F. W. BAIN

L. S. R. KRISHNA SASTRY

Andhra University

Francis Williams Bain was born in the year 1863, the son of Joseph Bain who was a historian. He was educated at the Westminister School, and later at Christ Church College, Oxford. He stayed there from 1882 to 1889, and secured a first in Humanities in 1806. Bain was, besides, a Fellow of All Souls College, Oxford, from 1889 to 1896. It was in the year 1896 that Bain came to India; his Oxford contemporary, Lord Curzon, came to India later as Governor-General.

F. W. Bain was for many years the Principal and Professor of economics in the Deccan College, Poona, in the early decades of the present century. The interests of Bain, however, were varied and his achievement too was accordingly many-sided. The economist and the philosopher, the man of letters and the humanist were all fused into a great personality, and Bain’s was a powerful influence on the contemporary cultural life of Poona.

Bain wrote a biography, Christina of Sweden, and even his contribution to Economics was of no mean order. He developed an intimate contact with Sanskrit literature and Hindu mysticism, and wrote many tales with an Oriental setting and after the technique of the Sanskrit story-tellers. The tales found a wide enough reading public at one time, although they are more or less forgotten now. Several of them, in fact, ran through many impressions, and some of them found renderings into a few of the Indian languages.

It is these Oriental Tales that mark Bain as a class by himself in Anglo-Indian literature, and claim our memory for him. The matter and the manner are alike Oriental and the Tales almost read like Sanskrit tales in sensitive translation. Bain himself keeps up the illusion that they are translations from original Sanskrit Manuscripts. Many a scholar was curiously taken in by this illusion and even the British Museum Library thought it fit, for some time, to keep the volumes in the Oriental section. It is, of course, clear now that the author of these tales is Bain himself, and the following was the order of chronology in which they appeared: A Digit of the Moon (1898), The Descent of the Sun (1903 March), A Heifer of the Dawn (1903 December), In the Great God’s Hair (1904), A Draught of the Blue (1905 April), An Essence of the Dusk (1906 April), A Mine of Faults (1909), The Ashes of God (1910), Bubbles of the Foam (1912), A Syrup of the Bees (1914), The Livery of Eve (1916) and The Substance of a Dream (1919).

“In India,” Bain says, “religion and literature are inseparable.” All her great classics of literature are imbued with a deep religious sense, and religion too found literature its best medium. Her great poets were also seers, and the utterances of her rishis were poetic. The theory of reincarnation, life beyond life, the emancipation of the spirit–these are ideas which run in the heart and along the blood of an Indian. Quest of peace rather than conquest of the world, and freeing of the self rather than piling of pelf have ever been the aim of the Indian. Indeed, there is a calm which is deep-rooted in the Indian soil, and the Indian soul itself, which all the frenzy and tumult of the present day world is unable to take away. The Indian approach to literature too has ever been religious rather than aesthetic. The statement ‘Art is for Art’s sake’ at once appals an Indian, because to him art, whether literature or music or painting or sculpture, is a means of addressing God. Poetic imagination was ever considered an opener of the doors of truth rather than a play of the aesthetic fancy.

It is this mysticism of the Indian literature that has ever been a marvel to the foreigner. When Tagore published his Gitanjali, the Europeans found in it something which filled them with a sense of wonder, and the pure serenity and simple profundity of its thoughts gave them an altogether new experience. Accordingly, there have been many European writers who tried to grasp and graft the Oriental mysticism into their writings. The uniqueness of Bain, however, is that he did not satisfy himself with a spectator’s vision of Oriental thought and mysticism, but essayed to capture the mind and heart of India and the very kernel of Hindu thought. In fact, his understanding of India and enjoyment of Indian literature were so deep and genuine that he lashed out against Kipling and James Mill, who, according to him, had no business to say anything about India. “No man,” he says referring to Kipling, “has done more to caricature and misrepresent India, in the interests of military vulgarity, than this popular writer, to whom India is a book with seven seals.” Referring to the criticism of Indian ethic made by James Mill, Bain says that it is a criminal offence, a sin against literature.

The mainstay of India’s literary and cultural heritage is the Sanskrit language. The Sanskrit language is verily the key to India and is the mother of most of the Indian languages. It is the language in which the intuitive utterances of the Vedas and the Upanishads were preserved, and alike the language in which the mighty epics of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata were composed. Bain’s acquaintance with Sanskrit literature is intimate, and he entered into its living spirit and felt its vital touch. He was besides alive to the subtlest nuances of the Sanskrit language and drank deep of its sheer beauty. “The Sanskrit language,” he says, “preserves an element of charm, which in Europe too much knowledge is destroying: the element of distance of the unknown, of that which is outside the map, beyond, afar.” In another context, he refers to the verbal sheen of the Sanskrit language, its “perpetual undercurrent of indirect suggestion, a byplay of allusion, a prismatic beauty, of which no other language can convey the idea.”

Bain, however, was particularly drawn to the story literature in Sanskrit. He employs in his Tales the technique of story-telling adapted by the story-tellers of Sanskrit, and his style too by its elegance and ease, charm and quaintness acquires a peculiar sweetness and music that is altogether Sanskrit-like.

