(Concluded
from the previous number)
In
this poem, the character and psychology of Sundari fascinates the reader even
more than that of Nanda. The poets deal in three cantos with her reaction to
the great misfortune in which she is caught up unawares, as a passive victim,
at the height of her connubial bliss. The Canto entitled ‘Nirikshana’ is
devoted to her immediate reaction to the calamity, and describes the first
shock and the succeeding mood of anxious longing for Nanda’s return. The last
but one book entitled ‘Anujna’ shows her cultivating resignation, and
reconciling herself to her situation. She attempts to understand and appreciate
her lover in his transformation, and is eager to emulate his example. The last
canto, entitled ‘sahadharmacharyam’ reveals her as an initiated disciple of the
monastic order, having renounced her wealth and dedicated herself to the
service of the destitute and the distressed.
The
verse prefixed to the 4th book reveals the importance the poets attach to the
psychological development of Sundari:
“You have separated the precious stone embedded in
the golden jewel, cast the gold in the fire and purified it, placed the diamond
on the anvil and polished it. What superb jewel do you intend to fashion this
time, Lord?”
The
first reaction of the tender and loving lady to the delay in the return of her
husband is a kind of worry compounded of disappointment, doubt, fear, hope and
eagerness, usual to lovers in separation, a theme on which poets are so fond of
exercising their imaginative and poetic talent. The shock to her sensitive and
trustful nature, when she learns gradually the truth that her husband was led
by the Master to the camp of the monks and there converted to the monastic
order, is heartrending and pathetic in the extreme.
She
reproaches Nagda, as well as Lord Buddha, in verses of exquisite grace and
pathos, which express her grief as well as her love for Nanda, her resentment
as well as her reverence for the Lord.
Addressing
Nanda in her imagination she reproaches him:
“Oh,
you faithless one! If you had been a votary of the ideal of renunciation and
aspired for the life of a monk in the forest, why did you pretend love for me,
and win my heart by graceful endearments, only to forsake me thus abruptly?”
“You
have mixed poison in the cup of nectar, alas!
If
you had no mind to drink out of the cup,
Why
should you first fill it with nectar?”
But
she cannot bring herself to believe that he has proved faithless to her:
“In
spite of all appearances, I cannot believe that the conduct of my lord, while
he delighted me with his Beautiful love, was all pretence and hypocrisy. He
cannot be staying away from me, the shadow of his soul, by an act of his own
volition.”
“My
lord is master in the art of love, infinite and flawless; knowing his heart and
his loyalty, if I doubt him, I will be guilty of unforgivable sin.”
And
in a mood of despondency–“After all his affection, the fondling, the
endearments, if my lord has forsaken me, what can I say to the fickle lover
except to bow to him and curse my misfortune!” Again she is filled with tender
self-pity for her foolishness in her previous conduct:
“Unwilling
to lose sight of your charming face, I was reluctant to close my eyes in your
presence; but afraid of tempting the evil eye, I withdrew my glances from your
face with effort. I dared not let go your hand for a moment, lest you should
give me the slip unawares; but I hesitated to clasp your hand tight, lest your
tender palm should be hurt. Verily have I been treading on the edge of a knife
in my loving regard for you. And now you have forsaken me heartlessly. Do you
hope to earn credit for virtue and salvation for yourself!”
And
again, she feels it is a case of injustice to her:
“I
left behind my brothers and sisters, and diverted all my affection towards you;
I forsook the arms of my companions, and leaned solely on your shoulders; I
turned away from my revered parents, and trusted to your feet as my sole
refuge; I neglected the worship of the worship of household gods, and devoted
myself exclusively to your service. All my tender emotions of affection
friendship, reverence and devotion, I have sacrificed on the altar
of my love for you. Now where am I to turn? Whom can I blame? I should blame
myself for my foolishness.”
In
the frenzy of her grief she cannot spare even the Lord Buddha with whom she
expostulates with admirable naivete and adroitness:
“Report
goes, Lord, that you are the master of sweet words, kind glances, and a merciful
heart, out of which love flows in endless streams; but the report is falsified
in the case of this poor sister of yours. When a brother bows at your feet in
love and reverence, should you not bless him with good wishes for a long life,
happiness and prosperity! How could you turn him into a monk and teach him to
renounce the world? When, at the time of my marriage, I bowed at your feet,
along with my beloved, I recollect you blessed me thus: ‘May you enjoy
inseparable companionship with your husband, like truth with non-violence!’ Now
you have falsified your own blessing, by separating us.”
(We
have to note that eventually the blessing of the Lord comes true, in spite of
the renunciation of both Nanda and Sundari).
