CHAPTER 10 KINGS AND POETS : INDIA, HINDUTVA AND HISTORY
CHAPTER 10: KINGS AND POETS
Illustrated Hoysala palm leaf manuscripts. See Sivaramamurti 1968, pg. 72-77. Photo
Credit: Discover India. 
Palm Leaf page from Sangam Age Tamil work,
Tolkapium. Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons.
As I researched this paper, I noticed an unlikely coupling – that of kings and poets. Every king had a favourite poet. Some kings were great poets themselves. Every court had a body of literature, or even a new language, associated with it.
The literature and arts patronised by a court
certainly added to its prestige. But the connection between the South Indian
rajas and the arts went much deeper than that. The exquisite works that come
from king after king, whether as literature, music, art or monuments, bear the
mark of a profound understanding and love of the arts as a component of
kingship itself.
The populace was not simply a passive audience for the works commissioned by their kings. As we will see, to a great extent the artistic traditions in which courtly literature, arts and monuments were produced came from the people themselves. These artistic traditions had often already been established in the land, even for centuries, before the coming of a particular king.
Photo
Credit: ePhotocorp on iStock.
When the king commissioned works of art in these
existing traditions, it was to signal his entry into the established culture of
his subjects. We saw in previous chapters how kings extended protection and
patronage to all religions that had found adherents in their lands. In the same
way, they saw it as their role to patronise and celebrate the culture, language
and arts of all their subjects, as well to showcase their own culture or faith
of origin where it was different from those of their subjects, as was often the
case.
The superlative artistic merit of the works that came
out of the courts, which are recognised as masterpieces till today, testifies
to a community of artistic understanding and sensibility between the king and
the commoners. This constituted a shared experience in which king and subject
were, if not equals, then equal partakers or rasikas in their enjoyment
and understanding of the work of art, and sense of belonging towards the
culture in which it was embedded.
It was here, in this place of joy, refinement and
illumination, that the disaggregated and diverse peoples of a kingdom become “a
people”. The dim outlines of a nation now begin to emerge. But I am getting
ahead of myself. First, we will survey the literature of ancient and early
medieval South India.
The Tamil rajas were great patrons of Sangam poetry. It
was customary for them to hold massive literary and scholarly gatherings with
philosophical debates and poetry contests. The court poet was an official
position from the earliest to medieval times. These poets often played the role
of special advisors and mentors to kings and princes, as well as producing
great literary and dramatic works.
Krishnadeva Raya of Vijayanagar is said to have had an
office of eight poets called the “Ashtadiggajas”. The Hoysala court had
hereditary poet-laureats (284). The Pallavas too had hereditary court-poets. The
famous Pallava court poet Dandin’s father and grandfather had also been poets
to the Pallavas.
Some of the earliest inscriptional records or prashastis
that we have of kings, which list their lineage, victories and endowments, were
written in beautiful verse. A notable example of a poetic prashasti is the one
composed by the famous Jain poet, Ravikirti, for the Chalukya King Pulakesin II
(286). Even Ashoka’s edicts had a lyrical quality, with both rhythm and rhyme
(285). The verse form was used even for scholarly writing like the
Natyashastra, which was a treatise on drama.
The aesthetic sensibility and thematic pre-occupations
of ancient South Indian literature give interesting insights into the mood and
milieu of the times.
Sangam poetry was of two types – love poetry called “Agam”,
and war poetry called “Puram”. Agam poetry used the landscape as a metaphor for
various moods of love (287). The Puram poems are a boisterous celebration of
battle and tales of chivalry. Many of them are composed as odes to the reigning
king.
A running motif in Sangam poems is the idea of
conquest being a kingly duty and the mark of a king’s prestige. A king was to be
“vijigishu” or a “conquering king” (288). Greatness was attained by defeating
seven rivals and making a garland of their crowns; then would a king be worthy
of the title, “Adhiraja” (289)! The Cholas patronised a tradition of war poetry
called “Parani” (290).
As has been noted in earlier chapters, the bitterness
of Hindutva politics about ancient and medieval conquest would have been
incomprehensible to the kings and peoples of ancient South India.
The legends of the Sangam Age have any number of
stories of this or that famous poem having the approval of the cognoscenti when
they made the listeners’ “hairs stand on end” or the idol of a deity “weep”
when recited. Clearly ancient Tamils appreciated the ability of a poem to
provoke a dramatic emotional response.
