bhasa's urubhanga and indian poetics

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Bhāsa's Ūrubhaṅga and Indian Poetics Author(s): Edwin Gerow and Bhāsa Source: Journal of the American Oriental Society, Vol. 105, No. 3, Indological Studies Dedicated to Daniel H. H. Ingalls (Jul. - Sep., 1985), pp. 405-412 Published by: American Oriental Society Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/601517 . Accessed: 07/04/2011 06:17 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=aos. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected]. American Oriental Society is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Journal of the American Oriental Society. http://www.jstor.org

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Page 1: Bhasa's Urubhanga and Indian Poetics

Bhāsa's Ūrubhaṅga and Indian PoeticsAuthor(s): Edwin Gerow and BhāsaSource: Journal of the American Oriental Society, Vol. 105, No. 3, Indological StudiesDedicated to Daniel H. H. Ingalls (Jul. - Sep., 1985), pp. 405-412Published by: American Oriental SocietyStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/601517 .Accessed: 07/04/2011 06:17

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unlessyou have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and youmay use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use.

Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at .http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=aos. .

Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printedpage of such transmission.

JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

American Oriental Society is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Journal ofthe American Oriental Society.

http://www.jstor.org

Page 2: Bhasa's Urubhanga and Indian Poetics

BHASA'S URUBHANGA AND INDIAN POETICS

EDWIN GEROW

UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

1. THE IJRUBHANGA AND THE MAHABHARATA 'ORIGNAL'.

BHASA'S ORUBHANGA PARALLELS events narrated in

Salyaparvan 30ff.' The story, however, in this dramatic retelling, differs significantly from that of the Epic. The most striking change is in the story's point of view: it is the Kauravas, rather than the Pandavas, that are the focus of the narrative; the dramatic hero is the arch- enemy Duryodhana, not the great warrior Bhima.

But more than point-of-view is involved. The Crubhahga is not just a retelling from the villian's perspective. A not-so-subtle change in the "villian's" character is also manifest: Duryodhana is not only the dramatic hero, he is also the moral hero. In fact, that seems to be the point of the play: it is he who draws the lessons from his and his family's defeats and recom- mends compassion and reconciliation with the victor- ious Pandavas.

In our play, Duryodhana's defeat is presented as the result of unvarnished treachery. Although this does not in fact differ much from the Mahabharata version of events, it here has the additional dramatic function of relieving the hero of responsibility for any moral ambiguities that may have qualified his previous actions, and is part and parcel of a programme to cele- brate the "villian's" character. Duryodhana, in his very defeat, has become guide and teacher for the rest of us.

In the Epic, Duryodhana, though treated in some respects as a fallen hero, is far from repentant and conciliatory at his death. He remains the trickster whose schemes underlay much of the Epic's imbroglio; he dies not reproving, but urging, Agvatthaman's night raid on the Pandava camp; he appoints Asvatthaman his successor and Generalissimo; his death follows the raid, rather than precedes it; and he dies happy know-

ing that vengeance has been wreaked.2 These points serve to highlight the sense in which Duryodhana exhibits a different character in our play.

It should not be supposed that we have necessarily here evidence of an epic tradition materially different from that of the extant Epic. Even though our play would seem to support Holtzmann's view' that there was another epic originally reflecting Kaurava values, subsequently revised by the successful Pdndava fac- tion, but imperfectly, inasmuch as treacheries such as Bhima's low blow have not been expurgated, the Irubhanga itself provides literal evidence of its adher- ence to the normal or "later" epic tradition.

Duryodhana makes reference to his own former lack of scruple in provoking the House of Lac incident.4 Duryodhana attributes his defeat to Hari.5 More importantly, the play's initial [mafigalal verse places Arjuna unambiguously in the r6le of victor, and Krsna in that of savior.

The view that we will advance here is rather that the reworking (if that is what it is) of Duryodhana's char- acter, as the central feature of the play, is sufficiently motivated by the internal dramatic necessities of the play itself; it need not be viewed extra-dramatically, as suggesting a historical fact of some sort. We have, in this perspective, a play which examines issues of defeat and victory, and suggests another sense of "victory" which both presumes "defeat" and transcends that defeat. It is precisely Duryodhana's somewhat igno- minious defeat that makes him an ideal subject for this most unmilitary exploration of victory-a "victory" that owes more to the transcendant morality of Buddhism or classical Brahminism, than it does to

IEsp. 55-65, the final adhydyas of the parvan; the "break- ing of the thighs" occurs in 58. But Duryodhana's death exceeds this limit, occurring at adhyaya 9 of the following Sauptikaparvan.

