the title “Abhinavagupta’s Synthesis of Hindu
Culture” (three objections) was transformed into a collective project on
“Abhinavagupta and the Synthesis of Indian Culture.”
(4) The relation between individual genius and tradition expressed
explicitly by Abhinava. The mediating role of the region (Kashmir):
for example, Buddhist logic Shaiva SiddhƘnta, Anandavardhana.
(5) Dialectical approach, where each thesis is reinforced only to be
subsequently undermined, corresponds to the historical process itself.
68 Appendix I
UMASHANKAR JOSJI
activity in the various languages of India can benefit from the ideas and
tools made available by ancient Indian writers on poetics.
Perhaps it is more than a hazard in as much as I can hardly claim to be
a regular student of Sanskrit poetics or of philosophy, of which poetics
forms a legitimate part. Even though I might stray far, sometime
perilously far, into these fields, my main concern will be with the possible
enrichment of contemporary critical activity. And in that context, I feel,
lies the hope for Sanskrit poetics to survive. If it is not to be studied only
by a few specialists of a past cultural phase and is to form a part of
mankind’s living knowledge, it is can only be by proving that it is a rich
resource for practising critics in the various languages—that Sanskrit
poetics can flourish as a body of dynamic ideas. Even if those ideas are
not frequently invoked, it would be enough if they are at the back of the
mind, for that too is a use. If I put stress on the need for an awareness of
the seminal ideas of Sanskrit poetics, it is more with an eye on the
sharpening of aesthetic sensibility and equipping the mind with the
capacity for discerning beauty in whatsoever manner it manifests itself in
a literary work. It seems the study of Sanskrit poetics has reached a stage
where we can take stock of such things, define fresh needs in terms of the
pursuit of knowledge, and try to visualise how the ideas of the acaryas—
great writers of treatises on poetics—might be best availed of.
Our current critical endeavour has to keep pace with that in the
Western world, as our creative writing during the past hundred and fifty
years or so has been largely under the influence of the West. We have
freely borrowed genres, models, and techniques from Western literature.
While our critical writings mainly follow Western norms, the critical
terminology we employ is, as would be expected, more or less borrowed
from the works of the ancient acaryas. Terms like aucitya, vƘkrokti, rưti,
upamƘ, rǍpakƘ, sahrdƘya, dhvani, and—most enigmatic of all—rasa,
along with RasanubhƘva and RasasvƘda, are freely used, most of them not
always strictly in the sense in which the acaryas used them.
In fact, we are in a fortunate position. We have at our disposal the
whole critical usage of the West, which has relevance to our modern
creative writing, and we also have a rich critical tradition of our own from
which, at least, we pick up terms in howsoever a casual manner. It is open
to us to make a comparative study of the two traditions and forge a critical
apparatus and critical idiom that can meet our present need to enjoy and
evaluate literary works of any age or language.
Let me hasten to add at the very outset that such a comparative study is
beset with great difficulties. The ideas and the technical terms used are
rooted in different cultural milieus. One such term is “tragedy.” To make
ĞakuntalƘ a tragedy, the bringing down of the curtain at the end of the
The Relevance of Sanskrit Poetics to Contemporary Practical Criticism 79
fifth act will not do. Tragedy is a concept that is interwoven with the
fabric of Greek life yet is totally unknown to Indian culture. One should
take care not to be taken in by apparent or superficial similarities. Take the
term “metaphor” in Aristotle. Prof. D. R. Mankad argues that “metaphor”
is usually referred to in India as rǍpakƘ, but it might sometimes be called
samasokti, as in “unbridled rage.” It is said, a metaphor is an implied
simile. Aristotle considers it by far the best gift of the poet—his ability to
find similitude in dissimilar things. The acaryas look upon upamƘ (simile)
as the greatest gift of a poet and KƘlidƘsa, the greatest poet, is accredited
with the best use of the simile, which is normally described as
sadharmyam (similitude, sharing of the same properties). Instead of
getting bogged down in details of nomenclature or semantic quibbling, it
would be worth looking rather for the informing aesthetic principle. The
sagacious Hemacandracarya calls the simile “hrdyam sadharmyam”
(pleasureable [heart-pleasing] similitude), and this should lead us to the
modern exploration of the link of analogy in feeling.
Even if the concept of tragedy is foreign to India, and the “tragic” is
not exactly karuΧa rasa, there is an aesthetic principle that is common to
both. Plato talked of “tragic pleasure” (Philebus, 47–48). Aristotle says
that tragedy does not depress one; instead, it raises the spirits. Sanskrit
writers (except Ramacandra and Gunacandra) have constantly maintained
that pathos (the karuΧa rasa) also pleases, that all rasas are dominated by
pleasure, that all art experience ends in beatitude.
Every critic who deals with a poem has to keep in mind the trinity of
(1) the poet, (2) the poem, and (3) the reader. From where does he actually
start? Perhaps he thinks he starts from the second—the poem itself. But,
what is a poem? Is it just a piece of paper with ink marks on it or a
videotape? Valery said, “It is the reading of the poem that is the poem”; in
other words, it is in somebody’s experience of poem that “the poem”
becomes itself. Thus, the critic, while dealing with a poem, has always to
start with the third—the reader, himself; that is, he has to start with his
own experience of the poem. The Sanskrit writers on poetics, especially
those who testify to rasa, could not be more right. One can speak about
the poem and even the poet only after one’s experience of the poem.
It is surprising that no less an expert on Sanskrit poetics than the late S.
K. De should chide the acaryas for their preoccupation with understanding
the nature of art experience. He says, “they consider the problem
indirectly and imperfectly from the standpoint of the readers and not
directly and completely from that of the poet,” and adds, “they are
concerned mainly with the question of the reader’s reproduction but not of
the poet’s production.” But, there is no way of dealing with the poet’s
production other than through the reader’s reproduction. Even if the poet
80 Appendix II
process). Valery knew better. He alerts us, “We must contrast as clearly as
possible poetic emotion with ordinary emotion.”
