topics: |  poetry | sanskrit | india | ancient

Contains 836 of the verses (about half) from vidyAkara's
subhAShitaratnakoSha, compiled in the 12th c.

site of jagaddala vihara in naogaon, bangladesh,
where vidyAkara is likely to have lived. (banglapedia)

vidyAkara (second half of 11th c. AD), was a poet-scholar, perhaps an abbot at the noted jagaddala vihAra, a large buddhist center of learning in varendra, a medieval region comprising the present districts of pAbna, maldA, rAjshahi, bogrA, dinAjpur, and rangpur. jagaddala vihAra was most likely located in a village jagdal, in district Naogaon (N. Bengal, presently the left ear of Bangladesh) where a preliminary excavations have revealed a buddhist monastery. The anthology appears to have been a lifelong passion of Vidyakara, who created a collection of the finest "modern" verse around, based on the libraries at jagaddala, as well as the five other mahAvihAras in the monastic system supported by the Palas. But with the fall of the Pala dynasty, and the destruction of the monasteries in the Islamic period [most notably the destruction of nAlanda by bakhtiyAr khilji in 1193], the manuscripts disappeared from Bengal for several centuries.

[Note: Ingalls notes that jagaddala was a heap of stones and that the name is "still borne by a small village in Malda district in East Bengal". Current anthropological excavations however, place the site in the village of Jagdal in Dhamoirhat Upazila, Naogaon district, Bangladesh. (banglapedia). ]

The modern re-discovery of the manuscript of subhAShitaratnakoSha was
the lifelong work of another sanskrit scholar, Prof. V. V. Gokhale.  Around
the time of independence, Gokhale came across some photographs of a palm-leaf
manuscript that had been located by the iconoclastic marxian-buddhist scholar
Rahul Sankrityayan, in the Ngor monastery in Tibet in 1934.  In one
of the blurred images, he could make out the name of bhartr^hari, whose poems
were then being compiled by his friend D.D. Kosambi.  After many years of
failed efforts at getting a clearer copy of the manuscript, Gokhale managed
to get himself posted to the diplomatic corps in Tibet, but even then he was
not able to secure a usable copy of the manuscript.  Eventually, he managed
to get Jawaharlal Nehru interested in the matter, and photocopies could be
procured after intervention at the very highest levels.  This manuscript,
with just over a thousand verses, is thought to be a possible original,
Vidyakara's own copy [p.31].

Eventually a second much larger edition, with 1,728 verses was located in the
private library of the royal priest or rAjaguru of Nepal, Pundit Hemaraja.
These two versions were studied by Gokhale and Kosambi, and identified as
different editions.  Based on references in the palm-leaf manuscript that may
point to shelfmarks in a library, Kosambi has argued that Vidyakara is likely
to have used the manuscripts in the vihAra library for compiling his
anthology.  The first edition is thought to have been prepared shortly before
1100 AD, and the second, more complete edition no later than 1130AD.

The verses reflected "modernist" trends not noted in other sanskrit verse
anthologies such as the Subhashitavali of Vallabhadeva (10th c.), which
tend to focus more on classicist themes such as the myths, as well as on
erotic themes, and on moral or ethical aspects.  Vidyakara, while including a
majority of poems in these themes, also includes a good number of verses
reflecting contemporary life in the villages.  These remark on the lives of
the lower-caste women, on birds and animals, and on the village experience,
some of which can apply just as well today.

				1152
	Her graceful arm, raised to pull strongly on the rope,
	reveals from that side her breast;
	her shell bracelets jingle,
	the shells so dancing as to break the string.
	With her plump thighs spread apart
	and buttocks swelling as she stoops her back,
	the pAmarI draws water from the well
		- SharaNa

This work became known to Daniel Ingalls, then the editor of the Harvard
Oriental Series, which eventually published the volume (no. 42 in its series)
as the authoritative record.  This translation by Ingalls draws on that version.

The poetry itself is remarkable in the eclecticism of the compiler, and also
in the insights it provides into Indian courtly life, and also the glimpses
of rural life in the late pre-Muslim eastern India.

Vidyakara carefully organized his verse into themes, organized in 50
sections, dealing with Buddha, Shiva, and other gods, the seasons, love and
lovers, periods of the day, characterizations of village life (jAti),
humorous epigrams and verbal puzzles, moral maxims about flatterers and good
men and misers, panegyrics and praise to poets, etc.

