A
FAMOUS DANCE OF LONG AGO
The
following episode is taken from the Silappadhikaram,
‘The Lay of the Anklet’. Its author is Ilango Adigal, who is reputed to be a brother of the Chera king. The name sounds like a pseudonym; and looks
rather like one bestowed by the public (or his peers), than like one assumed by
the poet himself. There is, unfortunately, no reference in Sangham
poetry to any such person in the Chera royal line.
The
story of the poem is fairly well known. In the city of Puhar
by the sea, known as Kaviri-p-poom-pattinam, there
lived two great merchant princes-one owned a fleet of merchantmen, and traded
by sea, apparently; and the other was a caravan owner, who traded by land. The
former had a charming daughter Kannaki, just turning
twelve; and the latter had a son, Kovalan, turning
sixteen. The two young people were married with great pomp, and due ceremony,
and were blessed by the elder folk. They set up house by themselves, and lived
happily for a time.
Then,
one fateful day, came this dance, of which more latter Kovalan
fell in love with the dancer, and sought her love, and had it in such full
measure, that he deserted his wife and home. The rest of the story does not
concern us here.
Silappadhikaram
is considered as one of the three masterpieces of Tamil
poetry–the other two being the Kural of
the Tiru-Valluvar, wit: and the Ramayana of Kamban. It is in three sections–the plot of each being laid
in one of the ancient Tamil kingdoms, namely, Chola, Pandya, and Chera, respectively.
Some miracles are inter-woven with the texture of the story, which is, on the
whole, well and told. There are some lovely songs and lyrics of exquisite
pattern, in simpler language than the body of the poem, though parts of them
are still above the language of the ordinary man of today.
Loveliest
of all the celestial nymphs was glamorous Urvasi, the
dancer without a peer in the court of Indra, king of the gods. By a cruel
fate’s decree She was born on the earth, where she
achieved a fame as great as in heaven. She was lissom as a creeper, and soft and fragrant as a flower; and
was aptly named Madhavi–the jasmine
creeper, with leaves like emeralds, and flowers like stars. Of her noble
lineage, long long afterwards, was born such another;
and she too was known as Madhavi.
The
Dancer–This young dancer was
“gifted with the magic of motion and sunshine of glance, and white arms
wreathed lightly, and tresses full free, as the plumage of birds in a tropical
tree.” It had been announced that young Madhavi was
going to be “presented” to the king that day; and the courtiers, and nobles,
and merchant princes, were all aflutter to see her. She had just turned twelve;
and was already reputed to be a paragon of beauty, song and dance. She had
perfected her charms and attainments by a seven-year course of culture. “Broad
were her shoulders, and her eyes were like a fawn’s, and, from the fresh
flowers twined among her curly tresses, fine pollen poured like fragrant dew.”
The Stage–The
stage was set for her coming. It was a raised platform one “stick” high. The
“stick” was the unit of length in such matters. It was defined as the length
measured by twenty-four thumbs’ breadth–the
thumb of a nobleman. Each thumb breadth was just the length of eight paddy
corns set side by side. This stick measure had to be made of the finest bamboo,
growing on any of the sacred hills, and which in its natural state, measured
one span from joint to joint. By such a measure, the stage was seven sticks
broad and eight sticks long. It had two doors for entrance and exit, which were
four sticks high from the dance floor to their wooden lintels. It had one
screen on the left, and two on the right, and an over-hanging curtain and some
pillars. High up were figures of painted sprites, for all to pray to, and a
canopy of cloth with painted pictures and rich embroidery. Strings of pearl
hung down straight, and in loops and festoons. Skilful workmen built it, with
many a novel feature. It was illumined by a graceful lamp so cunningly placed that
it cast no shadows.
Location
of the Theatre–The choice of a site
for the dance stage was very important. It should be near a temple, or a prayer
hall (or a palace), and near where the learned and pious brahmins lived, and near a well and a pond, and a
flowery grove. It should stand on firm ground; and should not be near pits, or
rubbish, or dug up earth. Land where any bones, or husks of grain, or gravel
stones, lie scattered, wet and clayey land, brackish
or alkaline soil, or ash-strewn ground, and loose earth, are all declared
unfit. The stage should be built in the heart of the city, facing the broad
city streets, where the temple cars run and the chariots ply.
The
Song Master–The musician was a specialist on the lute and
the flute, and could play deftly on the drum. His voice was rich, and could
reach any pitch, high or low; and was under perfect control. He could suit it
to all the needs, and all the moods
of the dance–of every kind and
tempo. He knew the meaning of the words of the song, and the poet’s mind, and
the language and dialects of the land, with all their subtle shades of musical
sound. He held inflexibly to the traditional form of the composition.
The
Composer–The composer was an expert in the
language, and could wield it with skill and appropriateness. He knew the stage,
and its special art and features, and he carefully avoided all solecisms. He
was a master of both subjective and objective writing. He never gave a handle
to critics to make adverse comment about his work.
