Sakuntala

Texts, Readings, Histories

Romila Thapar

• Publisher: Columbia University Press
• Year: 2011
• ISBN:
  9780231527026
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Hinduism

The figure of Sakuntala appears in many forms throughout South Asian literature, most famously in the Mahabharata and in Kalidisa's fourth-century Sanskrit play, Sakuntala and the Ring of Recollection. In these two texts, Sakuntala undergoes a critical transformation, relinquishing her assertiveness and autonomy to become the quintessentially submissive woman, revealing much about the performance of Hindu femininity that would come to dominate South Asian culture. Through a careful analysis of sections from Sakuntala and their various iterations in different contexts, Romila Thapar explores the interactions between literature and history, culture and gender, that frame the development of this canonical figure, as well as a distinct conception of female identity.

1. Preliminaries

THIS essay is primarily concerned with the interface between literature and history. Historians comb literature for historical facts, references to events or descriptions of a particular historical time: all of which continues to be a legitimate historical enterprise. My intention here is to change the focus somewhat. I would like to take a literary item—such as a narrative—retold a few times and treat this repetition as a prism through which to view points of historical change. These are provided by the same story being retold in variant ways. At a later stage, translations of one of these variants and the commentaries thereon also become part of this biography of a narrative, and provide a perspective on the historical moments conditioning their reception. Underlying this exercise is the suggestion that an item of literature, as a narrative, relates to history, not for what it says which is anyway fictional, but for what it might indicate as being historically significant.

The narrative I have chosen focuses on a young woman, Śakuntalā. That each variant of the story created at different historical periods projects her differently, not only allows a historical view on the story, but also introduces a gender perspective. This is the perspective from which the interface between literature and history will be viewed in this essay. The form which the variants take, the later extensive translations of one among these into European and Indian languages, and the cultural interpretations which they foster, makes the narrative an item of cultural history. The variants of the narrative take on the character of cultural representations. In effect therefore, tracing the history of this narrative itself becomes an even more complex interface between literature, history, gender and culture. It is not my intention here to explore it in depth, rather to demonstrate that it is a viable activity which will direct us to many unexplored dimensions of both our past and our present.

In the conceptualising of Indian culture today, a question which is implicit concerns the relationship of precolonial culture to the colonial and that which has followed. My attempt will be to delineate this relationship in broad terms by using one significant narrative which has been part of a cultural construction at many points in Indian history. Its repeated occurrence, although in variant forms, has in the past been treated as a relatively unchanging continuity. I would like to argue that the narrative, like an actor, plays many parts, some accommodating and others contesting its earlier forms, and that it has an intimate relationship with its historical context. How then does the narrative interface with the historical moment? In this essay, I hope to show how cultural symbols, idioms, icons, are changed in differing historical contexts; and to underline the kind of disjuncture introduced by colonial intervention. The imprint of the latter can, and often does, colour our reading of the pre-colonial past. This is not to suggest that prior to colonial readings the view was linear and unbroken, but rather to argue that the colonial intervention has made for a more emphatic imprint on our contemporary life than earlier historical interventions. This becomes pertinent if one argues, as I do, that the delineation of the past can often be a reconstruction drawing on the needs of the present.

Related to this is the question of the centrality of the notion of being critical or analytical about the interfaces of cultural expression. Are such analyses associated only with modern times, assuming that there was little or no intellectual confrontation earlier, or that the social underpinnings of cultural articulations are as yet not familiar to those investigating the early past? Even more significant is the question of when an issue of cultural articulation breaks away from being viewed as part of the controversy within an authentic, prior tradition, to being seen as one of contemporary importance. It is linked to the assertion, by some, that culture evolves naturally through the interaction of people and is therefore not created or cultivated by particular groups. The Nature versus Culture debate, much discussed in eighteenth and nineteenth century Europe, was crucial not just to Romantic poetry but also to some European perspectives on human society.

The concept of “culture” as a literary form in relation to the early past implies an intersecting of disciplines, of which history is foundational. In the Indian situation it involves not only the original text and its historical context, but often the Orientalist reading of it and the internalising of this reading by Indian commentators of the last two centuries. Understanding this process entails questioning, or at least contextualising, the Orientalist representation and being conscious of the paradigms of European perspectives which have been brought to bear on Indian culture. An understanding of the tradition does not mean merely negating these paradigms but contextualising the elements of what is sought to be defined as “the tradition”.

Understanding a cultural item historically also involves some comprehension of what it was identified with and the ideology which it represented. Identities in the past have been various, and any one item can have multiple identities which change at historical moments. Creative articulations in the form of cultural items relate to the dominant ideology in various ways ranging from endorsing to confronting it; the relationship has been directed to questions of caste, class, ethnicity, gender and so on, although those dictating the dominant ideology tend to project it as free of contestation. This combination of identity and ideology means that culture has a historical dimension as seen in the forms selected for the creation of a cultural item, and a social dimension in the assumption that the ideologies’ of the dominant groups are the ones sought to be imprinted.