Could this tradition have re-appeared, or re-styled
itself in the Tamil Bhakti poetry of the alvars and nayanars? Their songs are
legendary for their immediate emotional effect, though now the muse is union
with the Divine, rather than a doe-eyed girl in the warm, moist earth of the
tropical hills of the Agams!
I suggest that orthodox Hindus everywhere should
un-purse their lips and unscrew their eyes to acknowledge the debt that
Hinduism owes to the earthy and unrestrained aesthetic of the non-Vedic traditions
that gave Tamil Bhakti the grammar and mood that was instrumental in reviving
the fortunes of Hinduism in the 6th century, as described in
previous chapters.
Another interesting characteristic of ancient and
medieval texts, both secular and religious, is their performative aspect. Many
literary renditions of legends, stories and plays seem to have been written to
be sung and performed.
Scholars have commented that the Sangam poems are
written as though they were meant to be sung (291). RVS Sundaram and Ammel
Sharon, translators of the epic Kannada work, Gadayuddam by the poet Ranna, say
“Ranna’s poem is remarkably dramatic in nature. Crisp dialogue, body gestures
and imagery fill the poem. It is as if the poet were giving us directions for a
play (292).”
Another example is the Valmiki Ramayana, which is
considered among the foremost of Sanskrit Kavya in India. The opening verses of
the Valmiki Ramayana say that Valmiki taught the Ramyana to Luv and Kush for
them to sing, and that the verses could be sung in vilambhit, madhya or dhrut laya. Laya means tempo. Interestingly, the categorisation of tempo into vilambhit
(slow), madhya (medium) and dhrut (fast) remains in vogue in classical music in
India till today (293).
This shows that the writers of ancient and medieval
texts were atleast as much concerned with their aesthetic and compositional
aspects as they were with their religious or sacred ones. For example, the
Bhagavadgita is truly a “gita” or song, filled with rhythm and different types
of rhymes and alliterations (294). For example,
note the use of the word “bodhavyam” in verse 4.17:
“ कर्मणो ह्यापि बोद्धव्यं, बोद्धव्यं च
विकर्मणः ।
अकर्मणश्च बोद्धव्यं गहना कर्मणो गतिः ।।
Another example is the alliteration with “yat”, and the rhyming of “tat” and “mat” in verse 9.27:
यत् करोषि यद् अश्नसि यज्जुहोषि ददासि यत् ।
यत् तपस्यसि कौन्तेय तत् कुरुष्व मद् अर्पणम् ।।
Some passages from renditions of the epics are so
sensuous or playful in their mood that they do not appear to have been meant to
be recited as they are these days on Sanghi YouTube channels with the solemn,
repetitive intonation that is properly reserved for chanting, and not kavya.
Another ignored aspect of the sacred texts such as the Bhagavadgita, Vyasas’s Mahabharata and Valmiki’s Ramayana is that they are composed in the long-standing sub-continental literary tradition of compendia or compilations that are intended to gather together and present, in lyric verse no less, all the extant doctrines and philosophies of the time.
This is why you will find seemingly contradictory
passages in the Bhagavadgita. The idea in these texts is not so much to posit a
particular principle or code, as to invoke reflection upon different moral and philosophical ideas, each presented in their most compelling form.
It also is important for readers to have a sense of
the urbane, “Chatu-Shashti Kala” mood and style of the writing of Brahmin and
Jain court poets of the first millennium. They could not be farther away in
their subject, mood and ethos from the world of Hindutva, or, for that matter,
your average Sanghi Mami’s “pure” vegetarian, separate spoon, bhajan-mandali,
“Jai-Shree-Ram” imagining of India’s past.
The Chatu Shashti Kala or Sixty-Four Arts were the
skills which the sophisticate was meant to possess. They have famously been described
in the Kamasutra. However, they were not restricted to the erotic arts. The
idea of the urbane man of wide interests and refined taste who was au fait
with the arts permeates the ancient and medieval culture of South India.
The Chatu Shashti Kala included knowledge of food,
perfumes, jewels, how to adorn the ear, how to enact short plays, how to write
verse, how to be fascinating in conversation, how to arrange flowers, how to
make a bed of them for your lover, how to make love, and so on.
