Chitrangi: A Study in Character ¹

BY PROF. T. VIRABHADRUDU

Chitrangi is the romantic heroine of Sarangadhara, a drama which is very popular on the South Indian stage. There are different versions of the story, one of them being the Telugu drama of Vishada Sarangadhara (The Tragedy of Sarangadhara) by the late D. Krishnamacharlu of Bellary in which the author presents to us in his tragic heroine a most interesting study in character development. The story of the drama is briefly this. There was a certain king by name Rajanarendra (also Rajaraja-narendra). Ratnangi and Chitrangi were his two queens. By the eldest he had a son, Sarangadhara, a young man of fine parts and steady character. Of the two queens, Chitrangi was the king's favourite. She was very beautiful, as her name imports, and, barely sixteen years of age, was married to the king in his old days. Her charms were so great that, though she was originally intended for Prince Sarangadhara, the old king was tempted to make her his second wife. Chitrangi, however, had a secret love for Sarangadhara, even from the time, before her marriage, she saw his picture given her by the Brahmana who was deputed by King Rajanarendra to find out a suitable bride for his only son. It so happened once that the king had to go on a hunting expedition. He expected to return to his capital in ten days, for he had to be at home a day before the Prince's birthday which was to be followed by his coronation. Sarangadhara was very clever and wise and attained now his twentieth year, and the old king wanted to put him on the throne, himself retiring from public duties. In the king's absence, Chitrangi at home was getting very uneasy, for, being left alone, she began to think of Sarangadhara. Her love, once suppressed, revived now with a mighty force and, unable to control it, she was waiting for an opportunity to see him. As ill-luck would have it, on a certain day Sarangadhara's pigeon (he was very fond of pigeons) alighted on her palace and the young queen who was watching this from her royal apartments snatched the bird and kept it in her room. The unwary Prince made up his mind to have it by going to his step-mother and asking for it. The warning given by his friend Subudhi, the Prime Minister's son, that a young prince of twenty should not visit a young queen of sixteen at her palace in the absence of the king, and that such a visit would surely land him in dangers, was of no avail. In the Prince's opinion, a step-mother was as much as a mother and there would be no room for suspicion or danger in such a visit. So they met and Chitrangi revealed to him her heart and would not leave him unless he satisfied her heart's desire. Sarangadhara was adamant. She adopted several ways to win him over but he was icy-cold. She threatened to report against him to her husband, the king, and he laughed at the idea. At last he escaped, but when the old king came home the report was made, a trial was held and the innocent Prince was declared guilty. He was punished with loss of feet and hands, for his crime was a horrible one: committing rape on the queen and step-mother. Chitrangi, however, soon regretted her revenge, for her love for Saranga not having left her, she could not be happy. Sense of guilt and shame was very heavy on her, and the king and, through him, the world discovered her guilt. The news arrived that the relief sent by the king to save his son was too late and the cutting of the feet and hands was finished. Chitrangi's heart broke and she died.

At the outset, two or three points have to be noted as a preliminary to our discussion of Chitrangi's character. This essay deals with the character of this tragic heroine as depicted by Krishnamacharlu and does not consider the several versions of Chitrangi found in Telugu or in any other South Indian literature. Krishnamacharlu's Chitrangi is unique in Telugu dramatic fiction as a perfect type of tragic heroine. The author has a great title conferred on him by the public, ‘Andhra Nataka Pitamaha’ (Father of Andhra Drama), and it may be said that, though he has written several plays, this one character is enough to make him deserve that title. Secondly, this treatment should not be considered as a justification of her conduct. It is only an explanation or interpretation of her character and the circumstances which led to her crime. An ‘appreciation’ of the character of Othello is not necessarily a justification of his conduct, for no one would pretend to justify what is to human beings a beastly act, the murder of an innocent and chaste wife by her husband soon after the marriage. It is an attempt to understand the temper of Othello and to take note of the circumstances which involved him and his dear wife in an intrigue from which no escape was humanly possible. In his preface to Vishada Sarangadhara the author explains his attitude to Chitrangi. He says there are two sources from which the plot is generally borrowed. One version says that as a result of the ‘bride-search’, the picture of Chitrangi was brought to King Rajanarendra, and bewitched by her beauty the old king married a girl originally intended for his son. In this the character of the king appears in a very bad light. According to the second version, King Rajanarendra had two wives, Ratnangi and Chitrangi. Sarangadhara was born about ten years after the king's second marriage. Thus Chitrangi, at the age of 35, fell in love with her step-son of 20, which is not quite credible. Krishnamacharlu avoids these two extremes and tones down Chitrangi. When the king sent wise Brahmanas to go to the various kingdoms to find out a suitable bride for his only son, they brought two pictures, one that of Chandrakala, daughter of the king of Vidarbha, and another that of Chitrangi, daughter of King Bhoja. The two girls looked so beautiful and clever that the king could not throwaway either. So he chose to keep one for himself and that was Chitrangi. But Chitrangi told the Ambassador Brahmana that she loved Sarangadhara deeply and requested him to convey this news to the noble Prince. Unfortunately, the Brahmana in his enthusiasm for the 4,000 gold coins given to him by the king for his precious embassy, forgot all about Chitrangi's message to her lover, and the latter remained entirely ignorant of it. Mighty things often turn on a straw and Chitrangi's fate was thus determined by the fickle memory of this greedy Brahmana. Krishnamacharlu has introduced another innovation. Generally in Indian dramas we get a good deal of tragic element, but the drama suddenly gets it happy conclusion by the unforeseen arrival of a sage, prophet or god who can easily restore dead people to life by his magic touch. The author of Vishada Sarangadhara deliberately avoids this, deus ex machina and allows the plot to end in a tragedy. Another change introduced in the story is that Rajanarendra is described as the king of Malwa while popular tradition associates the story with Rajahmundry. Rajanarendra of the play is identified with Rajarajanarendra, the great Andhra king and patron of learning. Sarangadharunimetta, the elevated place where Saranga was slain, is still shown and the nice building (now generally occupied by the highest officer of the place, overlooking the Godavari river is still called Chitrangi-meda. (Chitrangi's palace). Though this point is not quite relevant to the present essay, it is brought in to show that the story of Sarangadhara is very popular in the Telugu country and Chitrangi is one of the best creations in Telugu drama.