In any language, the currency of tales and fables can be traced to times immemorial as they are ever the means of pastime. The origin of the Sanskrit popular tale may have been ‘such Vedic Akhyanas as are preserved, for instance, in the Rigvedic dialogue–the hymn of Pururavas and Urvasi, or in such Brahmanic legends as that of Sunahsepa.’ The three main sources of story literature at in Sanskrit are the Avadana type of literature–which includes the Jataka literature–the Panchatantra and the Brihatkatha. The first mentioned is the earliest of the three. The Avadana stories have a definite moral purpose, and belief in the efficacy of personal devotion to the Buddha or his followers is their point. The Panchatantra which is a sequence of texts, belongs to the sixth century and is in the form of instruction in state-craft and practical morality offered by a Brahman by name Vishnusarma to the sons of King Amarasakti of Mahitaropya in Deccan. The Brihatkatha, however, has an altogether different story of origin. It was recorded by Gunadhya, its author, in the Paisachi dialect. It is the ostensible reproduction of an original narration by Lord Siva to Parvati. As many as seven lakh slokas were first composed, although only one lakh of them were finally spared and are now available.

The Brihatkatha has subsequently been adapted into Sanskrit. The two adaptations of renown are Kshemendra’s Brihatkathamanjari and Somadeva’s Kathasaritsagara. As far as we know from the adaptations, the Brihatkatha narrates the story of Naravahanadatta who, in the course of his adventures, marries a series of maidens, and finally attains the empire of the Vidyadharas. While the Avadana stories and the Panchatantra stories also make delightful reading, the Brihatkatha is unique by its deep human touch and by the witty raciness of its style.

Bain’s mina was steeped in all these three types of story literature, and some of their general devices are borrowed by him. Sometimes, however, single lines or couplets are acknowledged as having Sanskrit originals. To give an example, the couplet on the title page of Bubbles of the Foam.

What! Mortal taste Immortal? Earth, kiss Heaven?

Confusion elemental! ah! beware!

is acknowledged as from Somadeva. There are, besides, other striking similarities between the ancient Sanskrit tales and Bain’s modern Oriental Tales.

Firstly, as in many Sanskrit tales, in Bain’s too Lord Siva and Parvati are the invariable presiding deities. Excepting solitary instance of An Essence of the Dusk, every story is narrated by Lord Siva to his darling wife Parvati. This feature is probably borrowed from Somadeva, because the Kathasaritsagara was originally narrated by Lord Siva to Parvati.

Secondly, as in Sanskrit, there is Benediction or Invocation at the beginning of every story, and these are addressed to Lord Siva in his different aspects–Siva, the Blue-Throated, the Lord of Time, the Destroyer of Time, the Wearer of the Moon and the Ganges. One of the invocations, however, the one in Bubbles of the Foam, is addressed to the Lord of Obstacles, Vighneswara, while another, the one in The Descent of the Sun, is addressed to both Vighneswara, This is typical of all Sanskrit writings, prose or poetry, as literature, more often than not, has a social and religious purpose, and so the blessings of God are sought. The device, besides, serves to strike the right mood in the reader’s or onlooker’s mind. To give an example from Bain,

“Adoration to the Four Eightfold Divinities! The Eight forms of the Lord of Time: the Eight cardinal points of space: the Eight Sections of the Revelation of Panini: and the Eight Pairs of Petals of the Lotus of the World.”

There is more, in fact, in Bain’s borrowing of this Oriental device than meets the eye. He seems to be an ardent devotee of Siva, as he himself says, “O Moony-crested, be not angry: for surely I was thy worshipper of old, in some forgotten birth.” He is even confident that no Indian equals him in his regard for Siva, as he adds, “Is there among thy dusky millions, even one, who has so sincere a regard for thy dead divinity, and for that of thy delicious little snowy bride, as I?”

Thirdly, following the custom of the Sanskrit story-tellers Bain too fixes a couplet or sometimes a poem on the title page of his Tale. The lines sum up the moral he intends to drive home in the course of the story. This feature, which has a didactic purpose, is traceable to the Jataka tales, and as Dasgupta points out, “the tradition is current from the time of the Brahmanas and the Jatakas.” These couplets or poems are again borrowed from Sanskrit, whether from Somadeva or Vamana or Bhargava. The following, for example, is the poem that precedes the narration in The Substance of a Dream:

Mix, with sunset’s fleeting glow,

Kiss of friend, and stab of foe,

Ooze of moon, and foam of brine,

Noose of thug, and creeper’s twine,

Hottest flame, and coldest ash,

Priceless gems, and poorest trash:

Throw away the solid part,

And behold–a woman’s heart.

And the tale that is told is of a woman of wondrous beauty, whose wiles puzzle even her lover and lead her to death.

In addition to these devices, Bain uses certain mystic symbols frequently to add to the Oriental atmosphere of the Tales. The colour blue and the setting sun are among such symbols. The colour blue is instinct with the mysticism that is characteristic of India and Indian literature, as he says “….Something of this, indeed is readily intelligible in every land: but in India, it is more so. The blue is bluer there.” The eyes of Anushayini in Descent of Sun are blue, and even when she is born as Shri as a result of the curse, her eyes continue to be blue. The king in A Draught of the Blue takes a blue liquor from the merchant and dreams a dream in which he sees his wife with blue eyes and wearing blue flowers.

