EXPLANATION
(SHORT
STORY)
By K. CHANDRASEKHARAN,
M.A. B.L.
(Rendered
from Tamil by the Author)
‘Wonderful!’
‘Amazing!’ Thus the entire city was wild with
excitement. News spread from mouth to mouth extolling the art of Gaganacharya. The shrine of Chenna
Kesava at Belur rose in
proof of the unshakable faith in Vaishnavism of the Hoysala monarch, Vishnuvardhana.
The
General of the King’s forces, Vijayatunga, was the
only detractor in that crowd. He spared not the sculptor for allowing his
daughter, Kinkimmala, to dance in on many occasions.
Himself fallen captive to the charms of her fascinating figure, he hardly knew
his own mind when he criticised Gaganacharya
for presenting her in public as a dancer and making her the object of vulgar
gaze and cheap curiosity. For he was certain that no normal
being could easily resist the attraction of the youthful abundance in her, when
her body swayed to the tempting rhythm of music. Further, he was sure
that Kinkinimala’s beauty could leave none unensnared save perhaps himself.
There
was a large concourse of people waiting that day to witness the Natya of Kinkinimala as soon as
the ‘Kumbhabhishekam’ ceremony was over. Couriers of
the Court soon came in advance announcing the arrival of the King with his
entourage. People were asked to move away in order to make room for the royal
party. The King with his harem was approaching the scene of such exquisite
execution of sculptures. Apart from a long-cherished desire of Vishnuvardhana to rear up a temple of art for his favorite
Deity, he took a secret pleasure in surprising the master-sculptor of his reign
with unimagined honours and titles for his peak
performance.
The
sculptor with his daughter stood at the temple gateway to receive in person the
King.
Vijayatunga, who was early
there to make arrangements for the King’s arrival, asked of the
master-sculptor: “Should your daughter too be here in this unmanageable crowd?”
His voice betrayed a tremour.
Lost
in his own dreams, the sculptor scarcely heard at first the words of the
General. He suddenly became aware of them when repeated, and answered with a
feigned look of respect, “Hey, General! Is it you? Kindness
indeed to me and to my daughter!”
“Kindness?”
the General burst out, “No, it is only the respect due to the gentler sex. I
cannot remain self-absorbed like you forgetting everything else.”
He surveyed the people around, expecting their approval of his sentiments; but his countenance changed as he neared the sculptor with a whisper, “Well, man, do you hear me? I can do anything for you, provided you remove your daughter from this place. You must take her away. Why have you decked her in her dancing garment und made her stand in this cursed spot? Have you no sense of propriety?
Gaganacharya instantaneously raised
his folded hands as if in obeisance to the General, and spoke firmly; No, there
is no harm in her standing beside me. Aye, she will share the honours the King may be pleased to
shower on me. It is but meet she should dance here after the royal eyes have
feasted on the works of art. Further, this is God’s holy presence and not a
mere market-place.”
“Hark,
the King comes! Make way for His Majesty!” Cries rent the air announcing the
royal personages. All moved away in response to the shouts. Vijayatunga, who never knew defeat
in battle, for the first time tasted discomfiture in his encounter with an old
man. He slowly stepped aside for the King to pass.
The
monarch’s countenance was suffused with a divine
effulgence. His heart expanded with rare satisfaction at the completion of his
long-dreamed of temple of magnificent art. He had been apprised of the feast
which awaited him there for his soul to feed upon.
The
rituals of worship began with the swaying of lights and incense-holders to the central
standing Deity of Chenna Kesava.
Bells pealed as the incense filled the atmosphere. When camphor was
lighted and lifted towards the image, the slanting poise of the figure
impressed the onlookers and devotees with its touch of feminine grace. The name
Chenna Kesava 1
was truly justified.
The
panel of bas-reliefs on the right side of the wall contained reproductions
of episodes from the Ramayana. Eyes that rested on them never afterwards sought
anything else. The King and his party remained glued to the spot,
gazing and yet gazing on the unsurpassed beauty of the sculptures. Gaganacharya had to interrupt the King’s absorption and
conduct him to the marvelous gallery of sculptured dancing figures.
Kinkinimala followed the
King’s party but at a respectful distance. ‘Confident that none would notice
her, she tried to adjust her slipping upper-garment. As she tied the end of her
saree tight round her slender waist, her bosom only
gained a more alluring roundness. Vijayatunga caught
in a glance her bewitching form and for a while drank of it with
avidity. But she met his voluptuous gaze and dropped her eyelids in confusion.
He was thankful for the moment thus afforded him to gaze more at her.