Valery’s statement of the creative and reproductive processes (for it
aims possibly to cover both) comes very near to the truth of the matter. He
says that a sort of “sense of a universe” is characteristic of poetry and
adds:
I said: sense of a universe. I meant that the poetic state or emotion seems to
me to consist in a dawning perception, a tendency toward perceiving a
world, or complete system of relations, in which beings, things, events, and
acts, although they may resemble, each to each, those which fill and form
the tangible world—the immediate world from which they are borrowed—
stand, however, in an indefinable, but wonderfully accurate, relationship to
the modes and laws of our general sensibility. So, the value of those well-
known objects and beings is in some way altered. They respond to each
other and combine quite otherwise than in ordinary conditions.
Kuntaka, who flourished in the tenth century, refers to the real nature
of objects (samacchadita-svabhavah) being veiled when sudden
inspiration makes them appear in the poet’s imaginative world. He adds
that when this special predicament (tathavidha-visesa) finds a masterly
utterance in words, it becomes a thing of wondrous beauty to the mind.
A century before Kuntaka, Bhatta Nayaka enunciated the idea of
generalised emotion (sƘdharanikarana), which proved to be the greatest
aid in unlocking the meaning of the rasa theory. It showed how aesthetic
consciousness resulted when objects or beings were visualised not as
related to the immediate tangible world, but in a generalised (i.e.,
universal) manner.
Valery almost suggests this when he says that the poetic state or
emotion occurs when the values of the objects and beings of the world are
altered because of their relationship to the laws of our general
sensibility—that is, when they cease to have personal or individual interest
and appear in a generalised, universal way. Eliot also hints at the same
thing when he talks of an escape from personality.
Abhinavagupta and his guru Bhatta Tauta say that this poetic emotion
or aesthetic consciousness or rasa is primarily due to the poet. The actor
on the stage as well as the spectator or the reader of the work consequently
attains it. The generalised consciousness pertaining to each poet (kavi-
gata-sadharanibhuta-samvit) alone is in reality rasa (paramƘrthatah
Rasah).
So, those who appreciate the work of a poet need an equal measure of
genius. Rajasekhara calls the creative genius karayitri pratibha and the
appreciative genius bhavayitri pratibha. One who experiences the work of
82 Appendix II
art has to relive the poetic emotion of the creator. He has to re-evoke the
aesthetic consciousness of the poet, reconstruct the aesthetic object.
The best connoisseur of aesthetic beauty is called a sahrdƘya, one who
is of the same heart. Abhinavagupta describes such a person as one the
mirror of whose mind has become clear due to constant contact with
poetic works and who has the capacity to identify himself with what is
presented—that is, with the heart of the poet.
The art experience of such a sahrdƘya is, indeed, subjective.
Abhinavagupta describes it as ending in prakasa—illumination and
Ƙnanda (beatitude).
The poem, the word construct, has also received a fair amount of
attention. Some of the writings on poetics were of the nature of manuals
for prospective writers. The discussions on ƘlaτkƘras, gunƘs, rưti,
vƘkrokti, and aucitya were meant to be a valuable help, though it was
maintained that when the creative spirit worked, all the embellishments
and graces and properties entered the composition in an onrush, vying
with one another (ahampurvikaya parapatanti), and that they did not
remain exterior (na tesam bahirangatvam) to the poem, which was an
organic whole. For the organic unity there is a happy expression,
ekavakyata, which literally means “one-sentenceness.” The ancients
considered even a long work, if it were a creative work, to be just one
sentence. Even the Mahabharata with its more than one hundred thousand
verses is just a one-sentence piece. The very term sahitya (togetherness) is
most fortunate and at once emphasises what is crucial about a poetic
composition, that the verbal correlative is commensurate with the poetic
emotion; it is this sahitya (togetherness) that the aesthetic object is.
There are three seminal ideas in Sanskrit poetics:
(1) Foremost is the rasa-sǍtra, which has come to enjoy the status of a
kind of Einsteinian formula in the realm of poetic theorisation. It
seems to be the distillation of the aesthetic thinking of generations.
Though it occurs in the encyclopaedic NƘΛyağƘstra of Bharata, it
may as well have been picked up from an earlier work, for Bharata
refers to Druhina as an authority regarding even the names of the
eight rasas.
(2) The second important idea is that of dhvani (suggestion). Rasa
came to be associated with plays or other entire works and a need
was felt to account for the beauty of smaller compositions or even
single stanzas. The ƘlaτkƘra school came into existence, cutting
rasa to size by naming a rasavat an ƘlaτkƘra also. The gunƘs
(qualities) and rưti (composite poetic diction) came to be
emphasised later. It was Ɨnandavardhana who, laying his hand on
The Relevance of Sanskrit Poetics to Contemporary Practical Criticism 83
Practical criticism that does not flow from the bhavana-a state of
bhƘva (bhavayanti Rasan) is, to use a rather strong term, suspect. Prof.
Ingarden calls it an intellectual exercise, “an inferred judgment.” He
maintains that only those value judgements that result from a state of
feeling and are based on the aesthetic process of experiencing the art
object are valid and justified: “the experience which alone, and in an
essential way, makes this judgment valid . . . lies in the final phase of the
aesthetic process, and, in particular, in the acknowledgement of an
aesthetic object, an acknowledgement which a character of feeling and is
grounded in the ‘seeing’ of a harmony of qualities.” Therefore, strictly
speaking, it is only those judgements concerning value that are given on
the basis of an aesthetic process and, when such a process has been
accomplished, that are justified.
The discerning reader, the sahrdƘya, the critic, reproduces/recreates
the art object created by the poet, the kavi, by passing through the
aesthetic process and while acknowledging the presence of the aesthetic
object pays joyful “homage” to it.