See my forthcoming translation of the Crubhafiga, in the Journal of South Asian Literature, special Mahabhhrata volume, Arvind Sharma, editor.

' Though reproving, in one version, Mvatthaman's cruelty: Dowson, p. 101. But perhaps that version is influenced by our play.

3 See Adolf Holtzmann Jr., Das Mahahharata und seine Theile, 1895; corrected but not dismissed by Hopkins, The Great Epic of India, pp. 397-400, and passim, ch. 6. 4Verse 63; cf. Jatgrhaparvan in Adiparvan, 124-138 [Crit.

Ed.]. 5Verse 35; clearly recognizing this divinity's supremacy-

but perhaps also distinguishing between "Hari" and "Krsna"?

405

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406 Journal of the American Oriental Society 105.3 (1985)

revisionist Pandava historians. What the play cele- brates is discipline over self, compassion for the enemy, reconciliation within the family: it is to this ethical system that the U rubhahga points, rather than to another epic.

2. THE URUBHANGA AND SANSKRIT DRAMATURGY.

Making an approach, then, to the "play itself," we note, first, that some incidents and scenes depicted in the Urubhahga appear to violate stated conventions of Sanskrit dramaturgy, often in a striking manner- which invites an examination of the play's structure.

Death, notably, is never to be represented on the stage,6 but only suggested obliquely; yet here we not only witness the death of the hero, Duryodhana, but accept his death as the culminating moment of the plot, as giving a sense to the play. Equally at variance with convention is the Urubhaiga's insistence on scenes of violence and physical gore. Admittedly it would be dif- ficult, given the subject, to avoid reference to death and mayhem; yet the play often seems more to revel in than palliate the carnage attending the fratricidal war's culmination.

Still, this point should not be exaggerated: the actual violence is not represented, that is, enacted directly; it is, for the most part, confined to the long prologue [iiskambhaka], where it is conveyed through the device of a conversation between three soldiers who only wit- ness the destruction. Thus the audience is presented only with a verbal or "mediated" account of the gore; this principle extends even to the depiction of the combat between Duryodhana and Bhima, the final event of the prologue. In this sense, then, rather than disputing convention, the play's treatment of violence seems to confirm its influence.7

Nevertheless, the emphasis on destruction, especially in the viskambhaka, is noteworthy. We need, however, look only to the play's ethical argument to find justifi- cation for that emphasis: it is essential to the effect of the play that violence be understood both in its final and its replusive aspects. The case is similar to that of the temple pilgrim, whom outer sculptures of lust and violence better prepare to comprehend the God within.

The question of Duryodhana's death on stage is not so easily dealt with. As it so intimately connected with the much-discussed question of the play's "tragedy," we find it easier to consider in that connection [below, 4]. We may observe here, though, that much of the

pathos evident in the Urubhahga is a function of the play's subtle but effective treatment of that incident's ancillaries. In the Mahabharata, neither Dhrtarastra nor any female characters are present at Duryodhana's death. The touching scene with Durjaya, his small son, is likewise invented. Instead of these familial collo- quies, in which our author develops the theme of resig- nation and reconciliation, we find in the Bharata long harangues between Duryodhana and his Pandava tor- mentors which have the contrary effect of emphasizing the parties' mutual hate and recrimination. In the play, the Pdndavas disappear after the Prologue.

In sum, the Urubhahga's "deviations" [if that is what they are] seem well enough motivated when judged in the context of relevant dramatic theory. Such innova- tions of course do not determine the quality of the play; they do testify to the presence of another senti- mental structure, one more suitable to the theme of reconciliation. The play has to be judged in terms of how well it accomplishes the task it has set itself within these new constraints. It is, in this sense, irrelevant to judge it in terms of its Mahabharata "original."

3. THE STRUCTURE OF THE URUBHANGA.

The question before us has two parts: for the play may be said to have a "structure" in terms of the generic properties attributed to it by Sanskrit dramatic theory; and it may be said to have a "structure," insofar as it is constructed-in order to achieve whatever pur- pose is proper to it. We will take up the first sense in this section, the second in the next.

