BY PROF. RAYAPROLU SUBBA RAO ^l

I now come to Vijayanagar, the centre of great activities, of great progress in religion, art, literature, commerce and politics. My survey of this period can only be scrappy, a mere outline, because the years are crowded with events enveloping almost all the phases of personal, social and national history, and the achievements of the epoch are varied and wonderful. But as my concern is with Telugu literature. I confine myself to the times of Sri Krishna Deva Raya, the greatest monarch that ever wore the crown in South India. The history of Vijayanagar makes it clear that the pre-Krishna-Deva-Raya period was full of political bustle and discloses a strong popular religious fervour. Sanskrit was not only studied, but original writings and standard commentaries in Sanskrit on great works were attempted and accomplished. It was during this period that South Indian scholarship in Sanskrit unfolded itself and won recognition in the North.

Before I deal with the voluminous literature of Sri Krishna Deva Raya’s Court, let me indicate the trend of polite taste in the society of those times. The art of music made rapid marches. Architecture progressed greatly. Painting reached a high level of perfection. All these arts were encouraged by the Durbar as well as by the artistocracy. Therefore, there appeared to exist a lively contest between the Poet, the Painter, the Musician and the Architect, for much-coveted royal patronage and honour. They vied with one another in creating masterpieces of art. It is important to remember this fact because the literature of the period is remarkable in its revealing all these phases. The patient carving and the careful design of the architect, the melody and soft strains of the musician, the enchanting line and alluring colour of the painter are skillfully blended and beautifully woven even into the delicate and dazzling fabric of poetry. I must deal with at least four poets of Sri Krishna Deva Raya’s Court so that I may (however meagerly) illustrate the cumulative genius of the epoch.

Recently a scholar estimated that Vidyaranya’s literary work alone would amount to some millions of words. And what of the rest of them? But it must be remembered that all this work in Sanskrit was stimulating the vernaculars, steadily and surely, though silently. The glory of Sri Krishna Deva Raya and of the Vijayanagar Empire is the glory of Telugu Literature. Krishna Deva Raya himself was a poet of a high order of merit, and in his court there was a galaxy of poets. The poet occupied the first seat of honour in the Durbar. He was given Agraharams, and he rode in palanquins. It is stated that the Emperor once actually lifted the palanquin of his poet-laureate, Peddana, to show his love and respect for the poet.

Allasani Peddana is commonly known as the Grand Old Man of Telugu poetry. He was the poet-laureate of Sri Krishna Raya. He wrote the ‘Manucharitra,’ a first-rate poem in 6 cantos and about 3200 lines. Though the bulk of the work is not much, its value is indeed very great. He is a conscious artist, but one who with subtlety conceals his art. The proper temper of his literary art is in its graceful elegance, easy melodiousness and vivid portraiture. The burden of his song is love. A celestial lover in the Himalayas ardently loved a celestial lady but was disappointed. A mortal youth who goes on a pilgrimage to the Himalayas loses his way and, in his aimless wanderings, suddenly scents in the lazy breeze a strong perfume. Suspecting the presence of human beings, he seeks the perfume to its source. He sees this beautiful maiden in a valley. She is playing on the Veena with her eyes half closed as if they were absorbed in the entrancing strains of her own music; the jingling of gem-set bangles is harmonized to the tune. The Veena is vibrating as if the music gave it life.

When she opens her eyes and looks on the stranger, she is embarrassed and hastens behind a tree-trunk. The youth breaks the silence, narrates his misfortunes with an artless innocence, and asks her to show the way towards his home. She is fascinated by the youth, and she answers him with the most delightful sense of humour. She indulges in witty sallies and provoking sarcasm. But the passion and the provocation are lost on the silly inexperienced youth. For he must go home, and he has no other thought. She argues with him. She pleads her love for him. But it is all profoundly useless. All her subtle tricks in words and acts fail to rouse the youth. They even repel him. Hinting her love, expressing it outright, and forcing her passion on him–all fail of their purpose. He throws her aside, with the rudeness of which only men who never loved a woman are capable, and goes away.

What interest us here are the situation and the dialogue between the hero and heroine, for they serve the purpose of understanding the times and temperaments of the age through its literature.