At this point the poet and critic, the kavi and the sahrdƘya, meet and
the karayitri creative faculty in one and the matching reciprocating or
receiving (bhavayitri) faculty in the other partake of the nature of pratibha
(intuitional apprehension).
In fact, the two had symbolically met when the poem was originally
written—when the composer laid down his pen after writing the last word
and making his final touches, if any. Only at the final moment of the
composition can the poet realise what poem it was he was trying to write,
what the kavigatasadharanibhutasamvit (generalised consciousness of the
poet) actually was. It must have been the enjoyer, the critic, the sahrdƘya
in him who bore out the creator in him and reassured him of the finality of
the outcome. Abhinavagupta seems to suggest as much when he says in
the opening stanza of Locana, “sarasvatyastattvam kavisahrdƘyakhyam
vijayate”—victorious is the essence of speech called kavisahrdƘya, for he
has so worded what he says that the compound kavisahrdƘya also means
“the creator-enjoyer, the poet, who himself is the discerning reader,” over
and above referring to the inevitable pair involved in all aesthetic
activity—“the poet, the artist and the discerning enjoyer, the critic.”
APPENDIX III
R. B. PATANKAR
In modern times, the rasa theory appears to have suffered at the hands of
two groups of critics. (1) Those who are totally ignorant of literary thought
in pre-British India do not feel the need to develop any acquaintance with
it. They find the Western critical framework adequate for their purposes.
In The Languages of Criticism and the Structure of Poetry, R. S. Crane
could argue convincingly for the readoption of the Aristotelian approach
to the problem of poetic structure on the ground that modern contrastive
and assimilative methods do not lead to the discovery of the particular
structuring principles underlying individual literary works as does the
Aristotelian method. Readoption of the rasa theory cannot be
recommended on similar grounds, although the moderns might find
something thought-provoking in it. It does not appear to satisfy an urgent
need of Westernised people, as perhaps does yoga. (2) It is not supposed
to be put to mundane uses like analysis and evaluation of modern literary
works, even of works produced in Indian languages.
However, a comparative study of Western and ancient Indian critical
traditions is worth attempting. It will show that there are significant points
of contact between the two, and this might lend support to the view that
there is a universal human mind that responds to similar situations in
similar ways, irrespective of age and country. The comparison might also
make an interaction between the two traditions possible. Modern Indian
thinkers would profit a great deal were this to take place. A bridge would
thereby be built, not only between India and the West but also between
ancient India and modern India.
When we study a conceptual structure like rasa theory across many
centuries, we find that it contains parts that are completely unintelligible to
88 Appendix III
us, and others which possess only historical interest. Consider, for
example, the lists Bharata has given of sthƘyưbhƘvas and vyabhicƘribhƘvas.
The first list includes mental occurrences like fear and mental dispositions
like love and sleep. If we take into account the all-round intellectual
achievement of the ancient Indians, we shall see why it would be wrong to
dismiss the preceding classification as patently absurd. All that we shall be
justified in saying is that we are unable to understand the principles of
classification that Bharata used. The problem regarding the number of
rasas is one of historical significance only. On one view, Bharata studied
the dramatic compositions that were available to him and saw that most of
them expressed eight (or nine) emotions/sentiments. On another view, the
number is based on psychological findings about what constitutes the
relatively permanent part of the structure of the human mind. Much has
happened in the fields of literature and psychology since Bharata wrote;
and perhaps he would have changed his views if he had known all that
later critics and psychologists know about dramatic works and the human
mind.
But the rasa theory also contains a part that is not likewise restricted to
a particular age. It consists of certain clusters of concepts that are very
basic to the theory. I propose to discuss two such clusters, one at some
length, and the other rather briefly at the end. I shall also try to show that
these clusters have their counterparts in the Western critical tradition, and
indicate the points where a fruitful interaction between the two traditions
can take place today.
The first cluster centres around the concept of sƘdharanikarana
(universalisation). On this concept is based Abhinavagupta’s triple claim
(1) that the rasa experience is alaukika (sui generic), (2) that it is
essentially pleasurable, and (3) that the spectator does not contemplate it
as something outside himself but undergoes it. Universalisation can be
interpreted as (1) a one way process, from a particular to the universal that
subsumes it, or as (2) a two-way process, from a particular to the
universal, and back again to a particular—the second particular not being
the same as the first particular. That Abhinavagupta most probably had the
second interpretation in mind is indicated by the example of Samba cited
by Hemacandra, who followed Abhinavagupta very closely. The three
stages in the process are as follows: (1) Samba worshipped the sun and his
good health was restored; (2) everyone who worships the sun is restored to
good health; (3) if I worship the sun, I too will be restored to good health.
Subsumption of particular human beings under a common universal
explains the possibility of communication between them. They have a
common meeting ground in their humanity. All that is human is, at least
potentially, followable/shareable by all men. This explanation can be
Does the Rasa Theory Have Modern Relevance? 89
The problem continued to exercise the minds of modern critics too. Dr.
Avner Zis, a Marxist critic writing in 1977, took a position similar to that
of Butcher:
The balance between the universal and the particular is not easy to
maintain; there is always the danger of slipping into either the universalist
position or the Crocean particularistic position that the function of art is to
reveal the individual physiognomy of things. Every individual combines
both, the universal and the particular. The dispute between universalists
like Aristotle and particularists like Croce may therefore be regarded as a
dispute about the relative importance of the two—the Aristotelians
subordinating the particular to the universal, the Croceans doing exactly
the opposite. This shows that universalisation, like particularisation, might
be obtainable in different degrees. What degree of universalisation do the
defenders of sƘdharanikarana expect? This is an important issue because
it is not only the characters (vibhƘvas), emotions, and such like that are
supposed to undergo sƘdharanikarana, the spectators (rasikas) are too.