An unfortunate amount of effort has been expended on the question of whether the dramatic theory is a prescriptive model for, or merely an empirical classifi- cation of, the extant Sanskrit dramas. The former view, reflecting a current understanding of Indian spir- ituality, asserts that theory precedes practice; the latter, somewhat more congenial to modern empiricism, asserts the contrary. Both views tend to belittle Indian theorizing, and to emphasize the importance of thinking like a Westerner.8 Neither alternative very well accounts for the theory itself: a theory of genre having little to do with the construction of individual plays. And neither highlights for us the most interesting question, which is how the dramatist makes use of the inventory of conventions (a kind of map of the audience's

6 See Dasariipaka 3.34-35; Nat lastistra 18.16ff. 7 See DR 3.28-29.

8 Refs.: S. K. De, Sanskrit Poetics as a Studi' of Aesthetic, pp. 3, 76; Histor' of Sanskrit Literature, Part 11, pp. 24-32; Keith, Sanskrit Drama, pp. 352ff; E. Gerow, Glossarj' of Indian Figures of Speech, pp. 13-16.

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expectations) in achieving the ends proper to his play.9 The Orubhanga, along with others of the one-act

Mahabharata plays in the Bhdsa collection, has gener- ally been considered an example of the dramatic genus known as vyvayoga, one of the celebrated "ten genera" [dasa-rfupaka] of the classical theory. The term, which apparently has no non-technical currency apart from this usage, probably means "disjunction"'0 and may refer to the disputes inherent in war, a typical subject [our play would be a confirming instance]. This genus, and the nine others, define structures of expectation for an educated audience, and have (like any similar notion of "style") a function in delimiting choices available to the playwright. Compare our notion "melodrama," which, by defining a set of limiting expectations, provides a set of conditions that enable the author to communicate with his audience.

The Urubhanga typifies the standard definition of the vyayoga remarkably well.'" As is the case generally, the definition presumes as a standard the nataka, and signals only the major deviations from that standard." According to Dhanafijaya, the vyayoga is based on a well-known story from the Epic [khydtetivrttah], has famous and noble men [not Gods, or arguably, women] for protagonists, lacks the third and fourth of the five sathdhis that define plot development,'3 expresses, like the dima, brilliant rasas,'4 has no imbroglio based on commerce with women, has incidents that last for one

day, is presented in one act, and reproduces the separation [v vaoga] of many men. The DR cites the Jamadagnyajaya ['Para'urama's Conquest,' otherwise unknown] as an example; judging by the title, our play would serve equally well.

It would be difficult to point to an aspect of our play that clearly violated any of these prescriptions. The several female r6les might seem a problem; but, clearly, no exclusion of such r6les per se has been intended. In Urubhanga, srhgdra ['the amorous'] is strictly avoided: Duryodhana's "commerce" with his two wives is limited to pathetic leave-takings, whose mood [rasa] is therefore karuna, perhaps admixed with vTr a ['heroic'] (in the case of the second wife, who contemplates "fol- lowing" him).

The most serious deviation might have to do with the play's chief rasa"5-provided that we assign such a role to ganta. Santa, of course, did not figure in the original list of rasas,'6 and so could not have underlain any play, much less a v xw aoga. But this problem involves a subtle redefinition of the issue: it is not so much whether the Urubhanga conforms to the DR or Ng analysis, as whether that analysis has to be broadened to cover the OBh! The question has been recast historically. Santa was added later (certainly by Abhinava's time); our play may well date from that later epoch. Were we to allege !ganta here, it would, ipso facto, constitute an argument for the play's rela- tive posteriority. In any case, the ambiguity of s1anta rasa does not really touch the crux of the vyayoga analysis-for, whether or not we allow ganta, the Urubhanga does blend the "six" [or "seven"] other rasas, and excludes 9rhgiira and has a ['comic'].

A more interesting question arises from consider- ation of the three samdhis said to pertain to the vyAYoga. Of the five components, or stages [avastha], of successful action that are presumed by the Indian theory of plot,'7 we are here permitted [or, enjoined?] to delete the third and fourth, viz. the stages of "legiti- mate hope" [praptya.ia] and the "untoward complica-

9 See Christopher Byrski, "The Typology of the Sanskrit Drama," in Methodolog, of the Analy'sis of the Sanskri Drama, pp. 27-41; esp. p. 30.