Thus we see that the character of Chitrangi is the source of the tragedy of Sarangadhara. It is no exaggeration to say Chitrangi is the soul of the drama. But there is no character in Telugu drama that we know of that is more severely condemned on moral grounds by the readers and spectators than Chitrangi, and there is no doubt that her conduct is shocking to any one with a little bias for morality. On analysis we find three aspects of this immorality. Firstly, she was unfaithful to the husband whom she married, or was married to. True it is that, before her marriage, her mind was fixed on Sarangadhara but once she married another person, she must have forgotten the old love, annihilated the old desire and must have been reconciled to her wedded husband. Secondly, she tried to seduce Sarangadhara who was in the relation of a son, and drag a saintly young man into immorality and sin. Thirdly, not content with this, she took revenge on him by aiming at his life and brought about the death of one whose virtuous character and control over passions would have been a model for the world to follow. Truly, these three acts are bad enough to make her one of the basest specimens of womanhood. But if we pause and see and make an attempt to get at her true character, this impression has to be altered to some extent. We have to look deep and understand her real nature and the change it underwent as the result bf circumstances. In every great drama we get a close relation between plot and character, and we see an example of it here.

Chitrangi was a most accomplished woman. Her physical beauty was unparalleled. The daughter of King Bhoja, she was very learned and was in possession of all royal virtues. Her intellect was extraordinary. In the Course of her father's enquiries regarding a worthy husband for his clever and accomplished daughter, the story of Sarangadhara reached her ears. His charming personality, wide learning, kingly virtues and spotless character were well known to all, and his story, told and retold by her friends, was music to her ears. On the top of this, she saw his beauty in the miniature given her by a Brahmana from Sarangadhara's country, who came to negotiate with her own father about her marriage with that far-famed Prince. The moment she saw his picture, she decided that she should be his life-companion. She saw in him the shape which all her hopes assumed, the god whom her heart adored. Below is an extract from one of her appeals to him in the famous Temptation Scene (Act II-1):

Sarangadhara! Since the day that Brahmana gave me your picture, I have not been able to fathom the depths of my love. I would choose none else for my husband. I would pray to a thousand deities to unite us in wedlock. Not one minute would I take away my thoughts from your world-bewitching beauty or world-wide reputation.

A girl of such deep love and noble parts, a princess sixteen years old, was married against her will to an old king of nearly threescore! No doubt the young girl protested but to no purpose, for, her father, a great friend of Rajaraja, could not afford to displease him. Entreaties and threats and other strong measures proved too strong for her girlish protest. Thus the old man was forced on her. So far as she was concerned, it was a union ‘of hands, not hearts’ for Saranga was still enshrined in her heart. "Being confined to the royal palace she could not see him even once, but his image was ever present to her eyes." Probably if she knew at the time of the marriage that she could not at all get reconciled to her new lot she would have, like Juliet, tried to resort to desperate methods. Another romantic heroine on a like occasion challenged her opponent by asking, "Has poison become a rarity in the world? Are not swords within our reach?" But a question arises. If Chitrangi did not love her old husband, why should she pretend so much love whenever she meets him? The answer is simple. As the young wife of one in dotage, she might have taken all liberty with the husband; he evidently fondled her too much. Or it might be that with a view to ward off any future danger, she lulled him to sleep, as it were. For instance, when the king was ready to go on his hunting excursion, she said she would follow him. "The tigers and other wild beasts of the forest would not frighten her. She could not live in separation from her ‘loving husband.’ He might say it was only an absence of ten days but to her a day would mean an age." She however knows that she is not sincere in all this flattery. She recognises she is only acting a part. She confesses: "Alas! What a wrong path I have chosen, the path of hypocrisy and sin!"