That an excessive preoccupation with one’s own personal problems
disturbs the spectator’s aesthetic experience may be readily granted. It
would also hinder various other activities, like watching a cricket match,
Does the Rasa Theory Have Modern Relevance? 91
compared it with the moon; her hips and loins are made wet by urine, but
the poets have compared them with the frontal globe on the forehead of an
elephant. That which is repulsive in reality has been shown to be great by
the poets.” The descriptions can be universalised and made applicable to
all women. The feeling of disgust, thus universalised and transformed into
the bưbhatsa rasa, cannot be said to have become in any way pleasurable.
It is thus doubtful whether the bưbhatsa rasa can ever be pleasurable if
experienced by itself. It can become bearable, and perhaps even
pleasurable, only if it gives rise to the feeling of indifference to worldly
objects (nerved) and leads to the creation of ğƘnta rasa. It therefore
appears that at least some rasas are not pleasurable by themselves; they
can, however, become pleasurable by being subordinated to other rasas or
to ends that are not peculiar to literature, for example, moral or religious
values.
Another way to make the rasa experience pleasurable is to raise it to a
qualitatively higher level, where it acquires a universal significance. Here
universalisation does take place, but not in the limited sense of making
something universally shareable. Some problems are universally shareable
but they are not called universal problems. Losing a job is an example of a
universally shareable problem. Nevertheless, the question, What is the
place of human goodness in the ultimate scheme of the world?, is a
universal problem, a problem with a universal significance. A universal
problem is not necessarily a problem that is actually raised by all men; it is
that which can be raised by all men, but is actually raised only by a few
mature men with a philosophical bent of mind when confronted with the
central mysteries of human life. The fear of the young deer described in
act one of ĞakuntalƘ is often cited as an example of the bhayƘnaka rasa.
The experience is universal in the sense that it is universally
communicable; however, it does not have the universal significance of the
anguish of Oedipus. This discussion shows that in the context of literature
“universalisation” can be taken to mean: (1) “making something
universally followable, shareable/applicable,” or (2) “endowing something
with universal significance.” Butcher most probably wanted to emphasise
the second meaning when he wrote the following about the tragic hero:
So much human nature must there be in him that we are able in some sense
to identify ourselves above us in external degree and station. . . . There is a
gain in the hero being placed at an ideal distance from the spectator. We
are not confronted with outward conditions of life too like our own . . . [the
tragic emotions] are disengaged from the petty interests of self, and are on
the way to being universalised. . . . In the spectacle of another’s errors or
misfortunes, in the shocks and blows of circumstance, we read the
“doubtful doom of human kind.” . . . The spectator who is brought face to
94 Appendix III
also. But the supporters of Abhinavagupta might say that despite this
similarity the two experiences are different because the ethical experience
issues into action but the rasa experience is an end in itself. It might be
readily conceded that the rasa experience does not give rise to immediate
overt action. But that is because the peculiar ontological status of vibhƘvas
rules out the very possibility of any such action. Even if we wish to, it is
logically impossible for us to interfere in the lives of onstage “characters.”
The world in which the characters move is structured like the world in
which real men move; but there is no continuity between the worlds. That
we should be able to see the former and that it should be able to induce
emotional states in us creates peculiar epistemological and ontological
problems. Sri Sankuka’s theory of citraturagapratiti shows that the
Sanskritists were aware of these problems. We see a configuration of
pigments. In the same way, we see an actor as a character such as Rama.
Seeing one thing as another thing is not a variety of ordinary seeing. As
Sri Sankuka has shown, it does not belong to the four known categories of
perception: (1) veridical perception, (2) illusory perception, (3) perceiving
something as resembling something else, and (4) perception that leaves us
in doubt about the identity of what we perceive. What we see has a
peculiar ontological status; the status would not have been peculiar if we
had before us an actor merely as a man following a particular profession.
Again, there would have been no problem if Rama, whose role the actor is
supposed to play, were actually present before us. What we see on the
stage is sui generic; and our seeing it is also sui generic.
It should be evident that Sri Sankuka’s theory bears a striking
resemblance to the Kantian theory of “disinterestedness” and Aldrich’s
theory of “categorical aspection.” It is true that neither of these theories
has anything to do with watching a play onstage; nevertheless, they are
both concerned with the peculiar ontological status of the object of
aesthetic contemplation. And one cannot avoid facing this problem when
one tries to give a logical account of “watching a play.” Since Plato,
Western aestheticians have discussed the ontological status of the aesthetic
object. Plato concluded that the aesthetic object is ontologically inferior to
things in the phenomenal world and is thus twice removed from the
ultimate reality. Kant removed the aesthetic object from the Platonic
ontological order by declaring that aesthetic delight is “disinterested” in
the sense that it does not depend upon the actual existence of the aesthetic
context—even if what we contemplate is not a physical object it still
exists. In the aesthetic context, we contemplate not a physical object but
an “aesthetic semblance.” That which is an “aesthetic semblance” in the
aesthetic context may turn out to be an actually existing physical object in
the cognitive or the practical context. While determining the ontological
96 Appendix III
status of the aesthetic object, we must see that the contexts are not
confused. The world of imagination is not an imaginary, false world to be
contrasted with the “real” world. It is one aspect of the same world whose
other aspect is the so-called real world. The knower, the practical agent,
and the aesthetic contemplator deal with the same world under different
aspects.
On the phenomenon of changing the aspects, Aldrich writes, “What I
am approaching is the phenomenon of categorical aspection. . . .