The poets: A modernist selection

Unlike many other compilers of Sanskrit verse, Vidyakara noted the names of
the poets for many of the poems.  In many cases, Gokhale and Kosambi (and
perhaps Ingalls too) were able to identify the authors from other works.  In
some cases, they identify the style; these are marked by authorname followed
by a "?".  Thus, it is possible to analyze the selection of poets in the
manuscript.

Of the 275 identified poets, only eleven seem to be earlier than the
seventh century AD.

Like all compilers of verse, Vidyakara was a man of his times, and he liked
the poets and poetic taste flourishing around him.  Thus, his choice of
poets, while including many from classical times (bhartr.hari 25, kalidasa,
14] tend to include more contemporaries and near-contemporaries than other
selections.  Here's Ingall's list (p. 33)

	rAjashekhara 	(900AD)     101 stanzas
	murAri 		(800-900)    56 stanzas
	bhavabhUti 	(725)  	     47 stanzas
	vallaNa 	(900-1100)   42
	yogeshvara 	(700-800)    33
	bhartr.hari 	(400)  	     25
	vasukalpa 	(950)  	     25
	manovinoda 	(900-1100)   23
	bAna 		(600-650)    21
	acala(siMha) 	(700-800?)   20
	dharmakIrti 	(700)	     19
	vIryamitra  	(900-1100)   17

which reveals
    two facts of significance.  for the most part VidyAkara's favourite
    authors were close to him in time; secondly, most of them, excepting the
    fist three in the list, were close to him in place.  Vallana, Yogeshvara,
    Vasukalpa, Manovinoda, Abhinanda - all appear to be Bengalis or at least
    easterners, of the time opf the Pala dynasty. (Introduction, p.33)

Several Pala princes and buddhist monks are also included, including
Dharmapala, Rajyaapala, Buddhakaragupta, Khipaka, and Jnanashri. Many
poets are not to be found in other compilations, though there is a large
overlap (623 verses) with saduktikarnamrita, compiled by Shridharadasa in
1205 AD.

Excerpts

In speaking here of "poetry" I shall refer to what the Indians call
kAvya. There is much verse that is not poetry in this sense. Much Sanskrit
verse is didactic (ritual, philosophy, astronomy, medicine etc.).  Much is
narrative, and only a small portion of this narrative verse is kAvya.

When it is the plot of the narrative that holds our interest and furnishes
our delight rather than a mood or suggestion induced by poetic means, we are
not dealing with kAvya.

62
The moon dives deep within the ash-strewn tangle of his hair;
the snake slips from his shoulder, hiding beneath a graceful hood;
the bull with hooftip slyly rubs his eye
as Sambhu kisses the mountain daughter's face  	rAjasekhara

86
As staff for our support within the sea of transmigration,
as lightning-bolt to fell the demon buffalo,
a wild goose on the lake of Hara's heart,
I pray Bhavani long show favour to the world.  	bhagIratha
		[bhavANI = Parvati]

87
Victory to Gauri, who stands,
her lower robe blood-spattered
from the demon buffalo her spear has slain,
shamefaced, as if menstruous,
before the laughing eyes of Hara    [gonanda]

89
Long may the Lord of the Peacock be victorious,
who as a pampered child sought to sleep
between his parents, but whose wish,
from their being of one body, failed.  		[Subhanga]
		[Lord of the Peacock = kArtikeya = skanda = murugan]

99
"He is too fat; he won't get far."
"He is too thin to walk in the procession."
"It looks as if the best gift will be mine alone."
May such successive thoughts, directed one against the other
by bhr^gin and kuShmANDa at the wedding
of Siva and of Parvati, protect you.		[TuMga, Tunga]
	[bhr^gin and kuShmANDa, goblins attendants of Siva, the first a "living
	skeleton" as a result of a curse by Parvati, the other exceeding "all
	measure in fatness"]

section 35. Characterizations

	vidyAkara calls this section jAti.  In Sanskrit, jAti has a
	connotation of the universal, of category hood; it refers to some of
	the features that define a category - the cow-hood of the cow.  This
	is the sense in which these poems characterize the objects they
	describe.

1148
I rolled them in a cumin swamp
and in a heap of pepper dust
till they were spiced and hot enough
to twist your tongue and mouth
When they were basted well with oil,
I didn't wait to wash or sit;
I gobbled that mess of koyi fish
as soon as they were fried.
	[koi is still a delicacy in Bengal; it is noted for being able to
	survive for considerable times outside water.]