He gathered himself up and approached her. He breathed in her ear, ‘Madam, if you please, you can rest awhile outside.” Perhaps Kinkini felt the strange disturbance in his voice; for she was startled a bit and removed herself to where the King was approaching.
“What
ails you, daughter, that you should forget the King’s presence and stand in his
way thus!”, rebuked her father. Once again she got
lost in a whirlpool of distraction, and in haste stopped aside, chancing to rub
against Vijayatunga’s shoulder. But the General stood
deliberately motionless.
Carved
pillars at frequent intervals supported the central dome of the shrine. Over everyone of them hung a finely-worked figure of a dancing
damsel. The King wondered how each one of the figures seemed to excel the rest,
so artistically arranged on the pillars. One damsel in her right, extended palm
was holding a mirror to her face while with the finger of the other she was
fixing a dot (tilaka) between her eyebrows.
Yet another figure in the group was bending a bow in a semi-circle and sending
a shaft above, enrapturing the onlooker by that gesture. Almost all of them
seemed in same attractive dance-pose or other, expressing a symbolical meaning.
The visitor seemed petrified with astonishment at the living sculptures.
Gaganacharya
was walking close to the King, expecting to be questioned regarding the motif
behind each one of the sculptured figures. He stood at each spot with the
King, eagerly watching his face wherein wonder and pride contended for an
abiding place. As he was scrutinising the King’s face
carefully, there was a twitch on it as if something perplexed him. Yes, before
him stood the figure of a damsel with her slipping garment being tugged at by
the small figure of a monkey on its hind legs.
A
smile played a wee-while on the lips of the King. The next instant it changed
to one of bland unenlightenment. But the sculptor
would not communicate anything to the King unless he was questioned.
The
King moved on after twice rivetting his critical gaze
on it. He hardly spoke a word to anyone. But the bevy of women behind
laughed outright as they saw the figure of the damsel with the monkey. The
Queen called the General to her side and pointing to the image
queried, “Do you understand anything of this?”
“Not
much, Lady; but perhaps the sculptor’s comic mood has expressed itself,”
answered the General and cast his looks around to receive approbation for his
interpretation.”
In
the meanwhile the King had got down the steps of the temple gateway leading to
a wide open space, having at a distance a spot covered over with a gold
embroidered shamiana, where the royal throne and
seats of honour were arranged to overlook the vast
crowd seated on the ground. The members of the royal party accompanied the King
to the canopied dais and took their places according to rank. The sculptor sat
on the right of the King, while Kinkinmala sat on the
ground at her father’s feet with her legs bent together on one side. She easily
reminded the onlookers of one of the images on the pillars of the temple. Vijayatunga sat con the left of the King.
Silence
reigned for a few minutes over the entire concourse. The King at last broke the
quiet with his clear accents:
“My good citizens! Can there be an end to
all the wonders we have seen today? Every stone here speaks eloquently. Great
art alone can speak so well. Look, can anything else convey so clearly the
thought hidden behind? I think not. The Lord Chenna Kesava is filling this place with His grace. Everything
bespeaks of the glory of divine art. One wonders whether sculpture took its
idea from dance or dance from sculpture. The master-artist here is mainly
responsible for creating this mystery. The generations yet unborn may not see
the sculptor in flesh and blood, but they will unfailingly find his wonderful
soul encased in each of these stones made alive here.
“What
posterity really holds out for him may easily surpass the rewards we now
propose to offer him, Posterity’s
verdict will no doubt make him immortal. But none-the-less we cannot refrain
from expressing our gratitude for his magnificent art. We offer him therefore
gold and gems of rare value.
“But,
but...1 forgot to mention one particular matter. One of the sculptured damsels
defies my understanding. I mean the woman whose upper-garment is being pulled by
a monkey. Why the artist caused the monkey to perform such an audacious act, I
cannot discover. If anybody here can unravel the significance of it, we shall
be thankful to him. No doubt, there is the Master here to confirm or contradict
any such interpretation.”
The
King ceased his speech and glanced with immense pride at the sculptor. The
assemblage remained silent. People in the crowd were either
nervous to speak out the result or their speculations,
or were anxious not to go wrong in their interpretation before such an august
assembly.
Suddenly
rose the General from his seat, He exclaimed : “My
“Well
said!” remarked the King, and added, “The portrayal of the damsel with the
monkey conveys the subtle thought you have explained. True, if the body alone
is the point, then certainly the evil eye will be gaining ground. It is
apposite indeed that the monkey is associate with the
beautiful dancing fire.”
The
General became frozen on hearing this. Kinkinimala,
who was bending her face down, lifted it in relief.
1
Chenna, the graceful.