Among the works in this mood of Dandin (of the Pallava
courts, mentioned above) was a treatise on kingship in the form of a story of
the lives of ten princes – the “Dasa Kumara Charitam”. This is how the writer Anirudh
Kanisetti describes passages from the Dasa Kumara Charitam of Dandin (295):
“One prince…holds himself back from sleeping with a
queen, another man’s wife, for fear of hurting dharma. He then calculates that
‘the compilers of the scriptures permit this if both artha… and kama… are also
attained at the same time….That should neutralise any sin, and may also reward
me with some fraction of dharma.’ He then spends the night in illicit pleasure,
leaving the queen covered in love bites and scratches, savouring her moans and
the faint line of sweat on her brow as they make love…..”
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Later Kanisetti describes how Dandin displays his
literary skill in a passage where “one prince, his lips bruised by love bites,
narrates his entire tale without employing sounds that require the usage of his
lips: pa, pha, ba, bha, ma.”
The writing of verse without sounds that require the
use of the lips (“labial sounds”) was a lively sub-genre of writing called
“niroshthya kavya” that continued into the time of the Deccan Sultanates (296).
Somesvara Chalukya’s 12th century work,
“Manasollasa” or “Abhilashitartha
Cintamani”, a work on kingship, describes the diversions and skills of kings as
including - besides the expected horsemanship, wrestling, poetry, music and
dancing - the training of elephants, cock-fighting, raising dogs, sports in
gardens, fields, mountains and on sandbanks, the enjoyment of the company of
women, rhetoric, dialectics, painting, architecture, and so on (300).
Chalukya Somesvara III wrote or commissioned a
marvellous encyclopaedia of the knowledge of the time whose categories included
medicine, magic, veterinary science, valuing precious stones, pearls,
fortifications, games, and amusements. In this tradition, was the medieval
Bijapur court’s “Ajaib al-makhluqat wa gharaib al mawjudat” – “The Wonders of
Creation and the Marvels of Existence” (300A).
The legend of “Mananul” or “Jivaka Cintamani” written
in the early 10th century says a lot about the expectations of the
time from a great writer. The Jivaka Cintamani is supposed to have been written
by a young Jain monk, Tiruttakkadevar, who, in a now-familiar tale of princely renunciation,
is said to have once been a Chola prince.
The Jivaka Cintamani is in turn about a king who
renounces the world after going through a series of amorous adventures. The
book is said to have been written in response to a challenge to the Jains that
while they had great insight on many subjects, they could not write of love. This
legend tells us something of the attitudes to love, renunciation and good
literature in 10th century Tamil society (297).
The book was so sensual that Tiruttakkadevar was
accused of having tasted all the illicit pleasures before becoming a monk. He denied
this, and is said to have proven his chastity by the ordeal of applying a
burning hot ladle to his tongue!
Incidentally, a similar tale is told of Adi
Shankaracharya – that he was challenged as a young man by a married lady who
said that while he had much learning, as an ascetic he lacked full knowledge of
life. So Shankara used his spiritual powers to enter the body of a king who was
on his death-bed, with his soul about to leave him. In this way, Shankaracharya spent time
in the company of the queen, fighting battles and carrying out other kingly
duties. He thus tasted the pleasures of love and performed various worldly acts
without violating his ascetic vows.
Legends such as these are revealing of the scepticism
that was freely expressed in ancient times even about ideas that came from so
revered a figure as Shankaracharya. The prim censoriousness of Hindutva
ideologues would not have been to the taste of the Hindus of their imagined
“Golden Age”.
The legend of Jivaka Cintamani goes on: in the 12th
century AD, the Shaiva priest, Sekkizar, is said to have exhorted the Chola
king to abandon his pursuit of erotic literature such as the Jivaka Cintamani,
and to turn instead to Shaiva bhakti. This, by the way, is an interesting
reversal of roles between Hindus and Jains, as in the legends of this time it
is usually the Jains who are accused of being too removed from the ordinary
pleasures of life.
The king challenged Sekkizar to produce something that
could match the Jivaka Cintamani. Sekkizar wrote the “Periya Puranam” or “Tirutondar
Puranam” (298).
The Jivaka Cintamani is said to have served as the
model for the famous Chola poet Kamban of the 11th century AD who
wrote a Tamil version of the Ramayana, called the “Ramavataram” (299).