We see Chitrangi for the first time in Act I-ii when she is wading through great agony of heart. She is making strenuous efforts to suppress her love for Sarangadhara and divert her thoughts from him. She feels sincerely that her heart has now no reason to love him, as he is no longer a lover; on the other hand, the position is that of mother and son. She is trying honestly to kill that old desire and place herself on the road of pure morality. But her mind is unsteady, as unsteady as the water drops on a lotus leaf. The sentiments expressed below reveal to the reader the great conflict going on in her breast. Addressing her own heart, she says:

"Why should you choose this wicked path? True, you loved him once. But now he is your son. Why do you think of him now? . . . . Alas! How helpless I am! However much I try to combat it, this passion makes a slave of me."

and seeing, at that moment, Saranga's image in her hand, unable to stand the passion swelling up in her heart, she bewails her own fate thus:

Alas! How can I bear it? This world-seducing beauty is fixed forever in my heart. What a pity that such a treasure has been snatched away from me! What a perfection! There is no doubt the name Sarangadhara is well-deserved. Otherwise, the lustre of the full moon, how could it be found here? No, that Sarangadhara (the Moon) has a dark spot! Or shall we compare him to another Sarangadhara (i.e., Siva) No good either. He (Siva) is never associated with pleasures, but being the God of Destruction is ever on the cremation ground. My Sarangadhara is unrivalled . . . . O, that I should lose him! . . . I shall shake off all fears and make an attempt to win him over. But will he agree to plunge into sin? Thus I think and think: I doubt and pause: I sink and despair. Sometimes Hope pushes me forward: sometimes Sin makes me shudder. Alas, what a helpless condition!

While Chitrangi was in this state of mind, her old husband had to go on a hunting excursion to the Vindhya forest. The absence of the king and her solitude gave her full opportunities to feed on her old thoughts and thus did great service to the flower-arrowed god whose victim she had already become. She says: "When the husband is away for one day, the mind undergoes a great change. But now ten days' solitude is in store for me. Can I cross this stream?" Her old love for Prince Sarangadhara suddenly rises, like a mountain stream in the flood season. When an excellent chance has arisen for fulfilling her old suppressed desire, how can her heart keep silent now? Opportunity is a great factor in life and can play havoc with mortals however pious they may be. Are there not in the world men and women who pass for good and honest, simply because they have not been placed in circumstances which would tempt them to be otherwise? There are no doubt a few super-men who can perfectly control environment, but mortals generally are the creatures of circumstances. Poor Chitrangi was in this plight. For eight days after the old king's departure she was sleepless and tears were trickling down her cheeks. Her heat was about to burst and hence she decided to take this step:

I have adopted several ways to bring this passion under my control. I can wait no longer. If I take the initiative and offer myself, will he respond? How could I test this? He would not come to my palace even once so far. Can I attract him to this place? I shall, however, make bold to write a note with a double meaning. If in response to it he comes, the matter is settled. Otherwise it will be treated as an ordinary letter. Will he come when the Lord of my Heart–no, Lord of my Body–is not here? The Pandit Vibhavasa must have spoken of me at that time. The noble Prince must have heard of my beauty and accomplishments. When a young woman of great charms offers herself, why, simply hints her willingness, can any one withstand the temptation, be he a sage or a son (step-son)? Here is my chance! Now, who shall do this for me? She must not be a talkative woman. She must not be an idiot. A clever, cunning creature is no good. Yes, my maid Kamala is the only suitable person!

Thus Chitrangi has made up her mind to importune Saranga to listen to her prayer. She asks herself, ‘If I myself fall at his feet, will not his heart be moved?’ Thus she has crossed the Rubicon. There is one thing which the reader has to keep in mind. Chitrangi has all along been under the impression that the old Brahmana to whom, before her marriage, she poured out her heart conveyed her message to the Prince. How she would have behaved had she known that Saranga was quite unprepared for her love, who can say?

