Sakoontala; Or, The Lost Ring. Kalidasa
Rúpaka or principal dramas, and the Uparúpaka or minor dramas. At the head of the ten species of Rúpaka stands the Nátaka, of which the '[S']akoontalá' is an example. It should consist of from five to ten Acts; it should have a celebrated story for its plot; it should represent heroic or godlike characters and good deeds; it should be written in an elaborate style, and be full of noble sentiments. Moreover, it should be composed like the end of a cow's tail; so that each of the Acts be gradually shorter.
In India, as in Greece, scenic entertainments took place at religious festivals, and on solemn public occasions. Kalidása's '[S']akoontalá' seems to have been acted at the commencement of the summer season—a period peculiarly sacred to Káma-deva, the Indian god of love. We are told that it was enacted before an audience 'consisting chiefly of men of education and discernment.' As the greater part of every play was written in Sanskrit, which, although spoken by the learned in every part of India even at the present day, was certainly not the vernacular language of the country at the time when the Hindú dramas were performed, few spectators would be present who were not of the educated classes. This circumstance is in accordance with the constitution of Hindú society, whereby the productions of literature as well as the offices of state, were reserved for the privileged castes[6].
Every Sanskrit play opens with a prologue, or, to speak more correctly, an introduction, designed to prepare the way for the entrance of the dramatis personæ. The prologue commences with a benediction or prayer (pronounced by a Bráhman, or if the stage-manager happened to be of the Bráhmanical caste, by the manager himself), in which the poet invokes the favour of the national deity in behalf of the audience. The blessing is generally followed by a dialogue between the manager and one or two of the actors, in which an account is given of the author of the drama, a complimentary tribute is paid to the critical acumen of the spectators, and such a reference is made to past occurrences or present circumstances as may be necessary for the elucidation of the plot. At the conclusion of the prologue, the manager, by some abrupt exclamation, adroitly introduces one of the dramatic personages, and the real performance commences.
The play, being thus opened, is carried forward in scenes and Acts; each scene being marked by the entrance of one character and the exit of another, as in the French drama. The dramatis personæ were divided into three classes—the inferior characters (nicha), who were said to speak Prákrit in a monotonous accentless tone of voice (anudáttoktyá); the middling (madhyama), and the superior (pradhána), who were said to speak Sanskrit with accent, emphasis, and expression (udáttoktyá). In general, the stage is never left vacant till the end of an Act, nor does any change of locality take place until then. The commencement of a new Act is often marked, like the commencement of the piece, by an introductory monologue or dialogue spoken by one or more of the dramatis personæ, and called Vishkambha or Prave[S']aka. In this scene allusion is frequently made to events supposed to have occurred in the interval of the Acts, and the audience is the better prepared to take up the thread of the story, which is then skilfully carried on to the concluding scene. The piece closes, as it began, with a prayer for national plenty and prosperity, addressed to the favourite deity, and spoken by one of the principal personages of the drama.
Although, in the conduct of the plot, and the delineation of character, Hindú dramatists show considerable skill, yet they do not appear to have been remarkable for much fertility of invention. Love, according to Hindú notions, is the subject of most of their dramas.
