Sugathri and Salina A Medieval Love-episode

Sugathri and Salina: A Medieval Love-episode

By PINGALI SURANA

(Rendered from Telugu by ‘Rasika’)

Translator’s Note

Pingali Surana dedicated his masterpiece, ‘Kalapurnodayam’, to Krishnaraja of Nandyala, a contemporary of Sadasiva Raya, nephew of Sri Krishnadeva Raya of Vijayanagara. He is, therefore, assigned to the second half of the sixteenth century A. D. and his poetry to the central period of the Prabandha Age (1500 to 1650 A. D.) in the history of Telugu literature, in which the Muse broke loose from the tradition of translation from Sanskrit and developed a distinct poetic form of its own. Fostered by the genial warmth of princely patronage, it yielded a rich harvest of poetry of rare artistic excellence.

In the hands of Surana, and, in particular, in his ‘Kalapurnodayam’, the Prabandha is held, by many competent critics, to have reached the high water-mark. The poem is distinguished alike for an entirely original and complex plot of several interesting strands woven into admirable organic unity, for picturesque description of scene and situation, dramatic presentation of story and character, lively dialogue, verse of exquisite melody, and vivid impressions of the atmosphere and manners of the time. It is a recognised classic and one of the very best poems in the language.

The story of Sugathri and Salina forms an episode in the poem; but it has an independent and universal interest of its own in the novelty of its theme,–the charm of ‘Beauty unadorned’, and reveals the originality of conception and boldness of imagination of the author in his delineation of its main characters. Besides, it is typical of the author’s poetry in every respect and has won for itself, in recent times, a rare popularity which it richly deserves.

(Canto IV, Verses 60 to 137)

Sugathri was the daughter of a priest in the service of the Goddess in the Sarada Pitham of Kashmir;

Her husband Salina was adopted as a member of the family and lived in the house with them;

On the day of the first union she was sent into the bridal chamber heavily decorated by her friends;

And they remained in the neighbourhood to watch, on the sly, how shw was received.

The very magnificence of her ornaments dazed and repelled him and he simply turned away from her.

She waited long and left the chamber.

Her friends approached her mother with an alarming tale. “Nowhere on earth was ever known such a strange phenomenon! Whate’er may be its significance! Here’s a fine young man! Well, what matters it for a day? Shall we not see, tomorrow, the changes in their ways?” they cried and laughed aloud.

“Don’t you bawl out, ye shameless ones, lest he should hear! The bashful utterly collapse and give it up altogether at the least touch of ridicule,” said the mother;

And she sent her daughter into the bridal chamber at the proper time for two or three days in succession. But the coldness in the manner the young man remained unaltered, and day after day she went waited, and returned.

Then, with her mother’s connivance, her bosom friends accosted the bashful girl in private.

“Sugathri, we do not see any sign of the near ways of man and wife between you. This is simply superb! You seem to be, both of you exceedingly sensible!

“If the man is knowing (and woos with ardour), it is proper for the wife to be coy; but, alas! if the husband is shy and the wife equally so, how are they to come together at all?

“Lotus-faced damsel, you are not a little girl, to keep quiet so long because he makes no overtures, without yourself taking the first step and striving to serve him as you should.

“The husband can afford, but is it proper for the wife to stand still on precedence? If you render him, unasked, little acts of loving service, his heart will melt.

“If, at the outset, he does not welcome you with warmth, why should yon turn back at once keep aloof, and come away? Why not hand on to him areca-nuts steeped in camphor, and betel-leaf neatly folded?

“You’re a simpleton, or you’d see the foolishness of consigning to an empty bed your golden youth, the spring in which you have to sow for the crop of all life’s pleasures.

“ ’Tis only in their prime women can hope for real ardent love from their husbands; once youth is left behind, such happiness is no more for them.”

She heard this straight talk and cried in confusion, “Why do you smother me with such indecent words? I cannot bear to listen to them.” Nevertheless that night she tried the devices they suggested.

