BY G. V. SUBRAHMANYAM, B.A.

Dikshitulu's Sabari is a novelty in Andhra Letters. It is the finest and the most characteristic work of the author, while its originality marks it out as a species by itself. A play in five acts written in the colloquial style,–it is not primarily intended for the stage. But its appeal to the enlightened reader is irresistible and is born of the rich idealism, high imagination, and sweet sincerity of the author. In modern Andhra Letters, the name of Chinta Dikshitulu has become a guarantee for chastity of thought and sentiment; and Sabari is one more shining example of his literary virtue.

The story of Sabari is taken from the Ramayana, that eternal source of inspiration to the Hindu mind. To the end of the "Aranyakanda" Valmiki gives an account of this wood- land-born devotee of Sri Rama. We are told that Sabari served for long Rishi Matanga in his ashram near Rishyamuka, and when he was ascending to heaven, he bade his disciple await the advent of Sri Rama who would come to her, bless her, and fulfill her tapas. Sabari obeyed her Master’s command and when Rama and Lakshmana, wandering in quest of Sita, came to her ashram, she gave them the sincerest welcome of the most ardent devotee. In their presence she ascended the funeral pyre and went to heaven, having fulfilled her earthly existence with the darshan of the Lord.

Dikshitulu has not been content with this simple-story. He has spun more yarn and woven it round the original theme. Hanuman is included within the framework of the play and he forms the male counterpart of Sabari. Two other characters, Chataka and a woodland lass Irrie, have also been added as studies in contrast, while the whole atmosphere has been rendered perfectly idyllic with the introduction of the birds, cows, and trees, all vying with one another, to honour Sri Rama and be of service to him in the great reception that Sabari prepares.

The scheme of the play may thus be summarised. In the first Act, Sage Matanga, about to quit the earth for heaven, reveals to his disciple, Sabari, the birth of the sixth Avatar Sri Rama, fixes Him as the Deity-of-her-heart (Ishta-daiva) and bids her ever meditate on Him till He should come in person to her and bless her. In the second Act, Sabari is revealed in the midst of her devotional endeavour, initiating Hanuman into the story of Sri Rama and binding his heart with the silken cord of Bhakti. In ~the third, Hanuman transforms his play-mate Irrie from fervent Naturalism to high Theism, from earthly attachment to one like himself to religious devotion to the Lord in the person of Sri Rama. In the fourth, Sabari, Hanuman, and Irrie make preparations for the advent of the Avatar. In the final Act, Rama and Lakshmana arrive at the asliram. Sabari's reception is complete with the choicest flowers, fruit, and song. As Lakshmana says, "she makes all Nature her own and makes herself Sri Rama's." Nature's beauty and the heart's sweetness pour themselves in one stream at His feet. As in the Ramayana, Sabari ascends the funeral pyre and goes to heaven. But on earth, she is transformed to a river, ever washing the feet of Sri Rama, whose seat in the ashram becomes the mountain Ramagiri. To the close of the play, Chataka the philosopher, whose chosen path is that of Gnana, is revealed admiring the wisdom of worshipping the Divine Personality, the fruitfulness of the path of Bhakti. The whole is thus a triumph of Bhakti, Sabari transfiguring the Path in her person.

There is an interesting conversation between Chataka and Irrie at the beginning of the fourth Act where the author contrasts the two paths:

Irrie: - Do you say that Sri Rama will really come to us?

Chataka: - Why bother about His coming and going? He is always in our hearts.

I: - Is He always in our hearts?

Ch: - Not only in the hearts. We are He, and He is Ourselves.

I: - Chataka, I do not understand you.

Ch: - Yours is the path of devotion (Bhakti). Mine is the path of knowledge (Gnana). How can we be reconciled?

I: - Yours is a wild jargon unto me. Why do you not give straight replies to my questions?

Ch: - Brahman, the Formless, the Indivisible, the Indestructible who is Existence, Consciousness, and Bliss, is transcendent, beyond the realms of word and thought. Contemplation of Brahman, the Formless, is the path of salvation.

I: - Will Sri Rama rejoice in our songs?