The
Drummer–The drummer knew the various kinds of dance,
and all the songs, tunes, and their measures. He made the drum harmonise with the lute, and the flute, and the human
voice. He would cover up their flaws, and show up their beauty. He made his
instrument blend wonderfully with the other instruments in the orchestra, and
echo closely even the lingering notes of the song. Such dextrous
skill his fingers had.
The
Flute Player–The flute player too was a virtuoso. He
knew both the modes of playing upon the instrument, and all the graces, and all
the airs. His instrument softened even an occasional harsh note. He could blend
with the big drum on the one hand, and the stringed lute on the other: He
could, and did, elaborate the notes of the singer; and each note was clear and
crisp.
The
Lute Player –The lute player played upon the lute with
fourteen strings from thin to thick, the thinnest on the extreme right, and the
thickest on the extreme left. The notes thus played ranged from the highest to
the lowest–just the opposite of how they sounded upon the flute. In the flute
the lowest notes are on the right. The lute player could, at his will, play on
the high notes, or the low, or mix them both in sweet harmony.
The
Installation–Upon such a stage they set the dance “staff”
after due ceremony. The staff was really the shaft of a royal umbrella seized
on the field of battle from an enemy king. It was brought in triumph, and
covered with gold plate, and every joint was inlaid with gems, and coral, and
pearl. It represented Jayanta (son of Indra, king of
the gods), and usually reposed in the palace of the king, and was offered
worship there. It was seven span lengths high.
On
the appointed day, the dancer bathed the “staff” with holy water, pouring it
from a golden pitcher. She garlanded it, and gave it to the gloriously caprisoned state elephant. To the beat
of drums and fanfare of trumpets, and the sound of music, the king and his
cabinet went round the decorated royal chariot which stood ready by the side
of, the royal elephant. The staff was taken from the royal elephant, and given
to the musician seated on the chariot. The whole group went in a procession
round the city; and then duly installed the staff upon the stage.
Entry
on to the Stage–Then the orchestra took
its place at the background of the stage. When all was ready, the dancer
stepped on the stage, with her right foot foremost, and stood modestly by the
pillar on the right; while her older companions, proficient in dancing, stood
on the left. Then, two benedictory songs were sung.
“Flourish, worth and virtue!
Perish,
worthlessness and vice!”
was
the theme of the songs. At their close, the entire orchestra studied in unison,
and in perfect harmony.
The
Dance–Then Madhavi danced first to the words of an auspicious song,
and then to other Songs and tunes, in varied patterns of step and movement.
“When
she danced with faultless grace
Keeping
firmly to the rules ordained,
It
seemed as if a golden vine
Had
quickened and come to life,
Swayed
and danced upon the stage.”
The
presiding king admired her greatly, for she was a feast to the eye and ear, and
gave her his own green-leaf garland, and one thousand and
eight coins of pure gold.
The
above material is to be found in the third canto of Silappadhikaram,
which is entitled “Arangerru-kathai “, the story
of Madhavi’s first performance on the stage. Much is
said about the dance, but very little about her dance. Nothing is
mentioned of her costume, or jewellery, or the songs
that were sung on the occasion, except generally. We do not even know whether
the queen was present.
I
am tempted to digress, and refer to another classic dance of equally long ago,
but of the “north countrie”. There is a dance episode
in Malavikagnimitra one of the three
Sanskrit plays of Kalidasa.
There
we find the reverse process, almost. No details are mentioned of the stage. It
was apparently tile amphitheatre of the palace. The king and queen are present,
and a few courtiers, and another lady–a nun. Malavika’s
beauty and grace of form are described directly and indirectly. The king’s
friend, the clown, describes her as “nectar for the eyes.” The dance master
notes her elegance of form, and the king praises her in rapturous language.
We
are told that Malavika was a bit nervous, and was
encouraged by her master. She sings a preparatory tune, and then, she sings in
medium tempo a song consisting of four lines, sung originally by Sarmishtha. The song too is given–both in the “Prakrit” form, and in the Sanskrit form. It may be rendered
thus:
He,
my love, is far above me:
So,
dear my heart, shed all your hope.
But,
why, I wonder, does my left eye
Throb
so often–Oh! dare I hope?
How
shall I call him to me?
Long
it is, since last I saw him.
I
am, alas a dependant here;
But,
dearest lord, I yearn for thee.
The king, the queen, the nun, and even the clown speak words of praise. It is the clown, too, who offers her a present, but the circumstances are somewhat different between the two events. The North Indian king is already in love with the dancer, who is a real princess, though not then known to be such; and after seeing her on the stage, falls more in love with her, if that were possible, all unaware of her lineage. But the Chola King is decorous, and does not lose his heart to the courtezan, and is entirely kingly. This is merely to state the difference–and not to praise or dispraise.