[[Mohan K.V 2012-12-28, 05:08:59 Source]]
सदास्वाद
स्मर्तव्योऽस्मि कथान्तरेषु भवता – स्वात्माऽपि विस्मर्यते?
(smartavyo’smi kathāntareṣu bhavatā – svātmā’pi vismaryate?)
Meaning
This Śārdūlavikrīḍita line has two dialogues embedded in it, and can be translated as “Remember me, won’t you? – Can I forget my own self?”. The first half is spoken by Cārudatta bidding goodbye, and the second is the reply by Āryaka. Many distinctly idiomatic features of both the language and etiquette of the times are seen: the use of the passive voice and ‘bhavat’ even by the nobleman doing the favor; ‘kathāntareṣu’ is literally ‘in the middle of words’, but it can’t be translated to English – its net effect is to reduce the intensity of the ‘smartavya’ demand, hinting thatCārudatta doesn’t want to make even this trivial request binding; in the reply, the use ‘api’ as a question-mark; the essence of considering his very self indebted toCārudatta for his timely help – all this in 19 syllables!
Context
Today’s phrase is taken from the play Mṛcchakatika written byŚūdraka. The play is a dense braid of several parallel threads, and is distinctly ‘cosmopolitan’ and ‘worldly’ compared to other Sanskrit plays. You probably have guessed the next sentence by now – we know virtually nothing of the author. At most, we can glean that he probably lived sometime 1500 to 2000 years ago, and knew the city of Ujjain well. And yet, in spite of the yawing gap of a couple of millennia, one could pick up a literal translation today and relate to the characters almost instantly, with no assumed knowledge whatsoever!
The play is a dense braid of several narrative threads: the love between the virtuous, newly poor merchantCārudatta and the equally virtuous courtesan Vasantasenā; the misrule of the wretch Pālaka; the excesses ofPālaka’s brother-in-law, Saṃsthānaka; an attempt at a coup by the prince-in-exile Āryaka; and ever-present microtones of love, humour and large-heartedness among the minor characters.
Several elements of the play jump out with their remarkable originality. For example,Saṃsthānaka is possibly the first appearance of a comic villain in Sanskrit drama. He’s evil alright, but there’s not a scene where he doesn’t make a fool of himself. The entire play is suffused with humour at all levels: right at the words,Saṃsthānaka has a kind of lisp and pronounces every ’s’ with ‘sh’ – a simple quirk that causes much hilarity at several places. He moves with an entourage that doesn’t miss a single opportunity to break out into irrelevant, profound verse. There’s a character who rues about his wife forcing him to fund a very expensive ritual – whose aim is to get her a good husband in her next life!
Śūdraka is a genius at versifying simple, spoken Sanskrit. Almost all his verses can be read in one go just as it’s spoken, with no need to rearrange words in our head. This great quality of Anvaya-śuddhi is not possessed even by Kalidasa. There is even a nyāya (aphorism) called the ‘kaścitkāntānyāya’. Kalidasa begins his Meghaduta with the words ‘kaścit kāntā–’ and there appears to be gender mismatch in the words. Only after reading the entire verse does it becomes clear whokaścit refers to. The aphorism can be made to mean a call for patience and to hear the speaker out, or as a poke at the verbal gymnastics one needs to do in Sanskrit :-)
Śūdraka’s genius extends to writing multiple dialogues in the same verse. He originated this innovation, which has been carried forward to great heights by later poets like Amaru and Lilasuka. Today’s verse is an example. Near the end of the seventh act, Cārudatta has just done Āryaka a great favor by cutting his fetters and giving him his own cart to escape in, with nary a second thought.Āryaka finally has his freedom and thanksCārudatta profusely. It’s time for him to get away, before the guards get close. What follows is a very courteous tete-a-tete goodbye:
क्षेमेण व्रज बान्धवान् – ननु मया लब्धो भवान् बान्धवः
स्मर्तव्योऽस्मि कथान्तरेषु भवता – स्वात्माऽपि विस्मर्यते? ।
त्वां रक्षन्तु पथि प्रयान्तममराः – संरक्षितोऽहं त्वया
स्वैर्भाग्यैः परिरक्षितोऽसि – ननु हे तत्रापि हेतुर्भवान्! ॥
kṣemeṇa vraja bāndhavān – nanu mayā labdho bhavān bāndhavaḥ
smartavyo’smi kathāntareṣu bhavatā – svātmā’pi vismaryate? |
tvāṃ rakṣantu pathi prayāntamamarāḥ – saṃrakṣito’haṃ tvayā
svairbhāgyaiḥ parirakṣito’si – nanu he tatrāpi heturbhavān! ||
“Go safely to your well-wishers” – “I have already found you, my greatest well wisher!”
“Remember me, won’t you” – “Can I forget my own self?”
“May the Gods safeguard you on your path” – “I’ve been safeguarded by you” (You are a god yourself/other gods are irrelevant)
“Your own fortune saved you, dear friend” – “And you were its chosen instrument” (I respect you more than some invisible fortune)
Eight dialogues, of the highest pedigree of classical etiquette with multiple overtones, all set tightly in metre and with no need for rearrangement!
Thought for today
For all its humour and classical etiquette, the play never once lets go of its firm grasp of reality. This is not a bunch of simple-minded men making a farce – the characters are very aware of the world they inhabit. In what appears to be a faint (pre-?)echo of the Cassandra effect, a judge in the play makes a sharp observation of how he should behave – and yet, is helpless to do so:
शास्त्रज्ञः कपटानुसारकुशलो वक्ता न च क्रोधनः
तुल्यो मित्र-पर-स्वकेषु चरितं दृष्ट्वैव दत्तोत्तरः ।
क्लीबान्पालयिता शठान्व्यथयिता धर्म्यो न लोभान्वितः
द्वार्भावे परतत्त्वबद्धहृदयः राज्ञश्च कोपापहः ॥
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śāstrajñaḥ kapaṭānusāra-kuśalo vaktā na ca krodhanaḥ
tulyo mitra-para-svakeṣu caritaṃ dṛṣṭvaiva dattottaraḥ |
klībān pālayitā śaṭhān vyathayitā dharmyo na lobhānvitaḥ
dvār-bhāve para-tattva-baddha-hṛdayaḥ rājñaśca kopāpahaḥ ||
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“Learned; skilled in identifying deception; a sensitive orator, and yet not prone to excess emotion; equal to friend, foe or even self; passing judgment only after a careful examination; defending the weak and confounding the devious; right-minded and selfless; at times of doubt, always having the best intentions of others in mind; and yet, with all this, keep away from arousing the ruler’s anger.”
This was rare, even in the times of the playwright – but we have a modern example in the person of the Hon’ble Justice H. R. Khanna, whose lonely yet firm “appeal to the intelligence of a future day"satisfied every requirement except the last, andstands resplendent in a dark, dark time.