Categorical aspection involves a change of categorical aspects; the same
material thing is perceived now as a physical object, now as an aesthetic
object, neither of which involves seeing it as another thing. The difference
between category aspects has to do with modes of perception and the
kinds of space in which their objects are realized.” To see a configuration
of pigments only as a configuration of pigments is to see under one aspect;
to see it as a horse is to see it under a different aspect. This theory can be
extended to cover the act of “watching a play on the stage.” To see an
actor as an actual human being and to see him as a “character” are two
different varieties of seeing, although the same sense organs are involved
in both types of seeing; the difference between the two is based on
categorical aspection. Sri Sankuka was laying a foundation for an
autonomist theory of art when he propounded the theory of citraturaga-
pratiti. Of course, this by itself cannot prove the validity of the autonomist
stand. For that, we also need the deconceptualisation of the aesthetic
experience, as Kant has maintained.
The first step that Sri Sankuka took in the direction of autonomy was
retracted by Abhinavagupta. For once, the actor, the character, the
spectator, and the emotional experience are universalised, the concepts of
“playing a role” and “seeing” a real human “as a character” lose all
meaning. For if all share the same universalised emotion, who can be said
to imitate (play the role of) whom? Abhinavagupta really has no use for
the notion of imitation, which is central to the world of drama and to the
representational aspect as a whole. Not only does Abhinavagupta retract
the step taken by Sri Sankuka, he actually takes a step in the opposite
direction. For through sƘdharanikarana we can go from the world of art
back to the world of “real” men and women. For although the “characters”
in a play do not inhabit the “real” world, “real” mean who resemble the
“characters” in many respects do live in the same “real” world in which
we live. “Characters” thus direct our attention to “real” men. That is why
we often exclaim “How true!” while watching a play. Further, if the rasa
experience is claimed to be an end in itself, why does the Abhinavagupta
school attach importance to the ultimate goals of human life (the
purusƘrthas) while deciding upon the number of rasas? If the rasas are
Does the Rasa Theory Have Modern Relevance? 97
close, as living minds to their own past. The past in its turn will return to
life if they approach it in this way.
Postscript
In the discussion during the Patan Seminar and elsewhere I have made the
following additional points about Sanskrit poetics:
K. KRISHNAMOORTHY
I
Criticism can never be a science: it is, in the first place, much too personal,
and in the second, it is concerned with values that science ignores. The
touchstone is emotion, not reason. We judge a work of art by its effect on
our sincere and vital emotion, and nothing else. All the critical twiddle-
twaddle about style and form, all this pseudo-scientific classifying and
analyzing of books in an imitation-botanical fashion, is mere impertinence
and mostly dull jargon. . . . A critic must be able to feel the impact of a
work of art in all its complexity and force. To do so, he must be a man of
force and complexity himself, which few critics are. The more
scholastically educated a man is, generally, the more he is an emotional
bore.
D. H. Lawrence
II
Frequently, English words like “instincts,” “drives,” “propensities,”
“emotions,” “moods,” “feelings,” “sentiments,” and so forth, borrowed
from modern psychology, have been used to translate the multiplicity of
meanings of the Sanskrit technical terms bhƘva and rasa. We also find
words like “art experience,” “aesthetic experience,” “aesthetic contemplation,”
and such like used as descriptions of the trained reader’s enjoyment of
literature. While the former are common to life experiences, the latter are
prominent in the appreciation of the fine arts. But none is sure how they
differentiate life emotion from art emotion.
Allied to this confusion is the lack of clarity in our understanding of
vibhƘvas and anubhƘvas, sthƘyưbhƘvas and vyabhicƘribhƘvas, and bhƘva
in regard to rasa.
Consequently, the seminal explanation of the aesthetic process as
involving sƘdharanikarana becomes distorted and difficult to accept. I
might refer in this connection to the brilliant and closely argued paper by
Prof. R. B. Patankar entitled “Does the Rasa Theory Have Any Modern
Relevance?,” which was published in the prestigious journal Philosophy
East and West. Rasa is a superstructure resting on one or two foundational
pillars; remove the pillars, and the whole structure goes to pieces.
The Relevance of Rasa Theory to Modern Literature 101
raw emotion of everyday life. The first is a singular feature underlying all
creative writing, while the last belongs to the private lives of people and
particularly includes their worldly love–hate complexities. I quote this
passage in particular to underscore the point that it has not been
particularly noticed by Sanskritists that Abhinavagupta regards kavi and
sahrdƘya as two poles of the same creative power: Glorious indeed is the
truth singular (or attitude identical) of poetry, designated by two alternate
names: viz., the poet and the responsive critic. He identifies them because
of this vital affinity between them in the partaking of rasa. The world of
nature, which is hard as stone, is made instinctive in life by means of the
creative rasa within each of them—creative fully in the poet and re-
creative in the critic.
What apart from this creative–re-creative emotion is involved in
Valmiki’s soka instantly becoming a sloka? Lest we should confuse
sorrow as a life emotion of the pained sage, Abhinavagupta comments that
it is quite different from that emotion and from the nature of repose within
his creative spirit or soul, which melts his heart as it were and floods it
with an afflatus of self-delight. The adjuncts nija and sva governing rasa
in both these excerpts from Abhinavagupta deserve further notice. But we
shall take it up later. The creative afflatus called karuΧa rasa here
overflows spontaneously and takes the art form of a sloka. The creative
rasa then is existentially coterminous with the created art form itself. As a
citation in Pratiharenduraja states: “The poet’s creative soul which
delights in rasa shines bright when it finds a ready reflection in the clear
mirror of word and meaning, a mirror embellished elegantly by literary
qualities like perspicuity and power.”
The poet’s rasa is a lamp and his creation is a mirror that adequately
reflects the lamplight. It has nothing to do with the creator’s private
emotion that his dairy might record. Abhinavagupta emphatically asserts,
“One should not take it as the personal sorrow of the sage.”
Why? One might ask. Abhinavagupta’s answer is, “If it were personal
sorrow on his part, Ɨnandavardhana would have no reason to regard rasa
as the Ƙtman or soul of literature. For no sorrow-stricken person turns
suddenly creative like this.”