1150
The hawk on high circles slowly many times
until he holds himself exactly poised.
Then, sighting with his downcast eye
a joint of meat cooking in the canDAlA's yard
he cages the extended breath of his moving wings
closely for the sharp descent,
and seizes the meat half cooked
tight from the household pot.

1151

At dawn the fledglings of the reed-thrush raise their necks,
their red mouths open, palates vibrating with thirst;
they flutter from the ground,
their bodies trembling with their ungrown wings.
Pushing each other by the river bank,
from the blade-troughs of the prickly cane
they drink the falling dew.

1152
Her graceful arm, raised to pull strongly on the rope,
reveals from that side her breast;
her shell bracelets jingle,
the shells so dancing as to break the string.
With her plump thighs spread apart
and buttocks swelling as she stoops her back,
the pAmarI draws water from the well
	- SharaNa

    [pAmara - low caste of field workers]

1155
The kingfisher darts up high and shakes his wings. 
 Peering below, he takes quick aim.
 Then, in a flash, straight into the water, 
 he dives and rises with a fish.
   	 - vAkpatirAja
	   ["uses a pronounced bengalism buDDati for "he dives]

1160
The girl shakes off the glittering drops
that play upon the ends of her disheveled curls
and crosses her interlocking arms
to check the new luxuriance of her breasts.
With silken skirt clinging to her well-formed thighs,
bending slightly and casting a hasty glance
toward the bank, she steps out of the water.  [bhojya-deva]

1161
At night in the toddypalm groves the elephants,
their earfronds motionless, listen to the downpour
of the raining clouds with half-closed eyes
and trunks that rest upon their tusk-tips [hastipAka]

1163
The cat has humped her back;
mouth raised and tail curling,
she keeps one eye in fear upon the inside of the house;
her ears are motionless.
The dog, his mouthfull of great teeth wide open
to the back of his spittle-covered jaws,
swells at the neck with held-in breath
until he jumps her 	[yogesvara]

1164
The heron, hunting fish, sets his foot cautiously
in the clear water of the stream,
his eyes turning this way and that.
Holding one foot up, from time to time
he cocks his neck and glances hopefully
at the trembling of a leaf. 	[yogesvara]

1166
The horse on rising stretches backward his hind legs,
lengthening his body by the lowering of his spine;
then curves his neck, head bending to his chest,
and shakes his dust-filled mane.
In his muzzle the nostrils quiver
in search of grass.  He whinnies softly
as with his hoof he paws the earth.	[bAna] [p.237]

1168
The calves first spread their legs
and, lowering their necks with faces raised,
nuzzle the cows;
then, as with heads turned back
their mothers lick their hindquarters,
happily they take the teat and drink. [cakrapANi]


 1170
The religious student carries a small and torn umbrella;
his various possessions are tied about his waist;
he has tucked bilva leaves in his topknot;
his neck is drawn, his belly frightening from its sunkenness.
Weary with too much walking, he somehow stills
the pain of aching feet and goes at evening
to the brahmin's house to chop his wood.

1171
With shaking combs escaping from quick-darting beaks,
fiercely flying at one another, with throbbing necks
and hackles rising in a circle;
each wounded time and again
by the thick-driving spur as the other leaps,
the two cocks, with swift-footed cruel attack,
fight to their heart's content.  [vararuci?]

1173
They charm the heart, these villages of the upper lands,
white from the saline earth that covers everything
and redolent with frying chickpeas.
From the depths of their cottages
comes the deep rumble of a heavy handmill
turning under the fair hands of a pAmara girl
in the full bloom of youth.

1174
The puff of smoke from the forest fire,
black as the shoulder of a young buffalo,
curls slightly, spreads, is broken for a moment, falls;
then gathers its power gracefully, and rising thick,
it slowly lays upon the sky its transient ornaments.

1175
When villages are left by all but a few families
wasting under undeserved disaster
from a cruel district lord
but still clinging to ancestral lands,
villages without grass, where walls are crumbling
and the mongoose wanders through the lanes;
they yet show their deepest sadness
in a garden filled with the cooing of gray doves.

1177
Jumping from the corner of the house,
the frogs hop a few tiptoes forward
and then proceed with slow, bent feet,
working at something in their throat;
until, leaping upon a piece of filth,
with half-eyes blazing and with mouths
wide open as a crocodile's,
they gobble up the flies.

