BY VANSHIDHAR VIDYALANKAR

In the vast firmament of Sanskrit drama the ‘Urvashi’ of Kalidasa shines like a star which with its soft brilliance, gentle majesty and exquisite loveliness appeals to the imagination of the whole world. Out of a vague, small and uneventful legendary episode and oft-repeated and commonplace theme, the poet has ingeniously laboured to evolve a drama, which is new in conception and romantic in appeal.

Of all his dramas the ‘Urvashi’ is the smallest–though of course it also has been finished in five Acts. In the outline of its plot and also in some other features, the ‘Urvashi’ bears a very close resemblance both to ‘Malavika’ and ‘Shakuntala’–but it should not be concluded therefrom, as it has unfortunately been, that old age had so dulled the vision and weakened the talents of the poet that he could no more display the original and astonishing feats of his fancy and so had to remain content with making repetitions of the same old achievements, or that in his ambition to compose something new he only wove the same old patterns with a slight change in colour and texture.

Among the many varieties of Sanskrit dramas the ‘Urvashi’ is called a ‘Trotaka’ and not a ‘Nataka’. By writing a ‘Trotaka’ instead of a ‘Nataka’ the poet had probably designed to hit upon something which was new and not in vogue at that time. The poet while admittedly retaining some of the minor features of his old works, has in ‘Urvashi’ struck upon an innovation which has given a new interest and life to his apparently old themes. The same song pitched in different keys and sung in different tunes and ways, evokes altogether different feelings and emotions and imparts to its contents a new colour, rhythm, associations and expressions. With a change in the background the same scenes in this drama seem to have assumed a totally different complexion, put on an unfamiliar appearance and bear an altogether new meaning. Whatever be the other aspects and dramatic significance of this innovation, it has certainly ensured to the poet a much fuller scope to work out his fancy more freely and boldly. Of all his dramas the ‘Urvashi’ is the most romantic and poetic. It is couched in a suggestive vagueness that makes its beauty veiled and its meaning elusive.

‘Trotaka’ is that type of drama which closely knits together the fortunes both of human and heavenly beings. The drama that calls forth into play the rhythmical emotions and buoyant passions of the beings situated so differently must needs be, in the very fitness of things, profoundly imaginative; it must weave a tale which is sure to be extravagantly romantic. In no drama of Kalidasa are his musical notes so sweet and poignant, his vision so pleasant and happy and the flights of his fancy so exuberant and colourful as in the drama of ‘Urvashi’.

There is an additional point pertaining to this drama, which has been almost overlooked. There are two recensions that are found of this play. One comes from the north and the other from the south. The northern recension has been commented on by Ranganatha and the southern by Raja Katyawema. In the northern recension, we find in the Fourth Act some musical verses written in Prakrit. They are to be sung in peculiar fashion and modes and accompanied with operatic dancing. The southern recension does not contain these verses. Owing to this fact many scholars believe that these verses are interpolations; but the reasons they advance are hardly convincing. It must be admitted, however, that these musical verses indicate a rare knowledge of the technique of the Indian opera.

In this play it appears that the poet has introduced the earth into a close and blissful embrace of heaven. As rain comes down to draw out from the bosom of the earth its stored up splendours, likewise Urvashi comes down from the Elysian fields to call up into play the colourful feelings and emotions treasured in the human breast of Pururava. Generally it is believed that love is a supernal affair. It is a circumstance through which man attains divinity. But the poet seems to suggest in this drama that love is an earthly phenomenon to which even the gods take a fancy, They feel so much enamoured of it that they happily come down from heaven to live on earth like common human beings. The ‘Urvashi’ of Kalidasa is a celestial image of that earthly love which is both a fantastic dream and a graceful reality; a whimsical infatuation and a delightful sublimity.

Pururava, the great king, like a gallant knight rescues Urvashi from the clutches of the demon Keshi who had taken her a prisoner while she was returning from the Palace of Kubera. As he brings her back to her friends and companions in his chariot, they come into close contact–which born as it was of noble chivalry–awakens in their minds such piquant feelings and emotions reciprocally as perforce change the course of their lives and culminate in an inconceivable life-long relation.

How intense and overpowering should be the feeling under whose sway Urvashi joyfully renounces all the freedom and happiness she enjoyed in heaven and comes down to earth to share the lot of common human beings! And who was this Urvashi? She was the pride of heaven; she was so beautiful that she was called a jewel of paradise. She was the most delicate denizen of Indraloka and used to strike those who were ambitious and practised all sorts of severe austerities to attain India’s lofty status. The purpose of her life was to stir up those delicious dreams of beauty and youth which no man could ever resist. Urvashi while displaying the uncommon glories of heaven always endeavoured to fasten the destinies of man to earth. It appears that Urvashi in the form of pure and divine nectar had to offer nothing but an unmixed and earthly poison.