10 v1a i'uijate 'vrnin .ahavah purusa iti vvi'ogah: Dhanika

ad DR 3.60. " See DR 3.60-61; Ng 18.90-93, GOS ed. Nevertheless,

some authorities hold the Urubhanga to be an example of utsrstikanka: Winternitz, Bulletin of the Ramavarma Research Institute, V, p. 6: quoted with approval by A. D. Pusalker, Bhasa, A Studv, p. 203, etc. But this depends on understanding its rasa as karuna-which we dispute: see below, ? 4. And the definition of the vita}oga fits our play better; the utsrstikanka would appear to be karunapradhana because it focusses on the "lamentations of women" [utsrstika-usually explained as referring to the 'release of (tears)'], which is about as far off the mark as can be for the Urubhanga!

12 The Daisaripaka is thus not only a theory for dif- ferentiating genres, but provides a unifying architectonic of their interrelations as well.

3 On this, more infra. 14 That is, lacks any trace of grnhgara or hasva rasa, and

concentrates instead on the other six. The dima is another of the "ten genera."

" Below ? 4. 16 As given in pre-Abhinavagupta Ng, or in DR. On this

controversy, see bibliography on pp. 246-47 of my Indian Poetics.

17 See S. Levi, Th&btre Indien, and the handbooks. A discus- sion of this theory as applied to the 9akuntald will be found in my articles, JA OS, vols. 99 and 100. See also Byrski's essay: "Sanskrit Drama as an Aggregate of Model Situations," in Sanskrit Drama in Performance. Note that we are collapsing, for ease of exposition, the distinctions between samdhi, avastha, and arthaprakrti.

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408 Journal of the American Oriental Society 105.3 (1985)

tion" [ni' atdpti'8] regarding the issue, or denouement. Leaving these two aside, the plot is much simplified, reducing in effect to "undertaking" [drambha], "effort" [prai'atna] and "attainment of result" [phaldgama]. Applying this "structure" to the present play involves some problems of interpretation.

The play itself, apart from the directorial prelude, or sthdpand, falls into two parts of nearly equal length: 'the prologue [viskarnbhaka'9] and the play proper. The parts are signalled not only by such terminology and the formal arrangement of the play, but by many dif- ferences of treatment and presentation: in the pro- logue, the "action" is not enacted, but narrated;' the "mood" is that of battle and violent confrontation; the Pdndavas are "present," and Duryodhana's family are absent. In the play, the action is enacted, the mood is that of appeasement, the Pandavas are absent, and Duryodhana's family constitutes a nexus around which the action centers. The "prologue" seems on the face of it to be more than simply an introduction to the play; it is, by its significant contrasts, an integral part of the (larger) play. But what part? That is a question the samdhi analysis should answer.

If the prologue is not essential to the play's action, then our three samdhis will have to be determined in the play proper [i.e., vss. 27ff.]. Since Duryodhana's very first utterance, spoken offstage [28/29], indicates that he is already reconciled to his fate, the "action" on this hypothesis would seem to be Duryodhana's effort at reconciling the others to the Pdndavas' inevitable victory-first the warrior Balarama, then the members of his own family: father, mother, wives and son, and finally the warrior AMvatthaman.

In that sense we could identify three samdhis in the play proper; but they seem paradoxically inconclusive, in that the "undertaking" [vis-A-vis Balarama] appears more successful than the denouement [scil. the "attain- ment of the fruit," vis-A-vis AMvatthdman], which, by definition, must be successful. Balardma is persuaded by Duryodhana; Mvatthiman, instead of acceeding to Duryodhana's pleas, sets out to destroy the Pandava camp. The "inbetween" scenes, with the family mem- bers, would then seem to constitute the stage of "effort," wherein Duryodhana's "undertaking" is given repeated occasion, is sustained through more and more

pitiable trials, from father, to mother, wives, and finally his young son. In these scenes, however, another kind of reconciliation is urged: that the family accept, not just the inevitability of the Pandavas' victory, but the propriety of Duryodhana's own death.

Besides providing a rather paradoxical account of the play's action as a more or less successful exercise of Duryodhanian rhetoric-the fixation of the three sarhdhis in the play proper does not sufficiently account for the long, colorful, and contrasting prologue. The prologue would, on this view, be reduced to its formal function of providing an argument, a stage setting, for the subsequent action, analogous to the entr'actes of the Sakuntald. But why then its extension? Can an entr'acte constitute nearly half the work?