The hero, who is generally a king, and already the husband of a wife or wives (for a wife or two more or less is no encumbrance in Indian plays), is suddenly smitten with the charms of a lovely woman, sometimes a nymph, or, as in the case of [S']akoontalá, the daughter of a nymph by a mortal father. The heroine is required to be equally impressible, and the first tender glance from the hero's eye reaches her heart. With true feminine delicacy, however, she locks the secret of her passion in her own breast, and by her coyness and reserve keeps her lover for a long period in the agonies of suspense. The hero, being reduced to a proper state of desperation, is harassed by other difficulties. Either the celestial nature of the nymph is in the way of their union, or he doubts the legality of the match, or he fears his own unworthiness, or he is hampered by the angry jealousy of a previous wife. In short, doubts, obstacles, and delays make great havoc of both hero and heroine. They give way to melancholy, indulge in amorous rhapsodies, and become very emaciated. So far, it must be confessed, the story is decidedly dull, and its chain, however, does not commence until the Fourth Act, when the union of the heroine with King Dushyanta, and her acceptance of the marriage-ring as a token of recognition, are supposed to have taken place. Then follows the King's departure and temporary desertion of his bride; the curse pronounced on [S']akoontalá by the choleric Sage; the monarch's consequent loss of memory; the bride's journey to the palace of her husband; the mysterious disappearance of the marriage-token; the public repudiation of [S']akoontalá; her miraculous assumption to closes, as it began, with a prayer for national plenty and prosperity, addressed to the favourite deity, and spoken by one of the principal personages of the drama.
Although, in the conduct of the plot, and the delineation of character, Hindú dramatists show considerable skill, yet they do not appear to have been remarkable for much fertility of invention. Love, according to Hindú notions, is the subject of most of their dramas.
The hero, who is generally a king, and already the husband of a wife or wives (for a wife or two more or less is no encumbrance in Indian plays), is suddenly smitten with the charms of a lovely woman, sometimes a nymph, or, as in the case of [S']akoontalá, the daughter of a nymph by a mortal father. The heroine is required to be equally impressible, and the first tender glance from the hero's eye reaches her heart. With true feminine delicacy, however, she locks the secret of her passion in her own breast, and by her coyness and reserve keeps her lover for a long period in the agonies of suspense. The hero, being reduced to a proper state of desperation, is harassed by other difficulties. Either the celestial nature of the nymph is in the way of their union, or he doubts the legality of the match, or he his own unworthiness, or he is hampered by the angry jealousy of a previous wife. In short, doubts, obstacles, and delays make great havoc of both hero and heroine. They give way to melancholy, indulge in amorous rhapsodies, and become very emaciated. So far, it must be confessed, the story is decidedly dull, and its pathos, notwithstanding the occasional grandeur and beauty of the imagery, often verges on the ridiculous.
But, by way of relief, an element of life is generally introduced in the character of the Vidúshaka, or Jester, who is the constant companion of the hero; and in the young maidens, who are the confidential friends of the heroine, and soon become possessed of her secret. By a curious regulation, the Jester is always a Bráhman, and therefore of a caste superior to the king himself; yet his business is to excite mirth by being ridiculous in person, age, and attire. He is sometimes represented as grey-haired, hump-backed, lame, and ugly. In fact, he is a species of buffoon, who is allowed full liberty of speech, being himself a universal butt. His attempts at wit, which are rarely very successful, and his allusions to the pleasures of the table, of which he is a confessed votary, are absurdly contrasted with the sententious solemnity of the despairing hero, crossed in the prosecution of his love-suit. His clumsy interference in the intrigues of his friend only serves to augment his difficulties, and occasions many an awkward dilemma. On the other hand, the shrewdness of the heroine's confidantes never seems to fail them under the most trying circumstances; while their sly jokes and innuendos, their love of fun, their girlish sympathy with the progress of the love affair, their warm affection for their friend, heighten the interest of the plot, and contribute not a little to vary its monotony.
Fortunately, in the '[S']akoontalá' the story is diversified and the interest well sustained by a chain of stirring incidents. The first link of the chain, however, does not commence until the Fourth Act, when the union of the heroine with King Dushyanta, and her acceptance of the marriage-ring as a token of recognition, are supposed to have taken place. Then follows the King's departure and temporary desertion of his bride; the curse pronounced on [S']akoontalá by the choleric Sage; the monarch's consequent loss of memory; the bride's journey to the palace of her husband; the mysterious disappearance of the marriage-token; the public repudiation of [S']akoontalá; her miraculous assumption to a celestial asylum; the unexpected discovery of the ring by a poor fisherman; the King's agony on recovering his recollection; his aërial