But all to no purpose. She consoled herself with the thought, “If I make further attempts at winning his love, there will be no use. It is no slight good fortune that, anyhow, my marriage knot should continue thus unimpaired.” Yet she never showed any sign of lassitude, but, believing as she did that thereby length of life and prosperity would increase for him, she would always wear scrupulously all her usual ornaments. She would entreat her mother, too, never to speak harshly or impolitely to him. The old lady with great effort restrained herself for a time and refrained from giving vent to her vexation, but at last she said one day to her daughter:

“I have nowhere seen such a pitiful man, and you will not brook even a word against him! It is clear there is little chance of your giving birth to a boy and providing an heir to the fa.mily. To keep him is an utter waste, while to expel him is to cause you sore hurt.

“May I not ask him at least to go round to the flower garden and supervise the work there?” Courteously she called Salina and entrusted to him, first, the task of supervising, but she managed it all so cleverly that soon he was left in sole charge of all the work in the garden.

“This work is sacred, for it leads to the worship of the Deity, Sarada, honoured by the gods themselves. This is good,” thought Salina, and, with great delight and love, with single-minded devotion.

He tended the garden ceaselessly so that, soon, it was delightful to behold, with beautiful flowers and hosts of bees ever roving from place to place, drunk with honey.

Pressing the beds and channels suitably to supply water to every plant;

Plying the spade vigorously to break the hard earth into a soft bed; Carrying baskets of manure, all nice scruples set aside, to spread it all over the field;

Bending the lush branches and fixing them in the earth so that they may strike root and grow into separate plants;

Sowing, transplanting, planting, attending to each task at the proper time, and never wearied, incessantly he worked with ever-increasing zest.

Never conscious of fatigue he went on with the work, and raised in course of time many varieties of the most beautiful plants of the earth, Tulasi, Kaluva, Gedamgi, Tchampaka, Kuruvaka, Lavanga, Jaji, Lunga, Gojjangi, Malli, Ranga, Patala, Kadalika, Thunga and Naranga.

The heart of the young man was filled with pure delight when he looked at the garden with all its luxuriant growth, the thick shades impenetrable to the rays of the sun, and the ceaseless trickling of honey mixed with flower-dust.

He would get up early in the morning, go through the ritual prescribed for his caste, worship his ‘guru-parampara’, his preceptors in order and perform the ‘japa’ he was taught by them.

With a glad heart he would then proceed to pluck the flowers one by one, and weave them with great care and skill into garlands and strings and bouquets of novel patterns of wondrous beauty, and tender them all in adoration before the Beloved of Brahma.

At home, perfect in the chaste consecration of her entire being her husband,

Sugathri could not bear the thought, that, at her mother’s bidding her lord had to toil hard in the garden and tire his limbs. She would start to go there and help him in his labour but desist, held back by bashfulness.

One day, white Salina was at the garden,

With flashes of lightning and peals of thunder and bolts crashing on all sides, the clouds poured down heavy rain in torrents.

The rain continued long, increasing in intensity to an amazing degree and filling with terror the minds of all.

Soon, there was one continuous sheet of water all round and one impenetrable mass of darkness right up to the sky.

At home, even from the moment the clouds began to gather, and the first drops of rain to patter on the earth, Sugathri felt worried less her husband, away in the garden, might be drenched in the rain.

Her mind was filled with the thought of the danger to her husband and she was distraught with anxiety. “What has happened to you lord of my life. In this terrible rain? How unfortunate that the cursed garden labour should have fallen to your lot?”, she would cry in her extreme grief and every now and then she would peer into the sky.

“Oh Sarada, merciful Mother, cast your kind glance on my husband in this moment of danger. I crave your protection, for you are my sole refuge.

“If in this life or in any previous birth, I had earned any merit by worship or devotion or charity, may it all go to save my husband from all danger from the rain, and let me bear the penalty for any sins of his which may have exposed him to this danger now.”