Though the Sangam poems have references to the
Ramayana and Mahabharata, showing an awareness of these epics in Tamil country
in that age, it is noteworthy that the written Tamil version of the Ramayana
came so late - not even in the first millennium, and not even in the days of
the revival of Hinduism under Adi Shankaracharya.
Hindutva’s centralising of the Ramayana among all the
compositions of the Hindu canon is thus another invention that is not borne out
by the history of Hinduism in this land.
Ancient South Indian writing also took pride in being
playful and witty. The legendary court-jester Tenali Raman served the
Vijayanagar Raja, Krishnadeva Raya. Besides his famous jokes and one-liners in
which he spoke truth to power, he also wrote poetry in Telugu.
Dandin is said to have written a work, now lost, which
told the story simultaneously in verse of the Mahabharata and Ramayana. Each
verse was so composed, using the conjugations of Sanskrit, that the same lines
could be read in one way to tell the story of the Mahabharata, and another way
to tell that of the Ramayana!
A work with this technique from Chalukyan times which
has survived is Vidyamadhava’s “Paravati-Rukminiya” in which each verse holds
two meanings simultaneously – one narrating the marriage of Shiva and Paravati,
and the other of Krishna and Rukmini. Another work, “Raghava-Pandavya” by
Madhava Bhatta of the Kadamba court in the 12th century does the
same with the story of the Ramayana and Mahabharata (301).
Around the 10th century AD, the poet
Hayayudha wrote the “Kavirahasya” which illustrated the formation of the
present tense of Sanskrit roots in the form of a eulogy to a Rashtrakuta king.
This technique of eulogising a king while illustrating
some grammatical or other technical point was often used by other writers. For
instance, “Ekavali” was a play by Vidyadhara that eulogised a king of Odisha,
while at the same time illustrating the rules of drama. Another such play was
Prataparudra Yashobhushana, a play that illustrated the rules of drama while
praising the Kakatiya ruler Pratap Rudra of Warangal (Telugu country) (302).
While Hindutva histories speak of Sanskrit as the
primary language of ancient India, in fact, many other languages commanded
prestige and literary patronage at the time.
A number of Deccan courts played a formative role in
systematising and promoting local non-Sanskrit languages and dialects. The
rajas would instruct their court poets to write literatures in these languages,
sometimes even writing the earliest works themselves. In Karnataka and Andhra
country this was a conscious exercise in establishing new languages that could
rival the best of Sanskrit literature.
From before the first millennium AD, in North India
and the upper Deccan, Prakrit was used by Jain and Buddhist thinkers. Sanskrit
did not have a monopoly over high literature, which also developed in Prakrit.
The Satvahanas were early patrons of Maharashtrian
Prakrit. The Satvahana king, Hala (who ruled around the start of the first
millennium), is said to have written (or commissioned) the “Gatha Sattasai”, a
text in Maharashtrian Prakrit verse on the theme of erotic love, which predates
the famous Kamasutra. Vatsyayana’s Kamasutra refers to the Satvahanas.
Later Sanskrit works refer to the Gatha Sattasai as an
iconic literary text, and some Sanskrit works are said to be based on it. In
fact, the Sanskrit works of Kalidasa have Prakrit verses as well. There is also
reference to a lost Prakrit called Paisachi (or the “ghostly” tongue).
The Vakatakas, who rose after the Satvahanas, were
also major patrons of Prakrit Kavya. The Vakataka king Pravarasena II is said
to have written the Maharashtri Prakrit “Setubandha”. Some historians believe
that Kalidasa wrote this work; which would again indicate the prestige of
Prakrit as a literary language in ancient times.
In Setubandha, Vibhishana, the younger brother of
Ravana, who allied with Rama, is given lines expressing his grief at the death
of Ravana (303). Interestingly, Pravarasena himself is said to have betrayed his brothers to become king.
Hindutva ideologues object to Hindu epics and legends
being treated as metaphors and myths. They claim that Hinduism is somehow
undermined if the epics and figures appearing in them are not treated as actual
historical events and people. But the fact is that both Hindu texts and the
ancient rajas of India, in whose name the flag of Hindutva has been raised,
treated these events and figures metaphorically, metaphysically and
mythologically. What is more, this does not in any way diminish the prestige of
Hinduism. On the contrary, Hinduism is at its grandest and most compelling when
understood in these terms.