In Act II-i, Chitrangi's true character comes out in all its splendour. The person for whom she has waited up till now, like the Chakora bird for the moon, has at last arrived and she is able to see him in flesh and blood. Now her joy knows no bounds. She speaks words which lead to or suggest her love for him. Sarangadhara is too simple-minded to catch the double meaning in every one of her remarks or questions. She advises him to remove his outer garments and, he does it. She offers him food–fruits and delicious dishes–and he tastes it. She shows him her bed-room and he is pleased with it. When, after sometime, Sarangadhara realises that an evil motive might be lurking in her words and actions, she asks him whether the old Brahmana ever delivered her love-message to him. The Prince shows himself to be entirely innocent of the Brahmana or his mission and it sticks a dagger in her heart. Summoning up all her womanly strength, she tries other methods. She quotes numerous love-episodes from ancient mythology, shows pictures of lovers and love-making and finally asks: "Why all this? Sarangadhara, if I loved you and forcibly thrust myself into your arms, would you be so unkind as to throw me away?" The virtuous Prince shuts his ears lest these unholy words should creep into them, and blames his stars that guided his footsteps to the place. Chitrangi seeing that round-about methods are of no avail with this innocent young man, and being unable to suppress her feeling any longer, lays bare her heart to him. From the following appeal, the reader can see how deep and sincere Chitrangi's love was, how different it was from mere lust and how dangerous the consequences would be if Saranga did not fulfill the one desire of her life:

Sarangadhara! I have been waiting to see thee but once and be blessed in thy love for which I have been carrying the great load of this existence. Think not I am foolishly obstinate in this my one request. Realise what anguish I have gone through and what pain I have suffered before submitting this humble petition. This is no exaggeration. Here is a witness: my own heart. Here is another: God above who sees and supervises all our acts in life. Here is a third: thine own image. Keeping it ever on my chest when I go to bed, I would pray, "Will not any sage or prophet be so merciful as to teach me a charm which can transform dead pictures into live human beings?" I weep and weep the whole day. I leave myself now in thy hands. Throw me into the sea or bring me ashore. Thou art my only saviour!

After great travailing, Chitrangi has chosen this course. Her love is deep and unfathomable. It is not lust but a desire for blissful union with the choice of her heart; in fact, a craving for perfection. A suggestion is made: if Chitrangi and Sarangadhara were united in marriage instead of what happens to them in the plot of the drama, how would it be? The world would then have missed a tragedy but would have gained a couple whose love would have been a sight for the gods to see!

Coming back to the temptation, Sarangadhara does not consider Chitrangi's appeal with any sympathy. The god of love is too strong for her. Fear of sin she shakes off. God's punishment can no longer frighten her. Her body is breaking down and she is ready to faint. There is but one remedy: a look of love or a word of kindness from her lover. She expresses her wretched plight thus: "Sweet Friend! Sin and its consequences I can bear. But the heat of the Love-God, I cannot, for a moment longer." She prevents him from running away and once again prays: "Ruler of my Heart, say what thou wilt, I shan't leave thee today. Look, my head touches thy feet. For all the world, I cannot leave thee." Sarangadhara still persists in going and, drawing his garment forcibly, she makes another desperate attempt to melt his stony heart:

Stealer of hearts, who knows what is to happen to me after my death? The five-arrowed god is now taking away my life. Wilt thou bear on thy head this sin, the murder of a loving woman?

She exhorts him not to be ungrateful to Nature who has so lavishly bestowed on him noble qualities which would be wasted away if not used for making woman happy.

Form! Thy loveliness can treat with scorn the finest of the gods above:

Tenderness! They heart can never reject the prayers of those that seek thy shelter:

Gallantry! Thy delicacy can, in one moment, rouse sweet hopes in the heart of any youthful maiden:

Skill! Thy word is enough to command obedience from a whole kingdom:

Sagacity! It is in evidence in every word.

Soft Smile! One gets it by the thousand.

Loving Looks! Their number is endless.

Prince of Princes! Such is thy personality. Has all this sweetness to be thrown away? In vain, in vain, has Nature given thee her very best!

By now Chitrangi has exhausted her strength. She has done her utmost. Sarangadhara is still the rock that he was at the beginning. She is therefore plunged in despair. Once again, and for the last time, she begs him saying:

Saranga! Soft is thy body. Softer than softness are the words falling from thy delicate lips. How didst thou come to possess such a hard heart? Thy words, as keen as arrows, directed to me bound back to thee like balls in play. I swear by thee–I swear by me–I swear by the god of love–I cannot leave thee-There is but one way of making amends. I shall forcibly take it from thee.