Such
was the immediate reaction of Sundari to the misfortune which overtook her
abruptly. But very soon she tries to cultivate the spirit of resignation,
characteristic of Indian womanhood, and to observe ascetic indifference
to all worldly pleasures, traditional to Indian women when separated from their
husbands for any reason:
“She
desisted from her music, which she had cultivated assiduously only to please
her lord; she neglected the garden creepers she had tended carefully only for
his delectation; she veiled from sight the many beautiful pictures she
had painted along with her lover, while they stood cheek resting on cheek. Like
a faded painting or a withered flower, she was passing her time in
her inner chambers. When the ladies of the city visited her to condole with
her, she shed no tears, showed no sadness in her bearing, but remained silent. They
took it she had reconciled herself to her situation, cultivated resignation and
overcome her passion or love; but they did not know: her love was working a
mighty transformation in her.”
In
course of time,
“She
began to attend regularly the discourses of Suddhodana, the royal parent of the
Lord, in which he expatiated on the doctrine of the Buddha; she would listen
attentively, and reflect upon it at leisure; she tried to imbibe and assimilate
the tenets of the creed for which Nanda had forsaken her. She would discuss
with her companions the reports of the tours and the discourses of Lord Buddha
and his disciples. Thus she cultivated assiduously an intelligent interest in
the new faith and learnt to appreciate it and attempted to follow it. She began
to dwell, with admiration in her mind, on the blessed souls that had taken up
the work of the Lord; and she imagined her lover in the forefront of the ranks
of the Lord’s disciples.”
The
change in her outlook and conduct was remarkable:
“She
discarded her fine robes and donned ochre; she dressed her hair simply, in one
braid, without flowers or ornaments; she explained the teachings of Lord Buddha
to her companions and attendants. She visited frequently Yasodhara, the consort
of the Lord, and compared notes with her. She took every opportunity to honour
the monks, gathered all the news of the monasteries, hoped and longed for a
casual visit from Nanda, in the course of his wanderings as a monk.”
There
was a transformation in her love and in her grief, as also her appearance:
“Her
glossy body grew lean
and
began to radiate a new lustre of peace;
Her
gait lost the old grace
and
learnt a new hurry in her zest to succour the needy;
Her
captivating glance lost its old dazzle
and
cultivated the calm of compassion;
In
her endless hankering after spiritual beauty,
The
whole world appeared to her aesthetically perfect.
The
smile on her face raining compassion all round,
Wearing
the simple garbs of ochre,
The
timid lady would seek out and enter the haunts of misery
and grief,
Like
the dawn to dispel the darkness of night.”
She
began to reflect:
“It
was madness on my part to have thought of appropriating, for my exclusive
delight, the mighty stream of Nanda’s love, destined to spread over the whole
world. Let him bless the world with his loving service; would I object to it?
No; but why should he deny me all share in it and exclude me altogether from
his company? Am I not competent and entitled to help him in his work, to
welcome him and labour to provide relaxation to him when he returns home in the
evening, after his daily rounds of service to the poor and ignorant? He has
taken to the forest and rendered my home a wilderness; would I not make a
temple of the forest where he dwells?”
Thus
she was already mentally converted, and prepared for a new life, a life of
companionship with her lord in loving service of humanity, when a monk came
from the compassionate Master to initiate her also into the monastic order, in
compliance with the express, wish of Nanda.
And
she welcomed the opportunity with open arms.
The
last canto shows the gradual but voluntary renunciation of Sundari, to follow
in the footsteps of her lord and to prepare and qualify herself for
companionship with him in his new life of spiritual progress:
“She
distributed an her wealth, in charity, to the needy. She turned her courtyard and garden
into a shelter for the vagrant cows and dogs, and her
house into an asylum for the blind, deaf and maimed beggars, and an hospital
for the sick. She would enter the houses of the dead in the city, to console
the bereaved and rescue the destitute, so that her dwelling became a school for
the orphans, an hospital for the sick, and a veritable temple for the deity of
compassion, where she was the dedicated priestess.”
Finally,
she embraced holy orders and became a nun.
The
story has come to a close. But the poets have provided an agreeable surprise
for us in the last scene. Nanda the monk and Sundari the nun are brought
together, by an accident, in the course of their humanitarian activities. They
meet beside the death-bed of a poor mother where each of them has been drawn by
pity: Nanda by the little daughter of the dying woman and Sundari likewise by
the little son, each without in the least expecting to meet the other. The Lord
himself appears on the scene to witness the reunion of the romantic lovers in
the new setting, and to bless their fresh dedication to a life in holy
companionship, and in service to suffering humanity.
The
Lord’s earlier blessing at their wedding is fulfilled by this true
companionship and mutual loyalty of the wedded couple, a true marriage of
souls.
The
romantic love of youthful lovers is enlarged in scope, and transformed into
selfless and limitless love; and the dramatic incident of forcible conversion
to the monastic order turns out, in its ultimate consequences, a fruitful
struggle leading to the fulfillment of the personal love in a new direction
towards the orphaned children of the destitute mother.
A
noble theme in a beautiful poem!