I need not labour this point any more. Whatever the worldly emotion in
question—whether love or sorrow—the creative state of rasa is identical
in each case; that is why the poet and the critic can both share in that
“tragic pleasure” that is not at all a paradox. Only this common rasa state,
which is creative through and through and underlies all worldly emotions,
pleasurable or otherwise, deserves the status of Ƙtman or life essence of
literature. In the words of T. S. Eliot, it is “significant emotion,” and, in
the words of Jacques Maritain, it is “creative emotion.” Rasa is absolutely
The Relevance of Rasa Theory to Modern Literature 103
But there are always tribulations that science has not yet been able to
change into temptations and that it will never be able to change because
they have already happened; it is with these that art is concerned: the
muses are the daughters of memory. For if past events cannot be altered,
our attitude towards them can. They can be accepted. Their relation to
each other and the present can be understood. The moralist’s attack on art
comes from his confusion of art with science.
The Romantic movement in the West advocates the autonomy of the
poetic art and raises it as a banner of revolt against conformity to any
external norms. It makes the poet the “unacknowledged legislator of the
world.” Ɨnandavardhana too asserts in the same strain:
104 Appendix IV
His poet obeys no law that is not intrinsic to his inspired vision. This
law itself is the integral norm of propriety (aucitya) to rasa. It is at once
alogical and amoral. Any theme is grist to the poet’s mill. What makes it
aesthetically viable and valuable is only rasa-aucitya. That is why
according to Ɨnandavardhana and Abhinavagupta rasabhasa has an
honoured place alongside rasa in literature. The latter insists on the
condition that the sahrdƘya should be free from inhibitions imposed by his
personal beliefs and unbeliefs in order to make his response genuinely
aesthetic. Against the background of Auden’s penetrating analysis of
experience, it will be easy to see how the Indian conception of thematic
rasadis, alongside the creative overall rasa, is both meaningful and
significant. The former are governed by the law of unity, symmetry,
harmony, and propriety, while the overall rasavesa or creative afflatus is a
law unto itself. The question of the poet’s belief is not brought into literary
criticism or value judgement. What is always insisted upon is the
commonality of interest between the poet and his reader, since art, by
definition, is a shared thing. This is a point Auden also admits. If it cannot
be shared, “poetry would be no more than a personal allegory of the
artist’s individual dementia, of interest primarily to the psychologist and
the historian.” Some ultramodernist trends in Western literature seem to be
experimenting with this extreme idea. But the other extreme would mean a
photographic copy of the accidental details of life. The rasa theory holds a
golden mean between the two, because its recognition of nava-rasas is
wide enough to do justice to all the major emotional experiences in man’s
life, with an underground connection involving one of the four
purusƘrthas or life values, though in an unobtrusive manner.
(2) Next I take up a view expressed by a famous French poet-critic,
Yves Bonnefoy in the Encounter: “Poetic creation, in short, is hieratic, it
makes an inviolable place, and while the rite of reading continues, it draws
its mind into this illusory communion.” Are we not reminded here of
KƘlidƘsa’s description of drama as a “ritual feast for the eye of gods” that
is a singular source of satisfaction to all spectators whatever their tastes?
Among the theorists, both Bhatta Nayaka and Abhinavagupta bring in
their Kashmiri Saiva metaphysics to explain the experience of rasa, which
is nothing but a sudden flash of bliss, innate in the Ƙtman, and which is
realised by the powerful impact of music and dance on the stage and
similar platforms while witnessing a drama or by responding to poetry.
The Relevance of Rasa Theory to Modern Literature 105
the poet and his pratibha-vyapara oriented to rasa; this alone comes to be
designated bhavakatva.
It is this bhavakatva, and none other, which is held to be synonymous
with sƘdharanikarana. The uncommon is made commonly shareable. By
whom? Obviously, by the poet’s imaginative and creative activity. The
love and suffering of Rama and Sita, when treated thematically, are
regarded as vibhƘvas and so on of sthƘyưbhƘvas, viz., rati, soka, and such
like. No one, not even the poet, has been the actual life emotion of these
legendary persons. He only imagines them and gives them a coherent from
in his work. In the former state (laukika), we have only causes, associates,
and so on of mental states. But in their imagined state (alaukika), they are
redesignated as vibhƘvas, anubhvas, and such like of sthƘyưbhƘvas. That
means once again that they come to have an existential status only when
they are imaginatively conceived and artistically objectified by a poet.
These can be shared now by any number of readers or spectators.
VibhƘvas and so on are thus sadharanikrta or rendered shareable by one
and all sahrdƘyas, transcending the boundaries of even time and space:
“By the function called bhavakatva whose essence lies in making vibhƘvas
and such like commonly shared.”
This is Abhinavagupta’s summary of Bhatta Nayaka’s position. In a
way, they might become archetypal or typical of human conditions with
arrested movement as in Keats’s Grecian urn in his Ode. But is this
exactly “universalisation” in the logical sense? I don’t think so. When the
poet has not seen even the particular, what can he universalise?
Dhananjaya’s explanation of Bhatta Nayaka is imprecise, leading to this
confusion among scholars: “Words like Sita denote only a woman in
general, divested of particular attributes like being the daughter of Janaka
and so on.”
The right interpretation is indicated by Simha-bhupala in his
Rasarnava-sudhakara: Particular attributes so divested are only the ones
that might obstruct the reader’s self-identification with the character (viz.,
Sita here), such as “being the daughter of Janaka,” “being the wife of
Rama,” and such like (and not the other ones, which are unobstructive).
Individual attributes such as “being endowed with grace, liveliness,
chastity, winsomeness, and so on,” are indeed very much present in the
denotation of the word in question. A character stimulant such as Sita calls
forth to our mind only a particular woman endowed with such
unobstructive epithets, and not the genus of all women.
