BY V. V. PRASAD
Orissa is, as the late Dr. C.F. Andrews remarked,
the Cinderella of Provinces. Orissa is beautiful country, but poor. She has a
beautiful literature, but most of it is in manuscript, for book-publishing is a
hazardous undertaking in such poor surroundings. The language spoken in
Orissa–Oriya–is a beautiful language too: it is very closely allied to Bengali
and sounds masculine. Indeed, the Oriyas say that Bengali is corrupt Oriya,
while the Bengalis say that Oriya is corrupt Bengali. This idea of a corrupt
language appears to be silly to us linguists, who are reminded of the remarks
of the sixteenth-century writer, Sir Thomas Elyot, author of Gouernour –in
which he deprecates the influence of “nourishes and other foolish women.” who
he alleges, corrupt the pronunciation of young children put under their care.
In the more cultivated sections, especially in
Northern Orissa, Oriya is already beginning to be spoken very much with the
sounds of Bengali; and if their influence should persist, ere long the two
languages would, become one. Personally, I welcome such coalescence: but I do
not wish to raise a controversy about it right here.
The outstanding contribution of Orissa to the
literature of India–and, indeed, to the literature of the world–is Jayadeva’s Gitagovinda.
Jayadeva is the last great name in Sanskrit poetry. The legend has it that
Krishna himself aided Jayadeva in the description of Radha’s beauty when his
mortal powers proved inadequate. Goethe has praised the Gitagovinda along
with Kalidasa’s Sakuntala and Meghaduta. The form of the poem is
strikingly original. Jones calls it a little pastoral drama; Lassen refers to
it as a lyric drama; and von Schroeder styles it a “refined yatra”.
Jayadeva’s poem is not a mere sravya-kavya:
it is a daring piece of originality. Jayadeva knew beforehand that his work
would be recited temples and at festivals. He asks to think of the piece as
being performed before the mind’s eye. To this end he uses narrative,
recitative, description and song so skillfully that there remains not a trace
of monotony anywhere.
Jayadeva has produced a masterpiece. In so far as it presents a single total impression it surpasses any other poem in this world. This is an example of beauty, which, as Aristotle says, springs from magnitude and arrangement. The songs are perfect metrically and display the sheer beauty of words of which Sanskrit alone is capable. As Berriedale Keith has observed:
“There can be no doubt that in their wider range of
interests in which love plays apart, important indeed, but not paramount in
human affairs, Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripedes can attain in their choruses
effects more appealing to our minds than Jayadeva, but their medium is not
capable of producing so complete a harmony of sound and sense. In the case of Gitagovinda
the art of wedding sound and meaning is carried out with such success that
it cannot fail to be appreciated even by ears far less sensitive than those of
Indian writers on poetics. The result, however, of this a achievement is to
render any translation useless as a substitute for the original: if to be
untranslatable is a proof of the attainment of the highest poetry, Jayadeva has
certainly claim to that rank.”
That is the great constitutional lawyer speaking in
his capacity as Regius Professor of Sanskrit in the University of Edinburgh.
Bertrand Russell has said somewhere that Buddhism
appeared to him to be a religion only for princes. Buddhism was preached in
Orissa by Asoka after the Kalinga War, and spread to the people through the
princes. As a result of this, Pali became a popular language in these parts,
which blended with the Dravidan language then spoken in Orissa and gave rise
to the language “Odro,” of which Bharata Muni, the authority on Natyasastra,
speaks as being the language of the “Odros” and the Savaras. This “Odro” has
become the Oriya of today, and is still referred to by the old name in the
Telugu country.
Oriya literature may be said to have begun in the
12th century A.D., and was manned mostly by princes. Out of seventy men of
letters listed in Mr. Bonomali Misro’s Odisa Sahityoro Itihaso seventeen
are princes, most of whom belong to the Bhonjo family. Upendro Bhonjo, the
greatest among them all, was also the most prolific. He lived in the 18th
century, which is known as the Upendro Age or the Kavya Age. His style shows
that he was learned in the Sastras. He is full of figures of speech and of
Sanskrit phrases. Twenty of his works have been so far published, and there are
at least twenty more which are yet to be published.
One of the highlights in the literature of Orissa
is known as the koyili. In Markondo Das’s Kesobo Koyili, Yasoda
expresses in straightforward verse replete with karunarasa her grief at
the departure of Krishna to Mathura in an address for a koyili or a
cuckoo. Some familiar everyday incidents, such as the calling of “Uncle Moon”
by children are skillfully woven into this poem:
Nisakale horimage chando
Noyonoteki aw thanku rauththanthi nondo.
Yasoda begins her first verse with ka, the
second with kha, the third with ga, and so on until ksha.
This convention of Koyili, which is made use of again and again in Oriya
literature is evidently borrowed from Sanskrit works like Megha-Duta and
Hamsa-Duta, but nowhere else in Indian literature does this convention
seem to have been adopted; and with such consummate skill. The Koyili convention
in Oriya literature has been as successful as the Pastoral Convention in the
West.
There are other works of intrinsic worth, such as
Dinakrishna Das’s Rosokollolo, Upendro Bhonjo’s Kalponik Kabyos, Subhodra
Porinoyo, and Kola-koutuko and Jadumoni’s Raghobo Bilaso: but
what seems to have been stressed in them all is the verbal dexterity of the
poets which bore testimony to their scholarliness. There are whole volumes
written without the use of any vowel except the short a, known as abona.