Divinities are supposed to be above human susceptibilities. They remain absolutely untouched by those tender and vehement emotions and passions that generally torment the mind of man. They kindle the flame of passion in his breast never letting a spark of it fall on themselves. But how is it possible that those who always play with fire can escape its disastrous effects? The freedom that knows only to fetter others cannot remain itself unfettered for long. That is the reason why we find that Urvashi falls a helpless victim to those very emotions and passions that she used to provoke vehemently in the minds of others. That "delicate weapon" of Indra is so unerringly hit by a weapon which was perhaps more delicate, and with its one gentle stroke she falls down on earth. She loses all her appetite for heaven. She ardently desires to cast in her lot with Pururava. She becomes quite oblivious of her chequered past and celestial position and thinks about herself in terms of an ordinary human being. However unrestrained and unchaste her life while in heaven, when she comes to earth she gives up all her volatile disposition and wilfully binds herself in holy matrimonial alliance to Pururava. Whatever undesirable roles she had played under the specific instructions of Indra, and for which she could not be held solely responsible, when she comes to her own and guides her own destinies, it is no exaggeration to say that she attains the hallmark of purity and becomes an inspiring idol of chaste, faithful and blissful love. She does not remain so much celestial as she becomes human. In the celestial body of Urvashi there begins to throb a heart which is human in every detail. While Urvashi was in heaven, she was adored only on account of her matchless beauty but when she descends on earth she becomes as virtuous as she was beautiful. And so we find that the graceful flower of beauty, which was apparently devoid of all fragrance, becomes replete with the fascinating fragrance of human love. Formerly she was all beauty but now she becomes all love. As a poem, however figurative, musical and harmonious, if it fails to embody a truth is of little purpose, likewise human beauty however perfect and rare, if it is not inspired with a chaste and faithful love, is of no earthly value. Urvashi does not feel that pride in being a foremost fairy of the court of Indra which she does in becoming a wife of Pururava, an earthly king.

Her mind is so crowded with the sweet and happy associations of her gallant saviour that all her soul, with no intention on her part, stands out boldly to proclaim to the whole world, in no uncertain terms, her deep attachment and marked constancy towards king Pururava. When consciousness becomes submerged in subconsciousness the entire being begins to work as though under a strong hypnotic spell. It is perhaps for this reason that Urvashi is betrayed into such errors as she would never have committed otherwise. The "Lakshmi Swayamvara" drama, written by Bharat-Muni, is being played, after a good many rehearsals in a theatre of heaven. In this drama, Urvashi acts the part of Lakshmi and Menaka of Varuni. In one of the most fascinating scenes, when the story assumes an interesting turn, Menaka puts this question to Urvashi:

"Friend, here have come all the great persons in the three worlds and the lords of all quarters along with Keshava. On whom is your affection fixed?"

At that most psychological moment, Urvashi forgets that she was playing the part of Lakshmi on the stage; forgets that before her were seated in the theatre-hall all the prominent persons of the whole world and God Vishnu Himself; forgets her situation and position and in that happy state of forgetfulness instead of "Purushottama" there escapes from her lips the name of "Pururava", her real lover.

What furthur proof is required to show her deep attachment to Pururava! This feeling of love has made her absolutely oblivious of everything, even of her own self; and, therefore, sweeping away all odds and obstacles in one breath, it has suddenly burst forth on the stage, like a fresh spring of water, from the bottom of her heart. There was not much differnce between the two words–"Purushottama" and "Puruva" – "Puru" being common and initial in both the words. This must have afforded her an easy chance to slip into the error to which her feelings also must have lent great assistance. And in this way her long cherished feelings forge a way out and take their own course to secure their objective. What would have been difficult and impossible otherwise was made easy and possible in that moment. Bharat-Muni, the director of the play, feels displeased and in a fit of frantic indignation rebukes her and pronounces a curse on her thereby depriving her of her residence in heaven. Indra, entering well into her feelings, permits her to live happily on earth with king Pururava, till he sees an offspring from her. The ways of fate are strange and inscrutable and so what was regarded a curse becomes to her a great blessing in disguise.

She is so deeply in love with Pururava that when the time for her departure for heaven arrives she wants to postpone it indefinitely by managing to keep her only son out of sight. Strangely enough she keeps it a well-gaurded secret and never lets Pururava know that he has become father of a child. She is prepared to part with her only child but not with Pururava. Intensity of feeling and purpose can hardly work its way to a greater pitch.

Of all the love episodes presented by Kalidasa, the love of Urvashi and Pururava is the most dramatic. In every detail and phase it is colourful, steadfast, and picturesquely adventurous. Like a river it shapes its own course. It is like that blissful deliverance–having attained which, there remains nothing further to achieved. Therefore Indra feels constrained to revise his former decision and permits them to live together as long as they are endowed with life.