Ch: - Conquering the senses, fixing the eye on the tip of the nose–

I: - Stop that nonsense, Chataka.

Here is the contrast between the personal desire of the devotee and the impersonal indifference of the Gnani. The same Chataka, on the eve of Sri Rama's arrival, says that he is entering into Samadhi and knows not when it is to end; so that he is obviously unaffected by the advent of the Avatar. It is only when he sees the miracles attendant on Sabari's salvation,–the vimana coming to take her to heaven, the ashram vanishing in an instant–, that he reluctantly admits the fruitfulness of Bhakti. The author is distinctly partial to the path of devotion. It is the religion of Chaitanya that he favours, in preference to that of Sankara.

But the more Universal Theism is very well brought forth in the third Act when Hanuman transforms Irrie into a devotee. The nature of the Almighty is revealed to her, step by step, in the most unostentatious way, much as a mother instructs her eager child. The dialogue is crisp and pointed; but the whole passage must be read as one and its length forbids its translation here. With the profundity of a sage, the author convinces the laity of the Immanence of the Almighty.

So much for the philosophy of the play. Its literary merit may now be better explained. The whole atmosphere of the play is idyllic and supernatural. Our Puranas take it for granted that Nature yields to any pattern that the power of tapas demands. The seven seas spring up in the ashram, that Rishi Matanga may take his daily bath. The flowers and tender leaves neither droop nor drop down on the ashram trees. The wet saffron clothes that the Sage leaves behind remain eternally wet. He ascends to heaven in the chariot of the gods. Doves are the messengers of Sabari, bringing her daily news of the Solar Princes. The cuckoos, the parrots, and the peacocks sing in human tones the praise of Rama. The demarcation between man and bird and beast is entirely wiped out. A holy atmosphere broods over the play, and this is as it should be. The spirit of the ancient forest retreats has been recaptured in these pages.

The characters are boldly drawn, though in defiance of the classical canons. They are too ecstatic–especially the central figure Sabari,–for representation on the stage. But on the stage of the human heart they have their fulfilled reality. Matanga is a sage whose fulfillment is complete. He is all benign and all unaffected. The way in which he gradually reveals the story of Rama and initiates Sabari in His worship, reveals what a Master he is. "Worthy disciple of a worthy Master," says Sri Rama. In Sabari, innocence, tenderness, simplicity, and devotion overflow the bounds of the human heart. She is a part of Nature with the principle of consciousness restored. Irrie is "the darling child of Nature," who essays to scale the ladder of consciousness. Hanuman is characterized as a "piece of diamond"–that is, the soundest man with the brightest heart. Chataka is the philosopher par excellence. The author has not kept his characters at the high level of classic dignity; he has brought them to the human level. They speak the language of the common folk; they have the coolness of the moon, and not the brilliance of the sun.

But, as was remarked at the outset, the play is of a novel kind and the author must be allowed his way. We have too many plays of the classic type. This is of the romantic type. Sabari as well as the numerous other playlets produced by the author, may be termed spiritual romances. Saints figure in those pages, but they speak like children. Children are so much a part of himself that his imagination is always lost "on the seashore of endless seas where children meet."

Of the language of the play; a little may be added here. The style is colloquial, but the prose is not the actual spoken prose. It is richer and more poetic, even as the characters, though close to the human touch, are richer and greater. It is the author's practice ever to write in this vein, without regard to classicism and grammar. He is not the first of the literary craftsmen to use the spoken tongue for literary purposes, but it has hitherto been used with success for realistic portrayal. Dikshitulu has the honour of wielding the same for idealistic purposes; for serious literature and not simply for the comic. Some people may take objection to this use and remark that "his whales talk like fish,"; but the justification of the author is in the amount of satisfaction that he has produced among his many readers.

Of the few songs that are found in the last Act, the chief distinction is their simplicity. The language and thought are well-matched, to make the nearest approach to the nursery rhymes and household songs. Non-Telugu readers may have an idea of them from the following translations. In welcome of Sri Rama, peacocks sing thus: -

The parrots sing thus: -

The cuckoos sing thus: -

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