Similarly, literary gymnastics known as antarlipi, bohirlipi, srinkhola,
etc., are frequently resorted to by the leisured princes in order to sharpen
their wits. (People from other communities were all too poor to afford to
indulge in literary pursuits, and the brahmins who had the necessary time and
leisure, preferred to dabble in Sanskrit literature with questionable results,
and looked down upon native Oriya. Until a hundred years ago, therefore, the
Oriya princes were the trustees of Oriya literature.) The word srinkhola indicates
that the words or letters in the verse are arranged in a chain, being connected
to each other by alliterative links. In a simple srinkhola the last
letter or word of the first line of the verse becomes the initial letter or
word of the second line, and so on: and thus all the lines of a piece are
linked together. In a compound srinkhola the arrangement is more complicated.
In the land of Utkal, religion influenced
literature a good deal. First, Buddhism and then Vaishnavism–especially through
Chaitanya’s Bhakti cult–found many adherents in this Province. A writer called
Salobeko, a Muslim, was a worshipper of Vishnu and wrote some Oriya poetry, in
the seventeenth century. On account of the religious fevour at the time, many
Sanskrit works were translated in the 16th and 17th centuries, and, as such,
this period is known as the Translation Age. Mahabharata, Ramayana,
Bhagavata, and the eighteen puranas were among the works translated at
this time. A Telugu writer called Gopala translated the Adhyatma Ramayana into
Oriya, making judicious omissions here and there.
There is a sprinkling of women writers in the
literature of Orissa, and one of them is a royal princess. Brindavati Dasi, who
lived in the 17th century, wrote Purnotomo Chandrodoyo, under the
influence of Chaitanya’s cult and was therefore full of the devotional spirit.
Her son, Bhimo Das and grandson, Kripasindhu Das, are prominent among the
litterateurs of Orissa.
Nissankoraya Rani, a princess, had an unhappy
married life and returned to her parents. She then wrote Padmavati Abhilasho–which,
alas, has not yet been published. Her description of the spring season as a
bride to whom the trees are giving welcome with their toranam branches
and fresh flowers is said to be unique in all literature:
Kusumosomoyo Hoyichchi udoyo
Pollobito torulota
Brikshe daledalo Lagino goholo
Bibhaki borobonita!
Sorbo torugono Borojatipono
Koronti bibhasombharo,
Borokonyanku ki Joutuko debe
Bodhayi ochchonti koro.
Does she not remind you of that poetical daughter
of Aurungzeb who spent her life in solitary confinement?
A poet named Bhimo Bhoyi flourished in the
nineteenth century, and contributed in no small measure to Orissa’s literature.
He was a savara, member of a hill-tribe and had become blind in his boyhood. He
was an Alekha and had several followers, some of them learned brahmins. His
disciples used to note down his inspired poetry which flowed from his heart
like a spring. He was essentially a preacher, and had planned an attack on the
Jagannath Temple at Puri, which proved abortive. He believed in the harmony of
the Universe and felt it through contemplation. He spoke of a “Life Force,” in
the manner of a Samuel Butler.
In the Radhanath Age, or the modern Age, i.e. after
1850, prose began to be written for the first time in Oriya literature. Most of
the modern Oriya poets (and poetasters) are Nature-worshippers. Radhanath Roy,
who is the national poet of Orissa, was the first to write Nature poetry in
Oriya. Orissa paid Radhanath the greatest tribute of which she is capable by
bringing out an edition of his complete works.
Madhusudan Rao was a Maharashtrian who lived in
Orissa. His guide, philosopher and friend was Radhanath: and out of this close
association of the Bengali and the Maharashtrian, much good came to Oriya
literature. Like Radhanath he was a schoolmaster and did much to provide
suitable text-books for schools in Orissa. It is a favourite saying of Bernard
Shaw’s that a man writes a text-book because he is incapable of writing any
other kind of book. Oriya text-books are an exception to this: they are
literature, for they have been written by men of genius like Radhanath and
Madhusudan.
Along with Phakir Mohan Senapati, Radhanath and
Madhusudan form the trinity of modern Oriya literature. Phakir Mohan also wrote
text-books; and if he has net left bulky volumes to posterity,1 it
might well be said of him that he was a practitioner of the highest form of
literature,–journalism. His occasional essays and poems appeared in various
journals in the Province from time to time.
Quite a number of young writers have made their
appearance in recent years in the firmament of Oriya letters. They are moving
with the times. One of them, Sochi Raut Roy, has been translated into English
by a well-known master of many trades2; and the volume has been
called Boatman Boy and Other Poems. We see in this work the “divine
discontent” to which Mr. E. M. Forster was referring only the other day in
London.
It is a matter for gratification that Oriya
literature which has long been neglected by the rest of India is now coming
into its own. There are people who learnt the Oriya language in order to be
able to appreciate the points in Abhimanyu Samonto Sinharo’s Bidogdho
Chintamoni; of which, it has been said you can never get satiated:
Kabyore triptrio obosado nahin
Jete podhilehen nuan lagu ththayi.
There are signs which lead one to think that there
are many more like these whom Oriya literature has interested in recent years.
* Talk broadcast by
All India Radio Madras, in the University series “India’s Literatures” on 25th
July 1943. Slight alterations have been made by the writer. By courtesy A. I.
R. Madras.
1 The words of TRIVENI
come to mind: “Scholarship in the west is often measured by the number of books
published by a person devoting himself to any branch of learning; but it has
always been typical of the East to create traditions of teaching and merge
oneself in that labour of love and live in spirit rather than in print.” (Oct.
1943).
2 Harindranath
Chattopadhyaya.