An abiding weakness of the Hindutva project for the
South is that it is unable to contend with the fact that the rivalry between
Sanskrit and the native tongues of South India goes back centuries. For
example, there a tradition in Sangam lore that keeps appearing in different
versions of the same basic plot that a child or a mute person suddenly spouted
this or that poem which the established poet-judges laughed at, but who were in
the end compelled to admit to being a masterpiece surpassing even their own
work. There are also various legends about how the Tamil language was lost and
then recovered.
Was the deaf-mute or child in these legends and their
initially unappreciative audience a metaphor for the Tamil language being lost
or incomprehensible to the speakers of some other language who came to Tamil
country? Do these stories and the grammars that refer to them arise from an
episode in history where Tamil claimed or re-claimed a place for itself against
Sanskrit and Prakrit? These are interesting lines of inquiry that have been
taken up by a number of scholars such as David Shulman.
The Hindutva project to make India monolingual reveals
yet again its fundamental alienation from the true history and culture of
India. India has never ever been monolingual. In ancient times, coins and
inscriptions were issued in multiple languages. Kushan coins had legends in
Greek, Prakrit and Kharoshti (307). Ashoka’s edicts and inscriptions were
issued in Gandhari (northwestern Prakrit), Greek and Aramaic. Some were
bilingual - in Greek and Aramaic, or Prakrit and Aramaic (308).
Kings and court poets were proudly multilingual. The
Ganga king Durvinita (6th century AD) is said to have written a
number of works in Kannada and Sanskrit (309). Krishnadeva Raya of Vijayanagar is said to have been a great writer in both Sanskrit and
Telugu. Plays are described in the Natyashastra as having both Sanskrit and
Prakrit dialogues.
Rashtrakuta Amogavarsha tasked his court poet,
Srivijaya, with the composition of a Kannada book of grammar called the “Kavi
Raja Margam”. In doing so, Amogavarsha was attempting to systematise the different
dialects of Kannada. His interest in the subject was the catalyst for an
efflorescence of Kannada-writing that overtook in volume the high classical
writing in Sanskrit in the Deccan (304).
The Telugu Chodas and the Eastern Gangas were
enthusiastic patrons of Telugu language. The poet Nannaya of the 11th
century AD composed a Telugu grammar called the “Andhra Sabha Cintamani” (305).
The cultivation of Telugu literature and poets
continued in Tamil country under the Nayakas and the Marathas of the 16th
and 17th centuries. The iconic Carnatic musician and composer,
Thyagaraja of Tanjore, was of Telugu origin. Many of the most popular
compositions of Carnatic Music are in Telugu, even though Tamil Nadu
is considered the centre of this music.
A striking aspect of ancient courtly South Indian
literature is its religious eclecticism and general air of openness and liberalism.
We have already studied in Chapter 9 about the Mattavilasa Prahasana and
Bhagavad-Ajjukam. These were satires commissioned by the Tamil Raja Pallava
Mahendravarman on the rival faiths of his time - Buddhism, Jainism and
Shaivism. In them, he lampooned not just all religions, but the very idea of
moralising and philosophising.
I have argued in Chapter 9 that Mattavilasa Prahasana,
Bhagavad-Ajjukam and Sattanar’s Manimekalai may be seen as consciously
undertaken artistic interventions to lighten the sectarian tensions of the time
with humour; and to temper communal hostilities that may have arisen in the
kingdom by underlining the universal human aspects of life.
Pallava Mahendravarman was a gifted man with a range
of artistic and creative talents, including musical composition and the design
of exquisite temples. This earned him the sobriquet “vicitra-chitta” or
“wonderful mind” (310). A musical inscription in a cave site at Pudukkottai is
said to have been commissioned by Mahendravarman Pallavan. It refers to a king
under the tutelage of the music acharya Rudra of the 7th or 8th
century AD.
Most of the early Tamil literature was written by
Jains and Buddhists. The Tamil classic “Silappadikaram” was written by the
Chera prince turned Jain monk, Ilango Adigal. The Sangam work, Tolkappiyam is
believed by some scholars to have been written by a Jain. The writer,
Thiruvalluvar, of another early Tamil work, Tirukural, is also believed to have
been Jain (275).