The fact that the prologue itself appears to be in two parts indicates that another view of the prologue's function is necessary. It would indeed be odd for an element having no dramatic force to show in itself a development. The division of parts is marked by the intense sound the three soldiers hear at 13/ 14, the first blow of the gadayuddha, the battle of maces, which ends in Duryodhana's downfall. Verses 1-13 seem more genuinely to be a setting for the ensuing action; they depict in broad, and quite scenic terms, the battle- field at the end of the war: corpses, disorder, gore, futility. The mood is bi-bhatsd ['disgusting'], comple- mented by bhayanaka ['fearsome']. The sound marks the transition to the personal confrontation of Bhima and Duryodhana, and shifts the perspective from background to foreground-from scene to narration. The mood, too, shifts from bWbhatsa to raudra ['force- ful'], accompanied by virya ['heroic']: both suitable to the heroic acts of vengeance yet to be accomplished. This second part of the prologue [Vss. 14-26] ends with another violent event: the "breaking of the thighs,"2' accompanied by the Pdndavas' stealthy withdrawal, and Balarama's consternation. Balardma's entrance marks the transition to the play proper, and parallels the entrance of the soldiers after the sthapana.

It seems clear, if the prologue is part of the action of the play, that that action has more to do with Duryodhana's character than it does with his persua- siveness. It cannot plausibly be argued that the play's protagonist is other than Duryodhana. All the other characters-even Bhima (who is not present after the prologue) are understood in terms of their rela- tionship to Duryodhana: antagonist, conspirator, relative, or successor [AMvatthiman]. What then is Duryodhana's larger action that defines this play?

8 Following Byrski; or: "dawning certainty." '9 The term is used of any interlude spoken by secondary

characters narrating essential information which is for some reason not playable.

20 Or, from Aristotle's perspective, it is perhaps an enact- ment of an epic recitation!

21 NB that the play takes its name from an event in the prologue!

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The play begins on a desolate battlefield, and ends on a desolate battlefield. The field is as much a presence in the play as are the characters who fleetingly occupy it. Their relations, too, are determined by the stages of the battle; for it is the horror of battle that breeds the hostility on which it feeds-until the battle consumes itself. Duryodhana alone is depicted as having understood the nature of war; yet himself is its embodiment. In his defeat, the war itself is over. Duryodhana, understanding himself in defeat, is a kind of contrasting surrogate to the Arjuna of the Gita, who understands that he must conquer.

Understanding is the theme of the "third" part of the play-the play proper: acceptance of destruction's inevitability; recognition that out of destruction comes reintegration, renewal of familial and social bonds. It is significant that Duryodhana understands, not ab- stractly (as might a pacifist), but in and through his own defeat. Rather, his is a victory of another sort, a victory that comes about only through mundane defeat. The playwright has wrought of Duryodhana a da'tavira.22 For these reasons, and others that we will advance in the next section, the Orubhanga can hardly be considered a "tragedy" [in an Aristotelian sense]: in it Duryodhana is exalted as might never be a mere man, a mere hero.

The mood shifts of the third part of the play [the play proper] emphasize this structure. Duryodhana's heroism [virya] is redeployed in conjunction with the "pathetic" [karuna] to give another dimension to virya itself. That is why the family must be brought on stage, for it is within his own family that true reconciliation must germinate. But the warriors Balarama and Mvatthaman are not neglected, though they are less moved [and i7oveahle] than the immediate family members. They remain, at play's end, repositories of Duryodhana's old virya--still (especially AMvatthaman acting in terms of the cycle of shame and vengeance, their loss not yet complete. But Dhrtarastra, too old to have more sons, abjures the kingdom; little Durjaya, too young to understand his father's loss, cannot yet assume it. Thus is the solitude of Duryodhana's with- drawal sharpened.

If the foregoing interpretation is correct, we will not be far off the mark in equating the three samdhis of the theory, with the two parts of the prologue and the play proper. It may seem equally paradoxical to discern the

"undertaking" or motive element in the battlefield itself, the spectacle of destruction and misery. Yet that seems to be what the play tells us: while there are characters left alive, there will be battle. The prayatna, the renewed effort of the warriors, is the mace-fight itself: the battlefield finds new victims. Duryodhana's downfall, by trickery, marks the transition to phala- gama, or fulfillment of the action: his triumph over the animosity that has-almost mechanically-destroyed his cause and now himself. His triumph, we might say, is over the battlefield itself. And thus the gory and protracted scenics with which the prologue begins find their appropriate counterweight in Duryodhana's final vision of heaven. Death itself is overcome.