Chitrangi tries to embrace him but Sarangadhara is still as ‘bad’ as before. He pours wrath on her and attempts to run away. Chitrangi's very best has achieved nothing. She has made a fool of herself by offering her love, in all its nakedness, to one who does not require it. On the other hand this love has invited his wrath and abuse. Touched to the quick, despair and anger having taken possession of her, with a face and determination–reminding us of the Divine Kali destroying the giant Mahisha, or Satya furiously attacking Naraka the demon-king–she cries out:

Has it come to this? Art thou going? Remember if a woman ventures upon a course there is nothing that can stand in her way. I have laid bare my whole passion. The wealth of my heart has been offered thee. If thou canst not receive it, it shall not save thee. Treating me this wise is but putting one's foot on the tail of the revengeful serpent. Thou shalt soon see thy end. My resolution can bring about thy very death!

This fury—child of despair—is only a temporary mood. It is but a passing cloud and in a moment her true love comes out again:

Alas! Sarangadhara! What a pity that thou shouldst drive me to this kind of talk! My Wealth, My God, My All, That I should ever chafe at thee! Treat it but as a love-quarrel. Heart-Stealer, Love-God, Life-Giver, Come along! No more doubts, no more hesitation! Yes, I see! Thy fear is that once I enjoy the sweetness of thy embrace, I may ask for it again! No, I shall not do it.

If Sarangadhara was a man, he would have been moved at this powerful and passionate appeal. About Chitrangi it may be said that it is impossible to gauge the depth of her love. It may also be remarked that the reader is moved to pity rather than indignation when he listens to her tale. She no doubt committed sin, but after all could she help it? She loved a noble youth sincerely and passionately and had an old man, retiring from public duties owing to old age, for husband. There are three points in this plot which are too obvious to be missed by any reader. King Rajanarendra, wittingly or unwittingly, committed a great sin. Fate decided that Chitrangi should be unhappy by allowing a message of vital importance to slip out of the old Pandit's memory. Sarangadhara is an ideal human being whose heart is so sound that it is proof against the most seductive attempts of a most charming young woman.

By now Chitrangi's intellect and moral strength have declined. Up to this point, notwithstanding the immoral course she was embarking upon, the reader has admired her extraordinary love and pitied her sad plight. This is the last he sees of True Chitrangi, and from now False Chitrangi usurps her place. About swans it is said that they sing a song just when they die. So does Chitrangi sing her swan-song revealing her love and the non-fulfillment of her desire and disappears altogether. Luckily for the reader she appears once again in Act V, though for a few minutes. Otherwise, True Chitrangi may be said to have died. The question now is, ‘How could Chitrangi who was so full of love for Prince Sarangadhara, and who, but for the one idea of seeing him or meeting him sometime in her life, would have ended her life long ago, transform herself into his bitter enemy, so revengeful as to aim at his life?' At first this fact, the change from a loving mistress to a wicked murderess, is a puzzle, but if the reader probes deep, he will be richly rewarded. He must note carefully how the poet presented her at the beginning of the story and how her character has been developed by him, and he will be able to judge how skilfully the author has treated the character of his tragic heroine.

Possession of sharp intellectual faculties is a great feature of Chitrangi's character. Her remarkable cleverness is revealed in the various devices she adopted to bring round Sarangadhara. Her ingenuity is quite evident in her letter to the Prince which, read one way, is a simple request that he may visit her in her illness, but, read in another way, is a letter of deep romantic love. Her capacity for intrigue extorts our admiration when we see her pouring the poisoned juice into her old husband's ears by presenting to him in vivid colours, with the poetry at her command, a picture of the rape (only imaginary) which the sturdy young man committed upon her. Her presence of mind is wonderful for, when her fortune was on the decline and the king was convinced of her guilt, she was still trying to shower on the old man her loving looks to which she has made him a victim ever since their marriage. There is no doubt therefore that she is endowed with an extraordinary intellect and possesses a most powerful personality.

Another important trait in Chitrangi's character is her idealism. Imagination and passion have taken possession of her and she cannot escape from their influence. Her heart is such that, unless its ambition is realised, she cannot be happy. She cannot accommodate herself to her environment. Her passion is so intense that, irrespective of consequences, it will audaciously attempt to conquer circumstances so that they may be subordinated to, or utilised for, the fulfillment of her hopes or ideals. If she could by any means adjust herself to her environment, she would have easily checked her original love for Saranga and would have been a loyal and dutiful wife to Rajanarendra. At one time she did make a genuine attempt to control this passion; for, discerning as she was, she realised how shocking it would be to social and moral convention–the course she was launching, upon, and how dangerous the consequences might be, to herself and all, in case of failure. But imagination and passion were all too powerful for her delicate heart. Add to this courage and tenacity of purpose, bestowed on her by Nature, and the result can be guessed. Once she conceives an idea, no physical obstacle is too huge and no moral code too severe. The goal must be reached and in doing so any step may have to be taken and any weans may have to be adopted. This seems to be the real clue to our understanding of the conduct and character of the great tragic heroine of this play. Her career from beginning to end can be explained with reference to this tragic trait. Thus Chitrangi is the maker of Plot and her character is mainly responsible for the tragedy and the events that have led up to it. Also it should not be forgotten by us that but for two points in the story (i.e. i. the Brahmana's oversight, ii. the king's hunt and ten days absence from the place) Chitrangi's character would not have developed on these lines at all. Inter-relation of plot and character is an important feature of every great drama. Plot affects character and character shapes plot, and in Krishnamacharlu's Chitrangi the reader finds, in addition to the human and psychological interest, an interesting experiment in dramatic art.