And when such a love as this is not allowed to work its own destiny and some insuperable obstacle raise its ugly head to interrupt its irresistible course, it is natural if it becomes furiously enraged, loses all its equanimity and resolves itself into a fit of fearful madness and jostles against heavy odds to find its further course. In ‘Urvashi’ Kalidasa has employed all his skill to conjure up on the stage vividly and artistically this aspect of love which is at once delicate and intense. Pururava and Urvashi are so fond of each other that they do not wish to miss each other’s company even for a single moment. The poet could not portray the touching softness and consummate fullness of their feeling if he had allowed their course of life to run in an uninterrupted manner. He therefore brings about their separation abruptly and unexpectedly. And from this separation springs up a deep pain, an unbearable agony and a pathetic madness that eventually unroll themselves into this poetical drama.

‘Urvashi’ strickingly puts one in mind of that beautiful and wonderful poem ‘Megha-Duta’. The ideas, sentiments, and emotions of that great lyrical poem have been set to new music and play in this luscious drama ‘Urvashi’, Probably he wrote this drama after he had composed ‘Megha-Duta’. In ‘Megha-Duta’ a ‘Yaksha’, an attendant of Kubera, having been separated from his wife for one year beholds the sky darkening and all of a sudden his mind becomes full of the sweet memories of his far-situated beloved. He is deprived of all his senses and with some wild flowers in his hands he approaches the first cloud of Ashadha to beg of it to carry his message of life and love to his forlorn sweet-heart. In ‘Urvashi’ the nymph in a frantic fit of jealousy and anger leaves Pururava suddenly and unexpectedly when they are treading on the enchanted ground of youth and happiness. Its reaction on his mind is so great and depressing that he gets confused, crazy, wild and loses all his wits. To him everything apppears to be nothing but an eluding phantom of Urvashi. In clouds, in tress, in meadows, in mountains, in rivers, in animals and in birds he tries to find his elusive fair companion. He feels her charming presence everywhere but cannot get hold of her anywhere. He pries into every hole and corner in order to find her. In his excited mood he raves pathetically about her. In torrential rain, in thick and dark forests he wanders in search of Urvashi. She came like a dream and disappeared like a dream. What in ‘Megha-Duta’ has been presented in the form of a poem is here portrayed in the form of a drama. In ‘Megha-Duta’ the Yaksha knows where his love is living and therefore it occurs to his mind to send a message to her but in ‘Urvashi’ the king is not aware of the whereabouts of his beloved–she having disappeared abruptly and without any apparent forethought. In ‘Megha-Duta’ the Yaksha gives the graphic discription of the way leading to his house at Alaka-Puri but in ‘Urvashi’ the king has to rove day and night in order to seek her place of hiding. And this has rendered the whole situation all the more delicate and touching.

The poet has depicted this scene in the Fourth Act. The beauty of, ‘Urvashi’ is not to be sought so much in its plot or in its commonplace story as in the natural and wild play of the most delicate and intense emotions that both disturb and delight the human mind. This Act is replete with tender and colourful poetry, enrapturing music, descriptions of picturesque scenery and strange and pathetic situations. It brings home to us, in a peculiar manner, the objects and phenomena in which the poet seems to take specific interest, and which, as it were, shadow forth his poetic personality. One feels here the living presence of the poet. In no work of Kalidasa do we experience the touch of his entertaining personality so closely as in the Fourth Act of this play. Undoubtedly this is an outstanding achievement in the domain both of drama and poetry. Hamboldt, a great German Orientalist, has rightly remarked:

"The scene in the forest, which he introduced in the drama of Vikrama and Urvashi, is one of the most beautiful and poetical productions which has appeared in any time."

Pururava and Urvashi are gone to ‘Gandharva-Madana-Vana’; to enjoy their honeymoon and there in the joyful surroundings of the most pleasant forest scenery they devote every minute of their precious time to the enjoyments of various sorts of love-sport. For the consummate enjoyment of youth it is necessary to go to such places where everything presents a spectacle of overflowing joy and beauty where the whole atmosphere seems to be breathing an air of enrapturing hopes and youthful pleasures. There, one day, while both of them are playing mirthfully on the sandy banks of Mandakini, the eyes of the king are diverted, as a Vidyadhari, daughter of a demigod, appears on the scene. She sports herself, by raising hillocks of sand. The King fixes his eyes on her sweet face appreciatively for some time and this causes great resentment in the mind of Urvashi. She becomes blind with jealousy. The King offers many explanations and apologies but Urvashi is not a mood to listen to them. The King is unable to conciliate her. In blind anger she leaves the place disdainfully and enters that portion of the forest which was called as "Kumar-Vana". Kumar Kartikeya had laid down a rule that no woman should enter that part of the forest and if any woman transgressing the rule did so, she would at once be transformed into a creeper. As soon as Urvashi enters that part of the forest she gets transformed into a creeper and fixed on the borders of the forest. The King bewildered and dismayed begins to wander like a forlorn wind in a stormy night in the forest in order to look about for her. In the meantime, the sky becomes darkened with heavy clouds and it begins to rain. Pururava is at his wits’ end. Everything that comes before him promises to let him know about her but does not provide any clue of her. This renders him utterly confused and half-witted and dark clouds and sharp rain send him into a fearful fit of stark madness. It is inconceivable to him that Urvashi can ever desert him. In pouring rain, in his queer dress, talking wildly he wanders day and night in the forest from one place to another. To a cuckoo, swan, bee, deer, elephant, mountain, cloud, river and everything that he comes across, he puts only one question in a very pathetic manner: "Do you know anything about my Urvashi?"