The Cholas patronised a number of Jain poets who wrote
in Tamil. Among the noted kavyas of Tamil literature are the works of the Jain
poet, Tolamoli (315).
We have studied in previous chapters about the
conversion from Buddhism and Jainism to Shaivism and Vaishnavism in Tamil,
Karnataka and Andhra country between the 7th and 10th
centuries. However, the courts, especially in Karnataka, appear to have
consciously extended protection and patronage to Jain writers and thinkers in
what must have been a period of insecurity and loss for of them.
Early Kannada literature was entirely written by Jain
poets serving Hindu rajas (271). The Jains continued to contribute important
works well into the 14th century.
Three Jain poets of the Rashtrakuta and Kalyana
(Taila) Chalukya courts, Adikavi Pampa, Sri Ponna and Ranna are together known
as the “three gems of Kannada literature” (311). Such is the cosmopolitanism of
even ancient Indian culture, that two of these poets, Pampa and Ponna, who laid
the foundation of Kannada literature, were not even natives of that land. They
came from Telugu country (312).
The patronage of Pampa, Ponna and Ranna by the
Rashtrakutas and Kalyana-Chalukyas may have been as a show of support to the
Jain community at a time when they were losing out to the rising popularity of
Hinduism in the Deccan.
Adikavi Pampa’s famous works include an epic account
of the life of the first Jain Thirthankara, Rishabha. Sri Ponna wrote an epic
biography of another Jain tirthankara, Shantinatha.
Despite the decline of Buddhism, the South Indian rajas continued to patronise Buddhist intellectuals and writers well into the 13th century AD. A Buddhist writer called Buddhamitra found patronage in the Chola courts. He and a Jain grammarian called Amitasagara were given grants of land by the Cholas around the 10th century (317). Kassappa wrote a Buddhist text, Mohavicchedani, in Tamil country in the time of the later Cholas when Hinduism had definitively replaced Buddhism in the land for centuries (274, 274A).
Other Jain poets of the 10th century were
Somadevasuri in the court of Chalukya Arikesari IV, then a feudatory of the
Rashtrakutas (314). He wrote a number of works, including “Nitivakyamrita”, an
evaluation of the philosophy of the Arthashastra from the point of view of Jain
morals. His student, Vadiraja, also distinguished himself as a writer.
In the reign of Hoysala Vishnuvardhana, the Jain poet
Nagachandra or Abhinave Pampa wrote the Mallinath Purana on the life of the
nineteenth Jain tirthankara. This work includes the Jain version of the
Ramayana.
Another Jain poet of the 12th century,
Karnipriya, wrote the Neminatha Purana which describes the story of the
twenty-second Jain tirthankara, and also has Jain versions of episodes from the
Mahabharata.
The Ganga noble who built the Bahubali of Shravana Belagola, Chamundaraya,
also wrote or commissioned the Chamundaray Purana, which has the story of all
twenty-four tirthankaras (313). Clearly Jain thinkers and statesmen could see
the last days of Jainism, and wished to preserve its history for posterity.
Jain poets of the Hoysala court included Veera
Ballala’s court poet Nemichandra who wrote “Lilavati”. This is said to be a
romance, with the Hoysala capital as its scene of action, in which a prince and
princess dream of each other, and finally meet and marry (316). The same device
of an epic journey spurred by lovers’ search for each other was used in the Pem
Nem, a famous work of the Bijapur Sultanate, which we will read about in later
chapters.
Jains continued to write in the Vijayanagar Empire. These
writers are among the many non-Hindu figures who played a foundational role in
the development of the cultures of the Deccan.
Ranna’s “Gadayuddam” (also referred to in Chapter 9)
which depicts the battle between Bhima and Duryodhana from the Mahabharata, is
performed till today. This is the strength of the legacy of the Jains in South
India. Thus, the history of South India cannot be cast as a “Hindu” one,
without excluding some things, inventing others, and distorting yet others.
Writers, scholars, artists and other men-of-talent
moved between courts and kingdoms regardless of the battles and contestations
between their sovereigns. Srinatha was a court poet and dramatist in Andhra
country patronised by many chiefs and kings, including the often warring Reddys,
Velamas and Vijayanagaris. Ranna was the court poet of the Kalyana Chalukyas,
originally from the Ganga courts.