On either interpretation, the play involves paradoxes whose resolution is not entirely satisfactory. The former interpretation seems to ignore the prologue; the latter, perhaps, to make too much of it. The former empha- sizes Duryodhana's motives at the expense of the renewal of character that makes him interesting; the latter, by focussing on this renewal, seems to make the battle more central than the warriors.23 We prefer the second interpretation, for it awakens profound reson- ances with other Indian motifs: the impersonal action, and the actor who abjures interest. The play might be seen as an action in search of a hero; just as, in the classical theory of karma, the perfect action is that which presupposes its own agents. But the action has, on this view, already transcended mundane action. This analysis thus has the virtue of highlighting the play's espousal of Buddhist and Hindu codes of non- violence [vairagya], and might suggest, again, the use- fulness of looking at the play in terms of santa rasa.

Perhaps more light could be thrown on the question of the play's structure, by examining the possibility that the Orubhafiga involves two samdhis only.24 If this were the case, a better account might be given of the clear bifurcation of the play into prologue and sequel. But that would take us far beyond the scope of this essay, and bring into question the usefulness of the Dasardpaka itself as ground of the effort that we are making here.

Each of the analyses already offered illumines the play in a characteristic way, and reveals it as a power- ful communication. But unless we are sure just what

2 'Hero in compassion:' the heroism proper to him who triumphs over passion and self. The more usual vira is the vuddha or rana l'fra, 'hero at war'-the stock hero of the Mahalhha-rata. At least three such dimensions of virva are allowed in the handbooks: see DR 4.73, etc.

23 NB that on neither interpretation is the play about Duryodhana's downfall: the "breaking of the thighs!" Such an interpretation, if a third possibility, would be the least attrac- tive, in that the play itself [our third samdhi] would appear anticlimactic!

Scil. mnukha and nirvahana; indeed, four of the ten rhpakas are so conceived: see Byrski, "Typology ...I" p. 33.

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message the play intends, we can never decide between them.

4. THE RASA OF THE URUBHANGA AND THE QUESTION OF

"TRAGEDY."

The question that remains, then, is to identify the dominant rasa [sthay!] of the play, and derive there- from a conception of the play's unity and purpose. The rasa has been mentioned in the foregoing in connection with several related issues, such as the structure of incidents, and the progression of the plot. Here, how- ever, we must look at the rasa in se; for it is the play's dominant rasa that decides the question of the play's achievement: it is for that that the play has been constructed.

The ruipaka [genre] analysis given above helps in that two rasas, irngdra and has a, must be excluded; indeed, they are excluded from Urubhafiga. It does not suggest which of the remaining six [seven?] should dominate, that is, serve as integrating focus for the play's expression. In no case, except perhaps that of the prahasana ['farce'], is there a necessary correlation between rasa and genre. The exclusion of two can at best be suggestive.

But the two that are excluded are doubtless the most pervasive of the Indian poetic [or any other] tradition: 'love' and 'humor.' This alone marks the vyayoga as a very special genre. In war, it seems, love and mirth have no place: Venus is Mars' true antagonist.

In our discussion of the Urubhanga's structure, we noticed a progression of moods, from the first to the second half of the prologue, then to the play itself. It is this third part, the play itself, that must be allowed the major role in determining the dominant rasa. The pro- logue, whatever its special qualities, is certainly what it is in virtue of the way it prepares us for the climax of the play itself. [That alone is reason enough to doubt that the "breaking of the thighs" is really what the play is all about-at least in the sense of chronicling the downfall of Duryodhana.] And the play itself differs most markedly from the prologue in its rasa.

Although the play proper seems to fall into three subsections [Balarama, Dhrtarastra et al., and Asvat- thaman], the overall mood of pathos and resignation is strongly maintained, and contrasts sharply with the raudra and b-bhatsa of the prologue. Further, the moods which appear to dominate in the two halves of the prologue are neatly integrated into the sequel as complements, sub-dominants: Balardma's and then AMvatthdman's raudra become foils against which Duryodhana's mood of resignation is strongly affirmed.

It might seem then that the characteristic develop- ment of the play proper depends on karuna ['pitiable' or 'pathetic']-the rasa most clearly affirmed in the middle section of conversations with family, but also palpable in the resignation that Duryodhana manifests in opposition to the ferocity of the two warriors. We find karuna in the prologue as well, but only as the rather abstract regret we feel at contemplating such universal calamity [vss. 6, 9, etc.]. It is there subjoined to the prologue's more violent moods. But its promi- nent place in the sequel, which determines in part the characteristic tone of that sequel, makes us ask whether karuna may be considered the dominant rasa of the play.