1178
How charming are the women's songs as they husk the winter rice;
a music interspersed with sound of bracelets
that knock together on round arms swinging
the bright and smoothly rising pounder;
and accompanied by the drone of hum, hum
breaking from the sharply heaving breasts.  	[yogesvara]

1179
He opens wide his eyes;
then squints and rubs them with his hand.
He holds it far away, then brings it close.
He moves out into the sunlight;
then remembers he has left his eyesalve.
Thus the man far gone in age keeps looking at the book.		[varAha]

1181
On the field bank where the mud is shallow
the sparrows with short hops and bobbing breasts
hunt out the seeds now whitening into sprouts.    

1182
Her bracelets jingle each time her graceful arm is raised
and as her robe falls back, there peeps forth
the line of nail-marks along her breast.
Time and again with swinging necklace
she raises the shining pounder held in her soft hands.
How beautiful is the girl who husks the winter rice.  	[vAgura]

1183
With slow hops the sparrow circles gracefully about his hen,
tail up, wings lowered, body panting with desire.
His chirping ceases from his longing for his mate,
who crouches, calling softly in increasing eagerness,
until trembling and with suddenness he treads her. 	[sonnoka]

      		ALT:The cock sparrow, tail up and body panting with lust,
		drops his two wings to his sides and circles
		about his hen with slow and graceful hops

1185
The herons, standing by the backwaters of winter streams,
present to travelers a charming sight.
First they strike downward at their feet,
then shake their heads, with eyes suffused with tears
by the dancing motion of a fat fish-tail
slipping down their gullet.    		[madhukaNTha]

1191
The wild tribesmen honor with many a victim
the goddess durgA of the forest
who dwells in rocks and caves,
pouring the blood to the local Genius at the tree.
Then, joined by their women at close of day,
they alternate the gourd-lyre's merriment
with rounds of their well-stored liquor
drunk from bilva cups.    	[yogesvara]

Review: Wendy O'Flaherty Doniger

	Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland,
	No. 1 (1971), pp. 78-84

A far more consistent and, I think, successful level of translation is
achieved by Daniel H. H.  Ingalls in his Sanskrit poetry. (This is an
abridged version of Ingalls's Anthology of Sanskrit court poetry, which was
reviewed by Dr. Michael Coulson in JRAS, 1966, p. 78. Dr. Coulson
concentrated on Professor Ingalls's introductory remarks and analysis of
Sanskrit poetry; I will confine myself here to the quality of the
translation itself.)

This being a collection of highly stylized verse, one might think that the
translator had less of an obligation to Clio than to Erato, that accuracy of
historical detail might more justifiably be sacrificed to grace and
mood. This is not, however, the case. The astonishingly wide range of this
poetry makes it a wonderful source book for information about ancient Indian
religion, animals, psychology, philosophy, geography, and sociology, as well
as the more obvious themes of love, court life, and the seasons. This wealth
of detail, enhanced by Professor Ingalls's learned and perceptive
introductory notes (though the vast array of more technical notes has been
omitted for this edition), makes the book a kind of encyclopaedia of ancient
Indian life, a function which it retains in the English version due to the
painstaking accuracy of the translations.  (This quality also makes it an
ideal "crib" for students of Sanskrit kAvya, the first truly reliable text
that can be used without the guidance of a teacher.)

Yet the material is first and foremost poetry of the very highest level, the
best in Indian poetry: miniatures which avoid the crudeness of the great
Sanskrit epics and the rococo heaviness of the long mahAkAvyas, combining
the delicacy of the haiku with the strength of Goethe. Ingalls's translation
is at once elegant and accurate, a pleasure to read as English verse,
unrhymed, and yet completely faith ful to the letter, mood, and detail of
the Sanskrit.  Alone of all the English translations of Sanskrit poetry,
this book retains the Indian quality of the thought.

The brilliance of Ingalls's work and the consistent advantage of his method
can best be appreciated by a comparison with Professor John Broughs'
excellent translation of a number of the same poems in his anthology, Poems
from the Sanskrit (Penguin, 1968). Brough is an unfaultable Sanskritist and
a good poet; yet frequently he is unable to strike the elusive balance
between beauty and faithfulness that Ingalls maintains throughout his longer
volume; perhaps because Brough attempts more, he fails more. In his
introduction, Brough points out some of the problems arising not only from
the Sanskrit but from the nature of the "receiving language".  English
poetic forms are particularly ill-adapted to accommodate Sanskrit
conventions, and it is due to die nature of German, as well as to the
brilliance of the German poet Rueckert, that Ruckert's translations from the
Sanskrit have long been considered peerless. Brough generally uses strict,
rhymed verse forms and consequently errs in accuracy more often than in
grace; he himself admits as much when he says that he hopes that the
translation "while carrying as much as possible of the sense-content of the
original, will also convey to the reader some atmosphere similar to that of
the original poem" (p. 23; the italics are mine).