The passage from love to revenge has been very well sketched by the dramatist. At the end of Act II-i when the Prince, forcing himself out of Chitrangi's embrace, ran away from her place, she sank down. Overpowered by love and sorrow, she began to sing a song of weeping: "Leaving me helpless, where has the Prince gone? Where has the King of my Heart gone? O, what for is my life now?" Weeping and weeping for a while, she recovers her senses and feels ashamed of all that has happened:

Alas! What a fool I have been! How disappointed and deceived! Without conserving my womanly modesty and fortitude, I have exposed my whole heart and made myself light in the world's eyes. Life should not be prolonged. It is time I put an end to it.

She is unable to bear the ignominy of the position she has reduced herself to. The insolent behaviour of her enemy galls her very much. Revealing her love to him has conferred no happiness on her, but has gathered the world's ridicule. She is now in a condition which will not be envied by any, the meanest woman in the world. She is in despair and is sinking down and has almost reached the bottom. In this critical moment, there is a sudden flash and her future conduct turns on this pivot. She rises up, comes forward and exclaims:

Whatever ill-repute one might get, whatever wickedness one might assume, one is not after all a woman if courage is lacking. Shall I leave now the man who is the source of so much danger to me? What cannot I do? Will not the senile old fool do what I want? Love for Sarangadhara, farewell! Revenge, take that place in my heart! Wait and see!

Thus one reason for Chitrangi's choice of the role of a villain is her vindictive spirit. Her sometime lover, now her bitter enemy, was adding insult to injury. When she approached him with deeper and deeper feeling, he told her, "Lady, your heart grows more and more ugly like the scorpion's poison which grows more and more dangerous as hours go on." Rude insults of this kind flung at her irritated her very much and she could not contain herself any longer. Another equally important reason for Chitrangi's wicked-ness is self-defence. Instinct for self-preservation which is ever associated with the human being is a potent factor in determining this disappointed lady's after-career. Sarangadhara is noble, but supposing he went to his father to report against his step-mother, or in course of time the king, through his ministers or his son's friends, came to know of this, what would her plight be? Often, when two men quarrel, the man who strikes first is at an advantage. When a crime is committed, the real culprit loses no time in making a complaint, for the utmost that his opponent can do is to be on his defence and sometimes he finds it hard to prove what is true. Thus, guilty as she was, Chitrangi wanted to steal a march on her opponent by making the report first. So she filled the king's ears with poison and prejudiced his mind against his son. For in their meeting the Prince once threatened "to narrate the whole story to the king". There is another thing. As has been noted above, passion for a cause, good or bad, is the keynote of Chitrangi's character. The warning she once gave to the Prince is quite significant. "Wise Prince, remember one little thing. If a woman makes up her mind to achieve an object, be sure she will never do it in a half-hearted manner." She repeated this warning very often, though it, of course, fell on deaf ears. Though in the normal course of things in the world men display greater courage and decision than women, when the time comes, women prove themselves to be more capable of determination than their male rivals. They will go to any lengths to reach their object. Be the cause just or unjust, they show a remarkable tenacity of purpose. That Sarangadhara was partly aware of this we can gather from his own words: "Madam, what can I say to your audacious courage which is so limitless? Mother, I am astonished at your boldness. What shall I call it, determination or despair?" This astonishment at woman's unbounded courage, the reader shares with Sarangadhara. But Chitrangi disillusions her opponent–answering the reader and also silencing the critic–by arguing:

Grant a woman who has the audacity to offer her love to a son (step-son) and set at defiance all morality. Grant she chooses the path of false-hood and intrigue. Is it not foolish to suppose that she is incapable of murder or something worse?