Much of the interest exhibited in this play, and most of the discussion of it we find in the scholarly literature, revolves, in effect, around this question; but the terms in which it has been usually put are confusingly un-Indian: not "Is karuna the dominant rasa of the Urubhahga?" but "Is the Urubhanga a 'tragedy'?"25 These two questions do not have precisely the same import. We here undertake, by slightly rephrasing the second, to offer answers to both: [A.] Is this play a genuine example of karuna dominant art? and [B.] Would that, if it were the case, suffice to qual- ify the play as a "tragedy?" The latter question, being hypothetical, is taken up first.

That the Urubhanga has been the topic of much commentary derives from the suspicion that it may be a "tragedy." It has become, in other words, part of the larger question as to whether the Indian conception of dramatic art permits of tragedy. But also, the Urubhanga has become the touchstone of the argument-there being few or no other instances of the genre discernible: if the Urubhafiga is a tragedy, it follows that tragedy is within the possibilities of Indian expression. The tone of this discussion betrays, unfor- tunately, very little familiarity with any definite notion of tragedy-Western or Indian; rather, the writers (if Indian) seem more concerned at righting a presumed insult to the national character (as though a nation that lacked "tragedy" were somehow being judged deficient in some essential element of culture). Indeed those writers (Western) who claim tragedy unthinkable in

25 Keith, SD, p. 354; Pusalker, Bhasa..., pp. 136-40 [includes survey of pre-1940 discussions]; G. K. Bhat, "Bhasa and Bharata: The Problem of Tragedy," J. Univ. Bomba ', xxii, pt. 2, republished as Ch. 6 of Bhdsa Studies; N.P. Unni, New Problems in Bhasa Plaois, pp. 74-75 [sees the influence of the Cakyars in the unconventional aspects of the play, such as the staged death of Duryodhana]; etc.

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India often seem to be judging Indian art the worse for it.

There is, of course, no single view of "tragedy," though Aristotle's tends to dominate the discussion, which we find proper, for a classical theory is at issue on the Indian side as well.26 On Aristotle's view, there is in man, in each individual man, an element poten- tially at odds with the cosmos in which that man has his being. His "tragedy" is not the same thing as his downfall; for we are all mortal, and our downfall is a commonplace. Rather, tragedy, in classical terms, is self-induced. Oedipus needed to find out who he was; the citizens of Thebes prayed to Oedipus to discover the cause of their misery and remove it from amongst them. Oedipus, unbeknownst, was that cause; ergo Oedipus, to the extent that he "discovers" himself, has to eliminate himself. The tragic perspective presumes the possibility that all is not well with the world: that a man, because of what he truly is, may justly accomplish his own downfall. In other words, the tragic perspective presumes the individual whose existence and moral status are separable from that of the community in which he finds himself. That essential "separateness" often takes the dramatic form of a "flaw" [hamartia]; it is not so much the hero's flaw as an expression of his alienation vis-a-vis the community.

In this strict [Aristotelian] sense, tragedy seems clearly to be a property and a perspective of Western culture, and inconsistent with many presuppositions of Indian culture, which admits no ultimate divorcement of man's good from the good of all, and considers the separation-indeed, even the death-of man to be a temporary and resolvable condition. The status we call "individual" is, insofar as can be determined, simply a defective condition, requiring remedy, and is not in itself significant, apart from its treatment. In this contrast, it may well be the Indian culture that looks better-the token of which is the Sanskrit drama,

whose resolution is uniformly optimistic the play itself being a celebration of reintegration and wholeness.

In the Urubhahga, as must be clear by this time, Duryodhana is hardly a tragic figure of the Aristotelian sort; so to read him would be to twist the play unrecognizably. Duryodhana's downfall, an event located in the prologue, would become the central event of the drama; the play itself would have to be read as an extended appendix an anticlimax akin to a two-act conversation inserted between Oedipus' blind- ing and Jocasta's death. More importantly, the purport of that "appendix" would have to be ignored, for it argues for integration and reconciliation. The force of the play is such that his victory if not over death, at least over himself and the monstrous evil that his actions created. That is what the play is about: the hero truly triumphant, the hero resurrected from ranavira to dayivira! From this perspective, the play is not only not tragic: it is anti-tragic-and its argument does not differ in principle from the other great works of the Indian dramatic tradition.