Now, it is as impossible to convey atmosphere without conveying sense as it
is to build a brick wall without using bricks. To convey atmosphere, the
translator must convey meaning and something else.  Brough pinpoints the
flaw in his method but uses it none the less: "Verse-translations are too
often tepid and diffuse. One of the main reasons for this is the remarkable
ease with which so many trans lators succumb to the temptation to add
padding...  While it is usually possible to avoid padding, some degree of
reworking or paraphrasing is often inevitable" (pp. 26 and 28).

Thus, even if one considers rhyme a desideratum, much must be sacrificed for
it, more than is justi fiable. But rhyme is no longer a necessity in poetry,
and indeed the particular metres and rhyme schemes which Brough chooses are
often a negative force, destroying mood rather than creating it. Thus, in
addition to causing an inevitable loss of detail and compactness, the rhyme
frequently obscures the delicate mood and almost always ruins the flowing,
Indian quality of the verse. Thus in Ingalls's verse #1319 (Brough # 199),
the mood of stark pathos is obliterated by the rhyme in Brough's version:

Ingalls: A poor man's body
	 would soon break,
	 did the ropes of daydreams
	 not bind it tight.

Brough: The cage of this poor frame would
		surely burst apart
	But for the cords of fancy fashioned by
		my heart.

Here the rhyme transforms a delicate observation
of the human condition into a Valentine jingle.
A similar comparison may be made between Ingalls's
verse# 330 and Brough # 181:

Ingalls: Behold the skill
	 of the bowman, Love;
	 that leaving the body whole,
	 he breaks the heart within.

Brough: The god of love can scarce be matched
	   In skill in shooting with his arrow;
	My body is not even scratched,
	   And yet he's pierced me to the marrow!

(Similarly Ingalls 697-Brough 169; Ingalls 480 Brough 223).

Brough's rhyme often succeeds in humorous verses where Ingalls's literal
translation is rather like a laborious explanation of a silly joke, and
falls flat; and often Brough hits upon a particularly felicitous and
non-distorting verse form. Thus Ingalls478-Brough44:

Ingalls: Knowing that "heart" is neuter,
	 I sent her mine;
	 but there it fell in love.
	 So Panini undid me.

Brough: The grammar-books all say that 'mind' is neuter,
	And so I thought it safe to let my mind
	    Salute her.
	But now it lingers in embraces tender:
	For Panini made a mistake, I find,
	    In gender.

Brough's verses 226 and 227 (Ingalls 1148 and 1290) succeed for the same
reason: they are featherweight in Sanskrit and treated by Brough with
spirit, humour, and great elan.

Yet, another humorous verse (Ingalls 1680) is so padded by Brough as to lose
its point entirely.  The literal translation would be:

   "Now always use herb-pair to-assuage passion fever:
   Young-girl-lower-lip-honey-drink and breast pressure-handful-use."

Ingalls remains literal, merely rearranging the words to fit a smooth
English line:

	You may always use two medicines
	to soothe the fire of love:
	a sip of honey from a young girl's lip
	and a pinch or two of her breast.

His one minor deviation from the Sanskrit ("pinch or two") adds only two
syllables and makes clear the pun on medical doses and erotic gestures,
while his matter-of-fact tone neatly preserves the dry, tongue-in-cheek
spirit of the Sanskrit. Brough (157), on the other hand, blunts the point
and smothers it:

   When the fever is caused by her looks and her voice,
	The treatment of choice
	Is a thrice-daily sip
	Of her honey-sweet lip.
	To avoid further harm,
	And to keep the heart warm,
   This follow-up treatment is known to be best:
   The soothing and gentle warm touch of her breast.
        (Professional secret, though?
	Careful to keep it so!)"

Amusing as this poem is, it bears little resemblance to the Sanskrit, which
is wittier to boot.

Rhyme is not the only problem, of course; often Ingalls succeeds better than
Brough even when Brough does not attempt to rhyme, as in these lines about
the moon (Ingalls 905-Brough 83):

Ingalls: The cat, thinking its rays are milk,
	 licks them from the dish; ...
Brough: A ray is caught in a bowl,
	And the cat licks it, thinking that it's milk.