The Relevance of Rasa Theory to Modern Literature 109
III
Now let us turn to Abhinavagupta. He could take over Bhatta Nayaka’s
findings, lock, stock, and barrel, because both were Kashmiri Saivas. But
he does not accept the kƘvya-vyapara of bhavakatva or sƘdharanikarana,
since in his poetics vyanjanƘ-vyapara is a better substitute for both
bhavakatva and bhojakatva. Abhinavagupta’s sƘdharanikarana is only an
implication contained in poetic suggestion or manifestation and not its
whole nature. All his accounts of saksatkara (intuitive actualisation),
camatkara (esoteric flash), bhogavesa (afflatus of enjoyment), eka-ghana-
samvit (consciousness absolute), and such like are couched in terms
common to Kashmiri Saivism and aesthetics, used repeatedly for the first
time by Abhinavagupta. The corrupt reading of the available AbhinavabhƘratư
on sƘdharanikarana cannot permit any ready translation unless the whole
background is grasped. The passage in question can be rendered as
follows: Hence it is that commonness is not limited at all, but quite
unlimited. This is even like the relation of invariable concomitance
between the syllogistic probans, viz., smoke and the probandum, viz., fire.
Or it may be compared to the invariable relation between a stimulus like
fear and its response like a shiver. Towards this apparently “intuitive
actualisation,” the whole paraphernalia of actors and so on of the stage is
contributory. When, in a dramatic performance, all limiting factors such as
place, time and cogniser, both real and poetically conceived, become
completely annihilated because of their mutual opposition, the aforesaid
state of “commonness” alone will stand out. Hence, it is that the common
experience of all connoisseurs adds up to a perfect state of rasa.
The context is of fear becoming a rasa in the connoisseur while
witnessing the scene of the hunted deer in ĞakuntalƘ and similar works, as
described by KƘlidƘsa.
It should be very clearly noted that the word used here is sadharanyam
and saharani-bhƘva but not sƘdharanikarana. It is a state of unlimited
extension, perhaps like the relation of invariable concomitance between
the probans and the probandum. The actors on the stage and so on only
contribute to the spectacle taking the form of a self-actualisation. They do
not perceive an outside object, such as a deer; they realise within
themselves the very mental state of fear in all its depth. The conditioning
elements of an object-consciousness like time, space, and subject are
totally annihilated by reason of their mutual cancellation (anyonya-
pratibandha); and the resultant, which is divested of all elements of
individuality, shines out in its general form only. That is why all the
spectator begets is a singularly unified identical awareness and this adds
exceedingly to the nourishment of rasa.
110 Appendix IV
C. N. PATEL
Catharsis and rasa are related concepts, in that they seek to explain the
central feature of all aesthetic experience—namely, that it is so different in
essence from ordinary experience that, whatever the subject or object that
stimulates it, it is always pleasurable. This feature of aesthetic experience
arrests attention with striking vividness in our response to tragedy in
which emotions that would be painful in real life are so transformed as to
excite a pleasurable thrill ending in a feeling akin to “the still sad music of
humanity” to which the beauty of nature opened Wordsworth’s ears.
Aristotle, the first systematic literary critic in the West, called this process
catharsis. He did not define the term and there has been a long discussion
among critics and students of poetry about what he may have meant.
Similarly, in the Indian tradition, too, Bharata, the first systematic writer
on poetics, merely mentions how rasa is generated without explaining
what he means by rasa and how it differs from the pleasurable emotions
of ordinary experience. Later writers took up the concept and made it the
subject of an absorbing speculation about the nature of aesthetic
experience.
Though Western and Indian writers on poetic experience thus deal
with the same problem, their treatments of the subject differ completely
from one another. The difference springs from a more fundamental
difference between the two philosophical attitudes: the transcendental and
the empirical. The former looks upon the waking state as an aspect of a
larger reality not accessible in full in that state. The latter, on the other
hand, confines itself to man’s experience in the waking state, and even
when it concerns itself with unconscious or subconscious levels of the
human psyche which reveal themselves in dream experiences, as it does in
some areas of modern psychology, it seeks to understand those
experiences in terms of standards and principles derived from the waking
114 Appendix V
How did art perform this miracle? Neither Western nor Indian writers
answer this question directly, though they do indicate the lines along
which the solution may be sought. Aristotle stresses the importance of
unified structure in tragedy and of rhythm and harmony in its language;
Bharata says categorically that rasa is produced by the samyoga or
harmonious representation of the three types of bhƘvas, vibhƘvas,
vyabhicƘribhƘvas, and anubhƘvas. Both, it seems, refer to the same
feature of the creative act—namely, apprehension and representation of
pattern and order in the flow of experience. Aristotle stresses the unity and
order of the whole material of the dramatic representation, while Bharata
refers to the unified perception of every component unit in the total series
of events constituting the drama. What is important in both is
apprehending unity in the diverse elements of representation. This
apprehension is an act of the imagination, through which both the artist
and the spectators participate in the divine power of creation. The basic
fact of the universe is the creation of order at all levels of reality, from the
microscopic world of discrete atoms formed by patterns of
electromagnetic waves, to the telescopic world of stars and galaxies, from
the unicellular world of germ-plasm to the infinitely complex structure of
the human body and the still greater miracle of the human mind. In artistic
creation, man, created, according to the Bible, in the image of his maker,
exercises for his pleasure through self-expression the same power that has
created the universe. The pratibha that creates ever-new artistic forms,
navanavollekhasalini prajana, is a manifestation in the individual
consciousness of the power of universal self that said “ekoham bahu
syam.” According to the English poet-critic Coleridge, the imagination
that creates art and poetry is a repetition in the finite mind of the infinite “I
am.” The Infinite “I am,” according to the UpaniΙad, is rasa, “raso vai
sah”; the kavi and the bhavaka, by imitating the creative act of that “I am,”
share in his rasa.