Thus she prayed to her household Deity, Saraswathi, but still she had no peace; and, reckless of the fury of the storm, in utter boldness, she started without the knowledge of her mother…….On reaching the garden she found him safe, by the grace of the Goddess; her heart filled with joy, wonder and gratitude, she returned home and quietly slipped in…...

On account of her bashfulness, she continued to bear in silent grief, for some time longer, the misfortune of the life of hardship for her husband.

But gradually her bashfulness was overcome, and finally routed by her love for her lord, which waxed and filled her heart exclusively, and, utterly ummindful of the disapproval of her mother, she set out to the garden fondly one day, dressed and ornamented in her usual manner.

There she first put her ornaments away in a corner, tied her saree round her waist (in a simple style, suitable for work) and, despite all his efforts to prevent her, persisted in working by his side, and along with him.

She plied the spade wherever it was needed,

her rounded breasts dancing at every stroke;

Briskly she strode from place to place,

her heavy hips visibly moving at every step;

She directed the water in the runnels from bed to bed,

her glossy face bespattered with specks of dirt;

She carried heavy loads cheerfully,

her tender creeper-like waist well-nigh yielding under the strain;

The tiny beads of sweat adding a fresh lustre to her fair complexion.

Her knotted hair breaking loose every now and then,

Forestalling him in everything, prompt for every kind of work,

Every task she performed gladly, with a willing heart.

As he watched her at her work, absorbed in it,

Her swelling breasts and huge knot of hair in graceful movement,

The God of Love grew bold and sped his arrows briskly,

And struck at the young man’s heart mercilessly.

He could not long resist the onslaught. “Fond wench, you would not desist, however much I tried. But alas! How ill suited is this garden work to you!” he said and wiped the drops of sweat upon her temples with the end of his upper garment.

The drops of sweat would not go; but by the mischief of the God of Love, they rose again and again as he wiped, and streamed down her glossy cheeks; he could not bear the sight of her excessive fatigue (as he thought) and, with tenderness exclaiming, “This hard work has proved too much for your delicate limbs,” he pressed her head close to his bosom and held her in a passionate embrace.”

Then he moved her to a bower of flowering creepers and on a soft bed of tender leaves he made love to her.

100

His passion was so strong, he’d never, let her go but held her in his tight embrace; she complained mildly, “These are altogether new ways,” and pleaded coaxingly, “I should return home some time?” and freed herself at last.

101

Then she put on again, with a new relish, all the ornaments she has hidden away and turned homeward, her heart in ecstacy, musing on the new ways of her strange husband.

102

As she walked home that day she wore an aspect of exquisite beauty resembling a newly flowering creeper in the spring season, parched by the heat of the sun, the tender blossoms discoloured and drooping.

103

Thus, having won at last her husband’s love, she returned home, and her friends could at once read, in the glow upon her face, the fulfillment of her heart’s desire; and they had all a happy time in pleasant conversation. Her mother too felt happy. That night again, her friends, with renewed zest, adorned her with more than their former care and sent her to him in his pleasure chamber.

104

But he was already musing upon the beautiful image, impressed on his mind indelibly, of Sugathri herself, but as he saw her in the garden,

Her slender waist quivering and growing thinner

in the hurry of her brisk movement,

Her hips moving visibly, glistening through the

saree round her waist,

Her swelling breasts, held in bounds by the garments drawn

tightly round her body, starting up at every step,

The ‘Kasturi’ on her forehead moistened by sweat

and set off by the turmeric paste all round,

Her huge knot of hair shaking loose every now and then,

Racing with him in her eagerness to forestall him everywhere,

Preventing him from doing anything of his gardening work.

105

So he did not care to lift his eyelids to cast a single glance at her fine clothes, bright jewels and scented pastes. As before, he turn aside, and remained absorbed in his own thoughts. Sugathri waited in vain and wondered in her sorrow if she had in any way unwittingly given offence.

106

From the beginning, the dazzling jewels and other decorations had roused in him wonder and bewilderment, and served only to inhibit the love instinct in him for a long time. There was nothing strange in his being repelled by them now.