The first is simply better poetry.

On the other hand, Brough's rhymed verses sometimes manage to capture the
Sanskrit nuance better than Ingalls does. In Ingalls's 1163 (Brough 222),
the tension of the poem inheres in the manner in which the Sanskrit strings
out a series of complex adjectives, half in the nominative and half in the
accusative, and only reveals at the last minute that the former refer to a
dog and the latter to a cat.  The Sanskrit might be translated literally:

    Having-a-somewhat-made-into-a-hump-back [accusative],
    having-a-raised-twisting-crooked-tip-taii in-fear,
    having-a-within-house-entered-one-eye [and] un-trembling-ear-pair,
    having-a-saliva-smeared-split-open-mouth
    corners-expanding-teeth-face [nominative],
    having-a-breath-suppressed-swelled-neck,
    the-dog leaps-upon the-cat.

Ingalls retains the descriptions of the animals, and holds back the action
until the end, but he separates the dog and cat into neat halves, and the
adjectives become a bit cumbersome:

	The cat has humped her back;
	mouth raised and tail curling,
	she keeps one eye in fear upon the inside of the house;
	her ears are motionless.
	The dog, his mouthful of great teeth wide open
	to the back of his spittle-covered jaws,
	swells at the neck with held-in breath
	until he jumps her.

Brough pads somewhat, but he maintains the suspense better, and the rhyme
succeeds in giving body to the cluster of adjectives without distorting the
cluster of adjectives. This is a very fine translation:

      See, the arched back, the tail erected, stiff,
      Bent at the tip and twisting, and the ear
      Flat to the head, and the eye quick with fear
      Darting a single glance, debating if
      The way to get inside the house is clear:
      And on the other side, its gullet fat
      With panting, growling, hoarse with its own breath,
      With sneering lips that lift to show his teeth,
      And slavering jaws, the dog attacks the cat.

Yet none of the extant translations, not even Ingalls's, are like the
Sanskrit original; at best, they are accurate and graceful. Brough points
this out when discussing the qualities of compactness and compounding that
distinguish Sanskrit verse. After giving a literal translation of the
dog-cat poem (which I have used in the first, second, and fifth lines of my
literal rendition), Brough remarks that English, unable to reproduce
compounds (as German can), must attempt to recreate
    by quite different means ... rather than strain to imitate structural
    features of the original which English cannot accommodate. The
    artificial use in English of long compounds, for example, would usually
    destroy more important poetical qualities of the original.

Now, granted that the literal rendition of the dog-cat poem is a highly
unorthodox form of English verse, the English language can certainly strain
to accommodate it; and indeed it is basically more straightforward and more
easily comprehensible than the widely accepted English verse of Ezra Pound,
E. E. Cummings, and others.

... both Brough and Ingalls use compound forms, some without hyphens, in
verse 257-218:

Ingalls: Now the great cloud cat,
	 darting out his lightning tongue,
	 licks the creamy moonlight
	 from the saucepan of the sky.
Brough:  Look at the cloud-cat,
	 lapping there on high
	 With lightning tongue
	 the moon-milk from the sky!

The compounds allow both translators to keep the verse compact; the rhyme
causes Brough to pad with "on high," and he misses the final element of the
fourfold metaphor?the saucepan that is the sky?but basically this is a
successful verse in both versions, largely because of the force of the
compounds.

The translator's right and, indeed, duty to deviate from normal
English conventions is demonstrated in verse 559-211, where the point lies
in the repetition of "in yain" (mudhA), which takes on different meanings
as the poem progresses. In keeping with the English tradition, Brough uses a
different paraphrase for this term each time, while Ingalls sticks closer to
the Sanskrit and makes the point as the Sanskrit makes it, producing a poem
both more beautiful and more faithful than the other:

     When in the height of passion
     the clothes had fallen from her hips,
     the glowing gems upon her girdle
     seemed to clothe her in an inner silk;
     whereby in vain her lover cast his eager glance,
     in vain the fair one showed embarrassment,
     in vain he sought to draw away the veil
     and she in vain prevented him."

The translator from Sanskrit to English should feel less bound by the
conventions of English verse forms, in order to reproduce more closely the
effect of the Sanskrit.