Confronted with this explanation of the pleasure of poetry and art,
Plato would probable have asked, How can we be sure that this rasa of
poetic enjoyment is the rasa of momentary participation in spiritual being
and not merely an abhasa of it? Judged by the conduct in life of men in
love with the pleasure of poetry and the arts, do the effects of poetic
enjoyment seem spiritually beneficial? It is a challenging question to
lovers of art, particularly to the advocates of the doctrine of “art for art’s
sake.”
GLOSSARY
bƘhya outer
bhƘna one of the classes that divides rǍpakƘ
bharta-vakya a conclusive sentence
bhƘva feelings
bhavaka one who shows feelings
bhokta one who enjoys pleasure
Brahma the creator god
BrƘhman one of the four castes in Manu’s system
BrƘhmana little developed religious texts
BrƘhmanandasahodara aesthetic delight
Ƙnanda
brahmmanda the universe
cetnƘ conscience
charaka medical practitioner
chitra vưԜƘ instrument with seven strings played with
fingers
chitrabhinƘya art to represent abstract phenomenon
ciԮԮa-vrtti-samvƘda emotional matching
jnana knowledge
lakԕaԜa diction
laksya secondary
LƘsya feminine form of dance taught by PƘrvatư
lưlƘ play
lokadharmi one of the schools of delivery and movement
lokas worlds
lokasvabhava human condition
loka-vԞtti imitation of men and their doings
LokƘyata a sect that doesn’t accept the authority of the
Vedas
madhayama intermediate
120 Glossary
nandi prayer
nƘstika heterodox schools
nata performer
natak drama
natika one of the eighteen classes of uprupaka
nƘԮya dramatic whole
nƘԮya samagri a part of a dramatic whole
nƘԮyadahrmi one of the schools of delivery and movement
nƘԮyagrha theatre
NƘԮyaveda the fifth Veda, takes elements from four
Vedas – pƘthya (dialogue or text) from Rig-
Veda, gưta (music) from SƘmaveda, abhinƘya
(acting) from Yajurveda, and rasa (emotion)
from Atharvaveda
neta the hero
niԕƘda seventh musical note of Hindustani classical
music
pƘda composition
panava dual-headed instrument that is thin in the
middle and fastened with strings
pancham fifth
pañcama fifth musical note of Hindustani classical
music
paramƘrtha beneficial
PƘrvatư wife of lord Ğiva
pƘthya dialogue or text
prƘkruta dhvani primary sound
pracitƘ long in duration
pracitƘtara longer in duration
A Student’s Handbook of Indian Aesthetics 121
rakshas demons
RƘmlưlƘ performing the life of Rama in dance
rasa emotions
rasokti delineation of emotion
“raso vaii saharasa” “verily is he”
Ԟԕabha second musical note of Hindustani classical
music
rǍpakƘ general term in Sanskrit for dramatic
compositions
tƘla beats
TƘndava dance form taught by TƘndu
TƘndu disciple of Ğiva
tata stringed instruments
tƘtpƘrya syntactical meaning
triloka three worlds of gods, men, and demons
tripurdaha a story from Ğiva’s own deeds
trotaka one of the eighteen classes of uprupaka
tundakini conches are the subordinate ones
vƘcika speech
vƘcikabhvaya effective speech or recitation
vƘcya primary meaning
vagabhinƘya recitation of speeches assigned to the
character
vaikruta dhvani secondary sound
vƘkrokti figurative language
vƘstu the plot
vưԜƘ type of stringed instrument
veethi road shows
vibhaga apartment
vibhƘvadijivitavadhi the rasa experience is coterminous with the
presence of the vibhƘvas
vidushak constant companion of hero
A Student’s Handbook of Indian Aesthetics 123
vilambita slowness
viniyog combination of beauty, grace and meaning in
bodily movements
vipanchi instrument with nine strings
ViԕԜu the preserver god
vithi one of the classes that divides rǍpakƘ
vividhƘshraya that which depends on many
vԞtti style
vyabhicƘribhƘva transitory emotion
vyangya that which is suggested
vyangyƘrtha the meaning suggested by the words
vyanjaka that which suggests
vyanjanƘ that which suggests
vyapara business, commerce
vyayƘma exercise
vyayoga one of the classes that divides rǍpakƘ
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A Student’s Handbook of Indian Aesthetics 129
SHASTRA, 7, 8, 9, 12 Vacikabhinaya, 9
Shravya, 7 vaikrta, 46, 57, 60
shringara, 32 Vakrokti, 39, 40, 76
Shringara, 18, 32 Vastu, 7, 39, 40
Soka, 28 Veda, 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 43, 72
sphota, 45, 46, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60 Vedantic, 1, 5
Sthapatyaveda, 10 veena, 18, 19
sthayibhava, 19, 49, 56, 98, 108 Veera, 18, 35
Sushruta, 10 Vendanticism, 1
Svabhavika, 40 Vibhatsa, 28, 33, 35
Svabhavokti, 38, 39, 40 Vibhava, 27, 35
Taitriya, 8 Vibhavas, 27, 80, 108
Tandava, 11 vidushaka, 8
tanmayibhavana, 37, 66, 106 Vithi, 7
tragedy, 7, 78, 79, 113, 115, 116 vividhashraya, 15
Tripurdaha, 7 vyangya, 48, 49, 56
Trotaka, 7 vyangyartha, 44, 46, 48, 49, 55
upama, 38, 78, 79 vyanjana, 36, 46, 49, 56, 107, 109
Upanishad, 1, 2, 4, 11 vyayama, 20
uparupaka, 7 Vyayoga, 7
Upavedas, 10 Yajurveda, 7, 10
vacika, 21, 35, 36, 37 yamaka, 22, 38