The situation is this. A beautiful youth is set against a handsome maiden. He is depicted to be a lovable replica of all that is noble and worthy in an ancient culture and tradition, but the maid has a culture and an outlook on life which are of a more recent origin. The young man is a model of piety, learning and contentment. The maiden’s home and accomplishments keep to the standard of the most fastidious and refined taste of free artistic life. The hero ascends a high hill, hoary with the remnants of the old religious places but loses his way. He is just similar in that to one who can, by assiduous endeavour, probe into the high thought of the ancients but is not able either to assimilate it himself or apply it to the current needs of life. Then comes the heroine. She never thinks of the high tops of the mountain but chooses an abode in the cool shades of a valley whose rock-beds the sun sweeps with his golden broom morning and evening. The place has no holy remains around but fulfils all the requirements of a glorious garden house which artistic taste can conceive and enormous wealth create. Music is her passion and her pastime, and when she plays on the Veena the stones melt and the trees swoon. The atmosphere of the whole valley, laden with the fragrance of flowers, haunted by her music, flows along the delightful dales and floats mildly on to the mountain peaks. And here the young man lost his way and found the maiden.

"I must hurry up–," cried the Brahmin youth, "because my old parents are anxiously waiting for me. My daily religious duties are sinfully put off."

"What wonderful village is yours?" mockingly responded the young maiden. "Can’t you tarry a little? Gaze on these marble halls, breathe the fragrance of these sandalwood groves, and look at these beautiful beds of white sand and the green bowers of smiling creepers. Do your thatched huts attract you more? Why talk of feasts and privations in the name of religion, when you are able to realize heaven on earth.

"Where the mind sprouts into blossom with love, where it rests in harmony without flitting from one attraction to another, and where, like a steady flame in a dome, it realizes its oneness with all around, that state of love is Bliss. Don’t you know that even the Veda declares that Bliss is Brahman?

"You boast of the sacrifices you have performed. Of what use are they? Religious ceremonies, however exacting they may be, do not yield any good, unless they are tempered with mercy, the quality divine."

There is yet another situation which shows the spirit of the times, the free thinking that found classical conventions and orthodox dogma irksome. Some young girls go for a stroll in the neighbouring woods. They see something strange, like a heap of cotton among the trees. One girl, out of playful curiosity, pricks into it with a sharp stick. Lo! It was a man, a hermit in penance, over whom dried leaves and wild shrubs gathered and grew in a heap. He rose in all wrath. He not only cursed them, but began to beat the girl who was running in a panic. The hermit composed himself after a while, and the other girls spoke thus: "Oh, wicked man! How could you lift your hand to beat this tender girl for nothing? What has she done? Do the wise curse without cause? Are you a killer of innocent birds like the Boya? Have you no sisters, young or old? Is this severe penance meant only to gain the powers of cursing? Look at those Sadhus who seek peace in silence. What would they speak of your action?" One of the girls indignantly bursts out saying, "You belong to the Brahmin caste and thus your life is not in danger. Otherwise, we would have reduced you to ashes and dust." This is not sanctifying Brahminism!

Peddana’s poetry is deeply coloured by the events and culture and civilisation of his times. In his descriptions of hunting expeditions we feel that it is not mere poetic imagination that portrays but actual sight and experience of the sport as it was conducted in his times. He refers to the army of hunting dogs of different classes and breeds. And the fond care with which they were looked after can be seen from the various names that were given them.

The Hawk and Eagle were a regular part of the sport, and there were trainers engaged to carry and conduct them in hunting. The elaborate sketch of pig-hunting reveals the skill of the hunters of the day and strikes a deep realistic note as if the poet is writing of actually what he saw with his own eyes.

And then, when the whole party began to rest after the thrilling sport, there were preparations for food and drink. Here the poet narrates, in vivid colours, how the fire was made and how the particular parts of particular animals were selected and cooked. They made deep pits, covered the sides with fragrant leaves, put the raw meat in tamarind twigs, covered the pits with special leaves, and on it the fire was lit.

While reading these passages one sees the scene as if actually revealed, moving or focused on a screen before one, and feels the whole atmosphere of keen sport, and relishes every word and phrase with the keen appetite of a sportsman. Peddana’s remarkable powers of realistic description are also in evidence when the hunting dogs are pictured in words. His sense of music is so exact that one particular verse, properly read, almost reproduces a dog’s barking. It is often the case that details mar the beauty of a poem, but Peddana’s details are charming. Then, again, coming to the palaces and their surroundings we see nice gardens, with broad villas, shaded with green vine creepers, clustered with bunches of grape fruit. Various kinds of birds were kept charmingly in cages, and we are aware that high-born girls developed a hobby of teaching the birds the popular songs of the day. The realistic nature of Peddana’s poetry could be elaborated at great length. But what has to be noted is the profound influence on Telugu literature of the Vizianagar epoch of South Indian history, and the skilful way in which Telugu poets, and particularly Peddana, reacted spontaneously and beautifully to that outburst of new life.