One sin generally leads to another and Falsehood and Crime ever go together. Macbeth with very great difficulty committed the first murder. Once it was over, murdering a man was to Macbeth a beaten road. To protect himself for the evil consequences of the first murder, he committed a series of murders. So does Chitrangi commit several sins in the wake of one sin. When the opponent is particularly strong in morality, it is an uphill work to convince the judge or the world of your innocence. Cleverness, resource, cunning, and ingenuity, have all to be enlisted in your service. It is no surprise therefore that Chitrangi's report to her husband is but a chain of lies. Again, note how naked is her description of the rape. It is not that Chitrangi is lacking in taste–she is an artist–but that was the only means left to her of weaning the old king away from showing sympathy for his all-accomplished, sage-like, only son. The report was so strong that the old man had to cry out in the middle:

"Chitrangi, my mind is full. I can stand it no longer."

She knew her path was not quite smooth when the old man sometimes suspected his son and sometimes not. Conflict of mind, apart from consuming him, made her very uneasy. On one occasion, when he pressed her to say if it was a real truth, his son's misbehaviour, she saw the tables might be turned on her, and at once rose equal to the situation by asking:

Great King! Why this persecution? This (the Prince's outer garment produced from under the bed), this shall tell my tale. For my part, I prefer death to this humiliation.

That her fears of Sarangadhara's influence with the king and his subjects are justified–a plea for the intense work she had to do–can be proved from the Prince's own words. More than once he ridiculed the idea of her reporting against him to the king. He challenged her efforts by saying:

Do you believe you can punish me? What a foolish belief? Great Lady, howsoever you may intrigue, is the world prepared to credit your lies? In this very city are there not wise men and elders who have known me from my cradle? Foolish woman! the more I hear you, the more is the temptation to laugh at your vain threats.

His self-consciousness and pride are quite obvious in his final message:

Listen, Sun and Moon, that preside day and night over every little thing that happens:

Listen, Stars, that, invisible during day, still watch carefully men's movements:

Listen, Planets Eight, . . .

Listen, Sky and Earth, . . .

Listen, listen then, to this wonderful tale! Here is a mother: the mother speaks lies: the lies are swallowed by the world: the world sentences me to death: Ye shall witness this spectacle ere long!

It has been observed already that as soon as Sarangadhara effected his escape from the clutches of Chitrangi, her sense of shame was so keen that her love was in one moment transformed into revenge. When she was in this mood, the maid, who was despatched by her in the morning to carry her note to the Prince, returned to tell her mistress that he was not to be found at home. Chitrangi's impatient rage can be judged from her reply:

Let Sarangadhara live or die: let him and his pigeons be burnt alive:

shut up: give me back my letter.

There is no surprise therefore that in this state of mind she did whatever was necessary for achieving her purpose. Her thirst could not be quenched until she wreaked her utmost vengeance on the man who made her miserable for life. Her true womanly nature is brought out in the feeling of triumph which takes possession of her now. The trial, about which she was at one time nervous, is over and the decision of the royal court is on her side. Another ordeal, Ratnangi's tear-compelling appeal to the old king on behalf of their only son, has passed. The king's confidence in the second wife is more effective than the lamentations of the mother of the heir-apparent. The intrigue has been so cleverly carried on that the author herself is surprised at its extraordinary success. In Act V, Sc. i, she enters the scene with the following self-laudation:

Within a couple of hours from now, my enemy will be completely vanquished. When Ratnangi came, I was wondering whether the old man would change his mind. Now it is perfectly all right. This is intrigue. Well, Chitrangi, who else can have achieved this? The impossible has been performed. Could the poor world find one in a million who might be called your ‘fellow’? . . .

Look at that fool who did not put in any defence at all. Except a grey-haired old minister and a garrulous lawyer, no one else doubted the truth of my version! Bravo! Chitrangi! You are mighty!

But at once there is a sudden change when she looks at Saranga's miniature in her hand:

Alas, Sarangadhara, How unlucky you did not fulfill my desire! If only you accepted my offer of love, Chitrangi could have saved you against the whole world. But now is your virtnous conduct of any avail?

Waiting for a moment she continues:

How is it my heart throbs more and more violently as Saranga's end is drawing nearer and nearer? O, What a sin have I done? What a saintly youth have I reduced to dust? What for have I done all this? I wanted his love–But that desire has not been realised: only the world's contempt has been heaped on me. If he were living, my eyes at least could have tasted his beauty. Whom should my eyes see now? Having slain my Sweet Lover, Life of my Life, how can I live any longer? Death of his only son will break the old king's heart. Pious Ratnangi, model of chastity, her death is certain. Having killed son, husband and sister, I should live, a widow, wicked and villainous. Truth must be out some day. Will not men, women and children cry shame upon me? Shall I fly to Sarangadhara, stand before him, and fall on my knees? Shall I run to the king and, touching his feet, pray that he may set free the lovely Prince? Shall I hang myself and perish?