Even in Aristotle's terms, Duryodhana does not qualify as a "tragic hero," for he has no flaw in terms of which he might be said to have brought about his own downfall. Even that is the result of another's "treachery." He must therefore be judged either a bad man, his downfall merited, hardly "tragic"- or a good man, his downfall pathetic, because unde- served. It is true that Duryodhana does seem to suffer a peripety in that he comes to recognize the futility of further violence. But his anagnorisis does not present itself as the fruition of his own past (mis-)deeds, much less those of his antagonists: it is simply an acknowl- edgement of defeat, perhaps inevitable, at the hands of a superior force. His call for reconciliation reflects more a judgement as to the value of a persisting family and society, than any judgement of his own or others' behavior. Thus Duryodhana's character does not appear suited to the needs of a tragic plot; and if the plot itself is read as "tragic," his character makes no sense within it.

Does the play, then, in terms more traditionally Indian, presume karuna rasa as its dominant mood? Such might still be the case and we could take as our text the passage of the Poetics just cited, for the specta- cle of a good man suffering is indeed pathetic. But the problems here are more serious than might appear. Duryodhana is far from a good man. He is the arch- villian of the Epic, and nothing in this play argues that he is to be taken otherwise. Still, Aristotle notwith- standing, pathos may not require an essential goodness of character. But if Duryodhana is being punished,

26 Cf. my remarks in "Dramatic Theory and Kalidasa's Plays," Theater of Memorl,, p. 48. The writers defending CJrubhahga as a "tragedy," often make the very interesting mis- take of equating "karunapradhmna" with "tragic:" "As a tragedy of the defeat and death of the mighty Duryodhana, the principal sentiment running throughout is pathos (karuna)" [Pt. S. Rangachar, Bhdsa',v Urubhahgam, p. 33]. G. K. Bhat, while otherwise presenting a very careful and sensitive account of the play's leading theme, argues that it is Duryodhana's (haracter alone that suffices to make CJrubhahga a "tragedy:" "About Duryodhana's greatness and nobility there cannot be any doubt.... Here, therefore, we have a tragedi' of Duri'odhana." [op.cit., p. 95; italics his].

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then, as above, his downfall is appropriate, and not pathetic. But the presupposition of karuna is that suffering is universal, not that it is deserved or undeserved. In any case, since all consequences are deserved (according to the Indian morality most generally applied), Aristotle's matrix of judgement appears irrelevant to the Indian problem.

The question becomes: is Duryodhana's suffering that around which the entire play is organized, and through which it communicates to an attuned audience its message? It seems clear that such cannot be the case- unless we adopt the point of view of Duryodhana's associates for Duryodhana, in his own terms, does not suffer (after the prologue is over): it is his family and friends who do. In the sequel, where their suffering is prominent, Duryodhana's function is to "rise above" such pitiableness, to instruct the members of his family on the limitations of grief. How far this is from the unbridled karuna of Sakuntala, VI!

That we are not able to find karuna here as a domi- nant is perhaps not surprising, considering that its major focus in Indian literature has been as a moment of irngara rasa: the vipralambha phase of 'love in sepa- ration' [as in Sakuntala, VI]. Even there, it is rarely if ever intended as dominant," given the optimistic

Indian universe: suffering is but the foil to an inevitable reunion.

And so, even in our Urubhanga. Logically, I think, we are driven to the conclusion if Duryodhana is accepted as protagonist that karuna here too is but a foil to another dominant: the dominant suggested by his character throughout the play, and especially in the play proper his heroism, virya. The play charts his transformation, as we have argued above, as vira; but at no instant does his character deviate from that essential norm. DayavTrya is not so much a new or changed heroism, as the same heroism applied to new circumstances. Duryodhana becomes dayavira before our eyes; we too are emboldened to persevere, through whatever peril to and beyond the grave.

And so, lastly, the question of whether the play may involve santa rasa is moot. Santa would in any case be quite difficult to distinguish from the dayavvr-ya we have discerned (with its essential subjunction of karuna), and perhaps would depend even more on the ideology of the analysis, than its theatricality. The designation ?anta allies the play much more explicitly with religious currents of thought and action than may strictly speaking be necessary in order to under- stand the play's dramatic force. In any case, we hold that the Urubhanga is quite well explained within the canons of the traditional dramaturigical theory, as dayavirryapradhana, 'chiefly expressive of compassionate heroism.'

27 Though it may be said to be so in isolated [muktaka] verses: cf. Bhartrhari's Satakatrai'a.

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