He beholds in front of him a cloud rising from the high peaks of a mountain resplendent with a streak of lightning and a rainbow, pouring down heavy showers of rain and he takes it to be a huge black demon carrying away his darling Urvashi, showering a volley of sharp arrows from his bow drawn to its utmost length but soon he realises his whimsical mistake. As all his thoughts are centred on Urvashi, he sees nothing but Urvashi first in everything that presents itself before him, only to discover later that it was but his own mental delusion. His questions, guessed answers, remarks, ravings, illusions and visions, while they tell their own interesting tale, are full of charm which is picturesquely delicate. In the resounding echo–emerging out of the caves of a mountain–the poet has skilfully used such words as make both a question and an answer. As he sees a mountain river he takes it at once to be his Urvashi and gives vent to his thoughts and feelings in the following words:

"Knitting its eye-brows in the form of ripples, wearing the girdle of the row of the agitated birds, dragging along its foamy garment loosened on account of anger and confusion–as it meanders–revolving my fault repeatedly, I think this is without any doubt the same indignant Urvashi transformed into this river."

But second thoughts bring home to him that it must be truly a river for Urvashi will never proceed towards the sea abandoning Pururava. At long last he procures a jewel that is sure to bring union with one’s beloved in a very short time. With this jewel in his hand, he approaches the same creeper into which Urvashi was transformed. As he looks attentively at the creeper the idea flashes across his mind that it must be his real Urvashi. He goes and embraces it fondly and experiences the same thrilling delight which he felt when he used to be folded in her arms. He feels so much transported with joy that he shuts his eyes and does not wish to open them again lest this also should turn out to be a fantastic delusion. He says in that joyful strain:

"Whatever at first I regard as my love, in an instant it proves to be otherwise. Therefore I feel reluctant to open my eyes all at once as this ethereal touch makes me to believe that at last I have found my beloved."

Gradually he opens his eyes and in this gradual opening of the eyes there is a pleasure which becomes doubly more intense as we feel it. The whole situation shadows forth a charm which only Kalidasa could create. As the creeper receives the touch of the ‘union-jewel’, she at once regains her former form and, when Pururava opens his eyes, he finds Urvashi standing before him like a sweet dream changed into a delightful reality. After a brief discussion the lid of the mystery is lifted off and they come to be acquainted with the true facts. In this way their lost joys and hopes return and their interest in life is revived. Urvashi wears that ‘union-jewel’ on her forehead, and it lends a new charm to her superb loveliness.

In the Fifth Act the poet brings about the union of the King with his son Ayu, born of Urvashi. Ever since he was born, he was placed in an Ashram under the scrupulous care of some distinguished lady ascetics. As Indra had allowed Urvashi to remain with Pururava till he saw an offspring from her, Urvashi never lets Pururava know anything about the child. It is a matter of no less wonder than of delight when the secret is revealed to the King. The poet creates conditions wherein Ayu cannot be allowed to live in the Ashram and so perforce is brought back to the royal palace. Now the time arrives, when Urvashi with a heavy heart and against her wishes sets about to bid farewell to Pururava and to fly up to heaven. The King contemplates retirement into forests as without Urvashi he does not seem to have any interest in his life and kingdom. In the meantime Narada comes down from heaven with a message from Indra, announcing that the latter permits Urvashi to remain with Pururava as long as he lives. Amidst happy scenes the young prince Ayu is installed as the heir-apparent. In this way the cherished desire of Pururava and Urvashi bears happy fruit and here the drama draws to a close.

Some critics regard that the beauty of the Fourth Act is too delicate to be produced on the stage and, therefore, in their opinion, it is undramatic. This misunderstanding has arisen simply because Sanskrit dramas are no more played on the stage. But their fascinating delicacy will be realised and appreciated more when they are aptly represented on the stage. It is sure to evoke such emotional and imaginative delight as will scarcely find a parallel even in this age when the art of dramatic presentation has been so perfected as was probably never done before.

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