Review: Eloise Hart: Vidyakara: Cameos of Wisdom

		http://www.theosophy.org.za/arts/ar-elo.htm

Religious dedication did not prevent the 11th century Buddhist abbot
Vidyakara from enjoying the sensuous realism and delicate artistry of the
Sanskrit poetry he found in the library of his monastery at Jagaddala in
East Bengal. When visiting neighboring scholars or entertaining traveling
poets he invariably sought to exchange favorite verse and to discuss subtle
meanings.

Over the years he meticulously copied 1,738 of the best from earlier and
contemporary poets into an anthology, "Treasury of Well-Turned Verse," of
which two different copies have miraculously survived.
...
When he read this Sanskrit text, Professor Ingalls was so charmed with its
sophisticated style and poetic beauty that he immediately began translation
into English, and after six years published Vidyakara's complete collection,
together with a valuable introduction and interpretation, An Anthology of
Sanskrit Court Poetry (Volume 44 of the Harvard Oriental Series, Harvard
University Press). Its enthusiastic reception led him to select 836 of the
most interesting and appealing verses in a smaller volume for general
readers, Sanskrit Poetry (Harvard University Press).

Sanskritists East and West were delighted to discover herein verses of over
200 poets whose work was believed to have been lost. Even in translation
these stanzas retain their original lively spirit and give insight into
Indian courtly attitudes and sensibilities of the pre-Muslim period.

The poems he included on love and nature, the sketches of village life, the
humorous epigrams and verbal puzzles, even the moral maxims and religious
lyrics might have been written today -- the heartache, longings, joys and
contentment of medieval India are common to all mankind. We might find in
any country town 'strong peasant girls turning the rice mill,' 'fields of
mustard turning brown,' a great 'bull pushing his way against the driving
rain,' or an 'old woman shivering in her hut.' Nor does poetic fancy differ:
'The cloth of darkness inlaid with fireflies,' 'waves ride on the ocean top,
pearls lie deep'; and 'The moon with bright mane flying in the forest of the
night is like a lion . . .' was written by Panini long before William Blake
penned 'Tyger, Tyger: burning bright in the forests of the night.'

The restraint of the wife's joy when her long-absent husband returns, the
realism of a faithful horse, and the pathos of a deserted tree will always
touch the heart:

    Her husband has returned across the trackless desert;
    the mistress of the household looks upon his face
    with eyes unsteady from her tears of joy.
    She offers to his camel palm and thornleaf
    and from its mane wipes the heavy dust
    with the hem of her own garment, tenderly. -- Kesata (?) [512, p.148]

    The horse on rising stretches backward his hind legs,
    lengthening his body by the lowering of his spine;
    then curves his neck, head bending to his chest,
    and shakes his dust-filled mane.
    In his muzzle the nostrils quiver
    in search of grass. He whinnies softly
    as with his hoof he paws the earth. -- Bana [1166, p.237]

    The little birds have left, whom it had placed in honor on its head;
    the frightened deer are gone, whose weariness it once dispelled by granting of its shade.
    Alas, the monkeys too have run away, fickle creatures, once greedy for its fruit.
    The tree is left alone to bear the brunt of forest fire. -- Author unknown

As a Buddhist, Vidyakara had little patience with the would-be ascetic too
concerned with his own salvation to give thought to the suffering of
others. He probably copied the following verse with a wry smile, then posed
a question in the next from the Silhana collection:

     He has crossed all rivers of desire
     and contemned all pain.
     With grief at parting from his joys assuaged
     and impure thoughts removed,
     he has reached happiness at last and with closed eyes
     attains complete contentment. Who?
     Why, a fat old corpse in a graveyard. [anon. 1615, p.201]

     Can that be judgment where compassion plays no part,
     or that be the way if we help not others on it?
     Can that be law where we injure still our fellows,
     or that be sacred knowledge which leads us not to peace?
     				 [ShilhaNa collection 1629 p.303]

Writing in the 'Perfected' Sanskrit language, the Indian poets distilled the
vital essence of familiar experiences into miniature one-verse poetry so
skillfully that it vibrantly reflected a timeless and universal quality. Its
charm, like that of Chinese painting, is obtained by an illusive
suggestiveness. One polished phrase, a single brush stroke, leads us from
the mundane to heights of philosophical contemplation. How masterly
Yogesvara, for instance, transports us with three or four words, from a
cottage kitchen, where the family cat licks cream from a saucepan, to
distant space where moonlight and lightning enchant our imaginations:

	Now the great cloud cat,
	darting out his lightning tongue,
	licks the creamy moonlight
	from the saucepan of the sky.