The other frequently employed symbol is sunset, which is symbolic of the mystery that surrounds the cycle of birth and death. In The Descent of the Sun, Shri finds her lover just before sunset, and in The Substance of a Dream, Taravali meets Shatrunjaya daily at the time of sunset. When Shatrunjaya goes to his kingdom after hearing from his mother, he comes to know his that his father died at the time of sunset.

With these and diverse other symbols which are familiar in Sanskrit story literature–moon and lotus, dawn and dusk, nectar and poison, wood and lake–Bain succeeds in evoking an atmosphere of mystic charm and quaint evasiveness that characterises the Sanskrit stories.

Bain’s themes are, more or less, different tunes of the same melody, although the melody is sweet enough to bear repetition. Most of the stories are about men who start as misogynists and end as obedient servants of Women. Bain too has no heroes, but only heroines. Whether it is Anangaraba untying the riddles of scores of suitors, or Wanavallari arguing with and convincing Indra, or Madhupamanjari teaching her husband what a woman is, or the princess in A Mine of Faults explaining to the king what life without a woman is, or Taravali teaching Shatrunjaya the psychology of woman–they are all a galaxy of beautiful women, whose beauty is enhanced by their nobility and courage, wisdom and resourcefulness. The idea of reincarnation is also brought out in almost all the stories. They are all cast on a cosmic canvas with Lord Siva and Parvati as the presiding deities, and the lives of men and women are but the fleeting scenes used to illustrate and symbolise the higher truths of life.

The titles of Bain’s Tales are meaningful too, and add to the atmosphere. Equally suggestive titles are chosen for parts of a book as well: in An Essence of the Dark, the three titles of the parts of the book are (i) A Haunted Beauty (ii) A total Eclipse and (iii) A Fatal Kiss. Bain refers, in the preface of the book, to the lunar eclipse: beauty being persecuted by serpent. When the moon is eclipsed, there is darkness, gloom and dusk. So too, when on account of the witchery of Natabhrukuti, Aja is killed, it is beauty persecuted by serpent. What remains in the end is nothing but the essence of the dusk. A Haunted Beauty refers to Yasovati, who becomes the target of Natabhrukuti’s revenge. She is beauty haunted by jealousy. After Aja gets upon the terrace wall, Natabhrukuti sees him and loves him at first sight. She wants to make him forget all about Yasovati, her competitor, and subjects him to her witchery. As a result of that, Aja finds himself in a different world altogether. When the moon is under the influence of the serpent, it is a total eclipse. So, a total eclipse refers to Aja under the influence of Natabhrukuti’s sorcery. A Fatal Kiss is the last part of the story: Natabhrukuti kissing Aja and putting him to death.

Thus, the titles of the books, and parts of the books, strike the keynote of the Tales, besides adding to their atmosphere of mysticism.

It is now pertinent to see if one could continue to call the writings of Bain–Tales; or, should they be called romances or novels? A novel, according to the Concise Oxford Dictionary, is a fictitious narrative of sufficient length to fill one or more volumes portraying characters and incidents representative of real life in a continuous plot. If this definition is valid, we cannot, perhaps, call Bain’s writings novels, because they scarcely represent situations from real life, although they present certain truths of life. Characters too there are, but there is no drama emerging out of any situation. No element of surprise or suspense is ever present. With so many ingredients wanting, it is perhaps neither appropriate nor tenable to call them novels. The term romance would probably be fitting, as the whole atmosphere of the writings is exotic and as the stress is on the inner life of imagination rather than the outer life of actuality. Besides, the love that is portrayed by Bain has a transcendent permanence. The style too is sensitive and often poetic, and so it would perhaps be apt to call them romantic tales. But, then, what is in a name, after all?

Finally, it cannot be denied that one experiences a feeling of satiety after reading a few of Bain’s Tales. It is said also of Ivy-Compton Burnett’s novels and even of Tagore’s collections of English poems, that to read one is to read all, as the theme and the tone, the scheme and the setting are ever similar. In Bain’s Tales too, the variables are few and the constants many. The thought behind the Tales, and the technique and style adapted are too similar to ward off monotony. But, the feeling of sameness and even monotony is exceeded by the atmosphere of serenity which seems to fill these stories. To read and to ponder over these stories is indeed to grow in wisdom and experience a sense of peace.

Bain’s Tales, in fact, have a special appeal to the Indian, because in them he finds the meaning and melody of his Sanskrit stories with a new ring and lilt. They also demonstrate how a spiritual oneness can transcend racial and national barriers and make an ardent Indian of a visiting Englishman. But, then, the Tales of Bain are mainly meant for the Englishman. Bain even guides the Englishman’s pronunciation of the Sanskrit words he uses. The Englishman has, of course, the Arabian Nights and the Decameron, if he wants to read tales; but, the Tales of Bain take him into an altogether different world–the world of mysticism–and make an altogether new appeal to him, and both amuse and edify.

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