One Hoysala court poet wrote a work in the 13th
century AD based on a war between one of the Hoysalas and Pandyas. This poet
appears to have worked in the Pandya and as well as other South Indian courts
before coming to the Hoysalas.
This easy movement of scholars and men of letters
between kingdoms testifies to a generally erudite, cosmopolitan and
self-confident culture in all the Southern courts, which did not believe in
ethnic or religious insularity.
At the start of this chapter, I wrote about the shared sense of enjoyment and participation of kings and commoners in the cultural space that was created by the arts. For Indians, this is the dwelling place of our sense of being a people, or a nation. But we have to turn the eye of the mind away from the map that is conjured up when we use the word “nation”. With the ever-changing boundaries and affiliations of the ancient and medieval kingdoms of India this sense of a nation criss-crossed different linguistic, ethnic and regional boundaries.
Hindutva histories of India are based on the other false
premise that everything in society rose and fell with the rise and fall of
kings. In fact, in many ways culture has functioned as an autonomous aspect of
Indian life since very ancient times.
One reason was the high degree of decentralisation,
which has been described in detail in previous chapters. The other was the
relative independence of important and life-giving aspects of the culture from
the fates of kings.
As stated at the opening of this chapter, the common
people were not a passive audience for the arts and literature that flowed from
the courts. In a very real sense, our artistic traditions came from the people,
and did not need any state institution or establishment to survive.
They were embedded in diverse everyday aspects of life
– from the daily decoration of the home in the form of floor or wall designs,
to the celebration of festivals, to modes of dressing, to various community
craft-skills and local artisanship, such as weaving, sculpture, pottery, and so
on.
They were learnt almost unconsciously during childhood while playing around the family and in the community. Craft skills and artisan techniques were passed on from parent to child, without requiring state organisations to be preserved and perpetuated. This applied to villages and tribes, as well as to cities.
The pride, devotion and joy attached to craft-, clan-
and community-skills, also helped to keep them alive during declines in
patronage from above. These were not soulless manufacturing processes, but held
as profound, even god-given vocations, by their practitioners.
Like the kings, craftsmen and artisans also considered
themselves to be custodians of the culture and heritage contained in the arts
that they practiced. Also, in that typically Indian way, the art and its
instruments were connected with the sacred – each implement having its own
deity, with the artist bowing to it in reverence before picking it up for use;
each stage of production having its own rituals, such as the sthapatis (sculptors)
putting in the eyes at the very last stage of the sculpting of an idol; and the
whole tied up in a mythology that would join the very history and geography of
the land to the practiced art. Traditional artists, both folk and classical, saw
their art as a form of prayer, an offering to god that uplifted and sanctified
them and their audience.
The most marvellous thing of all is that everything
that I describe here of traditional artists and art in India is true, till
today. These are the dense local and affective roots of our arts. This is what
makes us such a cultured people.
I notice that the phrase “till today” constantly
recurs in this paper. Yes, because this is the endurance of our culture. So
many things that I write about from thousands of years ago, continue to thrive
and flourish here “till today”.
Take the concept of the Navarasas in the Indian arts. The “Navarasas” or “Nine Essences” are a fundamental aesthetic concept of Indian classical and folk artforms according to which performances are categorised under nine primary moods – Shringara (Romantic), Hasya (Humorous), Karuna (Touching/Compassionate), Veer (Heroic), Adbhuta (Wonderous), Raudra (Angry), Bhayanaka (Fearful), Vibhatsa (Disgust) and Shanta (Peaceful/Meditative).
The Natyashastra mentions all the rasas except for
Shanta Rasa, which appears to have been included later. The Natyashastra is
generally thought to have been written between the 3rd century BC
and the 3rd century AD. Despite its antiquity, this millennia-old
notion of the Rasas has spoken to artists in India continuously
century-upon-century from the time of Kalidasa in the early centuries of the
first millennium, to the builders of the Chola temples in the second
millennium, to the evolution of Kathak in the 18th century court of
Nawab Wajid Ali Shah, to the development of Bharatanatyam in the 20th
century by Rukmini Devi Arundale.
In this way, our aesthetic traditions have a life of their own. The
ever-shifting fortunes of kings has never been a challenge to them. The culture
would flower in the courts, but its roots lay in other places. This is what
makes India such a unique experiment in human history.
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