Carl Sandburg wrote 'The fog comes on little cat feet,' and T. S. Eliot:
'The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, . . . Licked its
tongue into the corners of the evening, . . .' Yet neither launched the
human spirit as successfully as does the short Sanskrit poem.

The largest section of Vidyakara's "Well-Turned Verse" is devoted to
love. Poems dealing with its every aspect, from the innocent coquetry of a
young girl blooming into womanhood, the longing for an absent beloved, the
excitement of love's intimacy and its joyous fulfillment, to the
bodhisattva's selfless compassion, are delicately described, each with its
own special beauty and woven together into the variegated tapestry of Indian
life.

The Western reader raising an eyebrow at the idea of monastic scholars
enjoying -- even composing -- erotic verse fails to understand the Eastern
mind which finds no incongruity with celibate purity. Which finds, indeed,
love and religion synonymous. For while to them religion externalized man's
inner aspirations and conflicts, love unites each human individual with the
grand harmonies of universal life. The Hindu artist suggestively depicting a
lofty pantheon of deities in voluptuous posture, and the Sanskrit poet
describing physical and emotional pleasure, are both expressing
metaphorically a mystical recognition of the oneness, interdependence and
importance of life.

To them personal suffering was the karmic reaction to voluntary disruption
of cosmic harmony, and could be overcome only by its restoration through
right and noble living.  Thus Vidyakara's anthology encompassed the aspiring
pilgrim who seeks to follow the way of the divine-human Buddha; who would
tread the lonely path of self-conquest to enlightenment:

      No one rides before, no one comes behind
      and the path bears no fresh prints.
      How now, am I alone? Ah yes, I see:
      the path which the ancients opened up by now is overgrown
      and the other, that broad and easy road, I've surely left.
						-- Dharmakirti

But for those who find the thirsts for life too strong, he quotes the
Hitopadesa and, with a typically Indian-Buddhistic stoical indifference to
pleasure and pain, advises them to seek stability in living a moral life:

	The body marches forward
	but the restless heart flies back
	like the silken cloth of a banner
	that is borne against the wind. -- Kalidasa

	Firmness in misfortune and in success restraint;
	skill in speech and bravery in battle;
	concern for honor and a love of holy writ . . . -- Hitopadesa

These Sanskrit poems contain such intensity of feeling, such depths of
meaning, one wishes to retain them all in some corner of the mind, to take
them out from time to time and like rare cameos of wisdom savor their beauty
in quiet reflection.
		(From Sunrise magazine, September 1970

review : Jan Gonda

	Journal of the American Oriental Society, 87.1 (1967)

It is a matter for regret that Professor Ingalls has not thrown overboard
all incorrect or obsolete terminology. Terms such as " rhetoric " or "
rhetorician " (pp. 372; 398)- instead of theorist (in the field of poetics
and the art of composition)- can for instance create serious
misunderstanding, because it is likely to suggest either the existence, in
Ancient India, of professional orators or teachers of rhetoric of the Greek
or Roman style, or the inferiority of the literary products under
discussion.

The repeated and likewise almost naturalized use of the English word pun for
a particular stylistic procede of double-entente (e. g., p. 19; 373)-it is
indeed hard to find another short term-should not make the reader believe
that all instances of this device are humorous or-as the French jeu de
mots-would suggest a play upon words in the sense commonly attached to the
word play.-I am afraid that the remarks made (p. 6 f.) on the large choice
of synonyms afforded by the enormous vocabulary of Sanskrit sound though they
generally speaking are as far as they refer to the distinction between
poetic words (such as vilasinf, mrgaks, yosit, etc., for "Cw oman ") and
matter-of-fact words (shi-, nor-) -do not so often differ chiefly in sound
and etymology only as seems to be Ingalls' opinion.

This is not to say that any stanza contained in this collection will reveal
its beauty, wit or delicacy of thought or feeling at once to all modern
readers.   [Gonda is an orientalist who never visited the east]

---blurb
In this rich collection of Sanskrit verse, the late Daniel Ingalls provides
English readers with a wide variety of poetry from the vast anthology of an
eleventh-century Buddhist scholar. Although the style of poetry presented
here originated in royal courts, Ingalls shows how it was adapted to all
aspects of life, and came to address issues as diverse as love, sex, heroes,
nature and peace. More than thirty years after its original publication,
Sanskrit Poetry continues to be the main resource for all interseted in this
multifaceted and elegant tradition.