107

She thought of leaving the room and started, but she reflected, “I belong to him, and my place is with him. Here I should stay and face what Fate has kept in store for me,” and she lingered at the door.

108

There she remained a long while, and then, in sheer desperation, came close to him and whispered in his ear, so that the scent of the camphor and spices in the betel in her mouth was forced upon his nostrils, “You are evidently tired after the day’s strenuous work; shall I go and leave you to your sleep?”

109

Startled, but partially out of his fit of absent-mindedness, he asked her, “What for have you come here” “What for does a woman approach her husband?” she cried in her anguish, and bitterly grieved for her lot.

110

And she continued, “It is something, my lord, you have thought fit at last to enquire into my needs and desires. I feel highly honoured.

111

“Alas! how shall I complain of you, my husband, but it is nearly day-break now, and yet you have not been pleased so far to command me at least to press your tired feet; nor have I been invited to come near your bed lest I should feel lonely; you have not even lifted your eyelids once to cast a kindly glance at me.

112

“I do not know how, but my good fortune reached its climax in the garden today where you showered so much kindness on me. In sooth, that has made me bold to take the liberty of speaking in this strain; I know it is not; the proper thing for a respectable woman.”

113

So she spoke; the craving for his love growing more and more intense caused her immense pain.

114

And then, after a while, exclaiming, “Narayana! Even a stone should be easier to melt than your heart. I imagine you will never more make any advances,” she took his foot in her hands.

115

And even as she held it and pressed it a little, she seated herself on the edge of the bed, and placing it on her thighs of silken softness pressed it gently. Placing it on her breasts, her eyes and her cheeks, unmistakably she betrayed the intense passion in her heart.

116

Still he was not drawn out of his mood of self-absorption. She was puzzled and, her heart agitated with a horrid fear, she spoke slowly:

117

Have you set your heart upon any other woman? Get her here or, if I can help in the matter, let me know and I shall get her here and serve her, as I will serve you, like a slave, in everything. I swear by God, I mean what all I say.

118

“To secure the full satisfaction of your heart, I shall do thy bidding to the uttermost. Even if you wish to barter me, I shall not mind, lord of my heart; but pray let me know what it is that worries you so much.”

119

So she went on, pressing his feet.

120

But he was blissfully unaware of what she said or did, wrapped up as he was in his recollection of the entrancing beauty of her form in the garden, the exquisite beauty of her limbs, the grace of her hurried movements as she went about her work, her deep humility and intense love. Verily he pined for her.

121

And she spent the whole night in that manner, pressing his feet, steadfast in her devotion to her husband, and unmindful of aught else.

122

The next day again, eagerly she proceeded to the garden at noon, attended, as on the previous day, to the varied tasks, won her husband’s love as before, and then realised, “such natural charms alone appealed to him and not adornments.”

123

So every day thereafter she would go to the garden, share with her husband in his work, please him and enjoy his love.

124

Her mother came to know of this strange development. One day she met her in privacy, and after praising her for her many excellent, virtues, and chiefly for her ideal devotion to her husband.

125

She proceeded to point out her only flaw–the impropriety of meeting her husband in the garden during day-time. It was prohibited, and only an inglorious child should result from such union.

131

And she further explained, “In my vexation at his neglecting you so utterly in the beginning, I spoke harshly to him; but don’t we have the servants to look after the garden as before? Why should your husband go there, at all, and why should you follow him every day.”

132

With a faint smile on her lips, Sugathri replied, “Mother, I hold only to one rule of conduct. Whatever pleases my husband is the proper thing for me to do, and whatever displeases him is to be avoided by me. My husband is everything to me,–God, scripture, preceptor.”

135

The Goddess Sarada was highly pleased with her and her ideal. She appeared on the spot, blessed her, and declared: “The story of her life shall be famous on earth and always exert, on countless generations, an ennobling and purifying influence.”

137

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