Alas! Alas! Only son to the king! Paragon of beauty! Prince among princes, King among kings! Ideal virtue!–would not yield to passion when a beautiful woman almost hugged him in her arms! Generosity!–would not speak one word against the most fiendish of women! Forbearance!–would not whisper a syllable to the best of friends! What a sin? Is there no way for me? Is there none that can save my Sweet Lord? Is there none to relieve my anguish? Will no god above help poor Ratnangi and Rajaraja? God!–Sin!–Agony Sarangadhara!–Chitrangi!–

This delirious state is only an index of the great confusion prevailing in her heart. In this condition she goes into a kind of sleep which is however disturbed by sudden ejaculations: e.g., "Sarangadhara! Please, one kiss!" Thus Chitrangi's original character is revealed in this soliloquy. In her we observe the case of a highly accomplished young woman, endowed with deep passion and powerful imagination, to which she entirely succumbed. It is not unlikely that, had she been married to the person chosen by her heart, she would have been a loving wife, an ornament to womanhood. But Fate decreed otherwise and are we fully justified in giving her the maximum sentence which the moral code lays down?

In Act V-iii, Chitrangi appears for the last time. By now the king has perfectly understood her wickedness. He enters her room, rushes in fury to the sofa on which she lies, and kicks her in order to wake her up. Frustration of hope, consciousness of guilt, and sense of shame, have already knocked her down. Her heart is sinking. The king, once her slave, now rudely rouses her from sleep and, with looks as sharp as arrows, puts all kinds of nasty questions. She rises, looks about, grasps the situation and visualises her end in sight. But instinct, desire to save life at any cost, which induces the drowning man to catch at a straw, throws her back into her former mood. In despair she assumes once again the role of Wicked Chitrangi and that for the last time. The king asks her many questions and she gives prompt replies. But there is one unanswerable question; "How did the Prince's picture creep into Chitrangi's bed-room? How did it find a place on her chest? Who shed tears of sorrow on it?" Her heart beats hard, her frame visibly shivers, still she musters up all her faculties and, in her old familiar manner, goes near the old husband and with her arms around his neck replies: "Innocent King! You could not detect this much. This is Ratnangi's trick. Having won over my maid, she got this picture and pigeon into my bed-chamber!" The king is not satisfied. He puts the last of all his questions. "What was the necessity for Chitrangi to write to the Prince?" Chitrangi replies that she was unwell at the time. He asks again: "What about the initial and last letters of every line being put together and what does the sentence convey?" The last straw on the camel's back and Chitrangi collapses. She blurts out the truth: Great King, put no more questions. Speak not to me: look not at me: show me no mercy: I am guilty.

The king delivers his judgment on the spot: "Without any trial, without any delay, throw her into a closed tub full of knives and swords, roll her up in it four times a day for a week or till she dies, whichever is earlier." The sometime Queen listens, falls on the floor, cries out ‘Oh! Oh!’ and kicks and kicks on the ground. The messenger arrives. The king eagerly asks. Chitrangi eagerly listens. Relief sent to Sarangadhara is a minute too late. The hands and feet of the noble Prince have been cut. The old king cries aloud ‘Ah! Dear son!’ and faints. The maid speaks: ‘Friends, the Queen's life has expired’. Thus the great tragic heroine's sudden death is no mystery. Her delicate frame has already been ruined–When the woeful news of her lover's fate has entered her ears, how can her heart be prevented from bursting?

Thus ends the story of Chitrangi, her noble passion, ill-starred career and heroic death. At the end of this long review of her character, the original question still remains: "Is she to be condemned or pitied?" Nature has endowed human beings with love and love is the supreme factor in life. If Chitrangi's imagination was great and her passion deep, whose fault was it? On her were bestowed accomplishments and culture, charming personality and poetical emotion. She sought perfection in an object which was denied to her. Not a sinner, she asked for bread, but received something else. On the other side it is argued that too much of anything, even if it be love, has to be avoided. Discipline is essential for life, and if laws of society and laws of morality are to be disobeyed, where will it lead us to? Chaos and not Cosmos is to be the name of the world we live in. Without presuming to solve this great riddle, we can safely assert one thing. Love is the relation in which one human being stands to another and hence is a necessary part of our existence. This mutual attachment generally associated with the lover and his mistress need not necessarily be confined to them. In the husband and the wife, the mother and her child, the friend and his mate, (also the mystic and his ideal, the poet and his art), this indissoluble tie is seen. It is an influence which cannot be shaken off. It is a force which purifies the heart, elevates the soul and brings man into the company of the gods. It is a vision which the human being sees but may not be able to explain. When all is said, the critic of Chitrangi will have to solace himself by cogitating on the full significance of the poet's saying,

’Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.