There lived a wealthy brāhmaṇa by name Śivadatta in the city of Hastināpura. I am his son; my name is Vasudatta; even in my boyhood I learnt the Vedas and the śāstras; my father got me married to an illustrious girl from a noble family.
Bhavabhūti epitomizes the vicitra-mārga that Kuntaka propounds.[1] A word that captures his use of language and delineation of emotions is fulness – fulness bordering on excess. He likes repetition and overemphasis. He has repeated several verses in his plays.[2] What is atyukti to most people is to him a nyūnokti.
Let us briefly examine the literary scene prevalent in Sanskrit when Bhavabhūti began writing plays. While dramatists respected the compositions of past masters such as Bhāsa, Śūdraka and Kālidāsa, they mostly took to writing risqué ‘causeries’ (bhāṇa) and ‘harem romances’ (nāṭikā). Examples include such plays as Padma-prābhṛtaka, Pāda-tāḍitaka, Dhūrta-viṭa-saṃvāda, Ubhayābhisārikā (collectively termed as Caturbhāṇī), Priyadarśikā and Ratnāvalī (both by Harṣavardhana).
Thus after reuniting with his ministers, Mṛgāṅkadatta continued his journey through the jungles of the Vindhyās. When they reached a place which had ample shade and water, they took a bath and ate the fruits they had gathered. Right then, from behind a shrub nearby, they overheard someone talking. Out of curiosity they slowly went there. To their surprise they saw a huge elephant taking care of a tired blind man who lay on the ground. It was offering him fruits and water and fanning cool air upon him with its huge ears.
There, he found a yakṣiṇī, who had a divine charm. She was in the company of her maidens. Śrīdarśana saw that they were carrying varieties of delicacies and drinks; he gathered courage and went to them seeking the share of a guest. One of the women was impressed with his courage and offered food that would suffice for three people. After the three ate their portions of food, Mukhuraka said – “Ārya! You really are a man filled with divine qualities. I will offer my sister, this charming girl, in marriage to you!” He agreed and said – “So be it!
Über-human and sub-human characters do not produce rasa unless they are ‘humanized’ – this is a fundamental tenet of aesthetics. A great poet knows from experience that his work will gain depth only when the characters pass through various trials involving basic human feelings such as love, fury and hatred. Vālmīki and Vyāsa, Kālidāsa’s predecessors, have portrayed their protagonists as human beings through and through. They have succeeded not just in highlighting the mortal weaknesses of Rāma and Kṛṣṇa but in drawing attention to their inherent greatness.
After he cured all of Guṇākara's wounds, Mṛgāṅkadatta continued on his voyage. One night, he was fast asleep under a tree in Vindhyāṭavi. When he was awakened from his sleep, he found that some stranger was asleep amidst them. When the blanket that covered him was removed and his face was revealed, it turned out to be his own minister Vicitrakatha! As soon as this was known, everyone became alert. He narrated his story in the following words:
Let us proceed to the sixth act of Abhijñānaśākuntala. Duṣyanta has made a painting of Śakuntalā. The vidūṣaka takes one look at it and exclaims: “Madhurāvasthāna-darśanīyo bhāvānupraveśaḥ,” “You have sketched her posture so charmingly that real emotions seem to enter the painting!” (Loose translation.) These words are of supreme significance to aesthetics. Duṣyanta’s brimming love for Śakuntalā has been reflected in the painting and has made it attractive in every aspect.
Long ago lived a brāhmaṇa boy called Mālādhara. One day, he saw a siddha boy flying in the sky and developed an insatiable desire to fly. He fashioned wings out of foliage and tied them upon his person and tried to jump and leap about. Kumārasvāmin who was passing by in the sky noticed the boy’s futile attempts. Out of compassion, the lord took Mālādhara into his order. Thus it follows that true courage pleases even the deities.