I would like to touch on some of these ideas, using the narrative of Śakuntalā. My focus therefore is not on the play per se, but on the treatment of the central figure, the woman who transforms the narrative. It is also to consider the reasons for changes in the narrative and the relation which its various forms have with their historical context, as seen through the changing representation of Śakuntalā. Some viewing of gender relations in variant times and places thus becomes a part of the theme.

My interest in looking at variations of the same theme at different points of time has to do with how the past is viewed by the present—wherever the present is located in time. There is therefore a constant dialogue between the past and the present. Because of this, the same theme often undergoes change, such change acting as an indicator of the dialogue, and of different readings and histories. A popular theme becomes multi-layered because of its varying forms: perhaps some of the many pasts which contributed to its present form can be prised apart. The present selects items from the past which are used to invent or refashion what comes to be called a “tradition”.¹ These are generally items which the present finds attractive and which legitimise its various codes of behaviour and belief. The making of a tradition becomes yet another dialogue with the past. It is often a perceived past which contributes to the construction of history, although in effect it may well derive from the perspectives of the present.²

I would like to illustrate this by taking up the theme of Śakuntalā, a young woman who features in the earlier Sanskrit texts and whose character and personality change with new renderings of her story or with later comments on them. The representation of Śakuntalā in varied historical contexts, where each of these, it seems to me, dominates the reading of the original character, also becomes an appropriate entry point for looking at facets of the history of that time. That she is a woman introduces the dimension of gender, and it is striking that her representation as a woman alters radically over the centuries. This is evident not just from the way in which she is presented in the different versions of the story, but also in the assessment of her significance in its modern interpretations. This touches not merely on the narrative but also on her identification with what surrounds her. The perception of this identification changes interestingly with the treatment of the woman in the various versions.

The earliest narration occurs in the epic, the Mahābhārata, in the form of kāvya/poetry. An expanded treatment of the narrative is best known as the play, Abhijñāna-śākuntalam by Kālidāsa which, although it borrows the story from the epic, nevertheless differs from it significantly. The dramatic form was a deliberate distancing from the epic since the two genres reflected diverse literary and social interests. The interface between literary forms and their social context can be ways of exploring the social order, especially when the form changes so radically. That Sanskrit was the language of the epic meant that it was not restricted to ritual compositions, and its more commonly used version, which Pānini refers to as Bhāṣā, was employed in non-liturgical compositions. This was further strengthened when royal inscriptions in Indian languages came to be composed in Sanskrit and not exclusively in Prākrit, as they were in the Mauryan period. The earliest Sanskrit inscriptions are associated with rulers of northern and western India and with dynasties which we now describe as foreign. There is an identity of language in the epic and the drama, but the two genres mould the language in distinctive ways.

Whenever Śakuntalā is mentioned we think immediately of the play by Kālidāsa which has been, and continues to be, valued both by Indian commentators as well as others who have read it in Sanskrit, or in translation. Given the status of Kālidāsa as a poet, the fine quality of the play in terms of language and structure, and the evocations of masterly metaphors, it is not surprising that it has always been held as an exemplar of Sanskrit drama. An understanding of the play is furthered if one is familiar with what existed before, how it was later constantly reshaped in translations—both literary and visual—which followed from it, and the perspectives from which it was viewed. Each new treatment provides an aspect which either illuminates the text or is a reflection of the historical moment when its particular perspective came into being.

The theme was selected by Kālidāsa from an earlier source, the Mahābhārata, and treated very differently in the creation of the play, but the earlier source tends to be excluded from discussions about the play, in part perhaps to subordinate historical exegesis. Yet for many centuries, Indian audiences would have known both versions of the story, versions which were dissimilar in important respects. Since they belong to two different historical periods and relate to diverse social backgrounds, there is more than just a variance in literary style. The choice today of the Kālidāsa version as almost the sole narrative is an endorsement of the views of both classical Sanskrit and Orientalist scholarship, which affirmed the superiority of the play and therefore the centrality of its narrative. Jones’ declaration that Kālidāsa was “the Shakespeare of India” is still widely quoted. That Sanskrit literary criticism centuries earlier had given it the same status was not foregrounded in this assessment. It had been evaluated in terms of dramaturgy and literary quality, whereas now what is more popularly commented upon is the leading character of the play, Śakuntalā herself. Evaluation in terms of dramaturgy implied that the depiction of the woman was not autonomous but in accordance with the requirements of dramatic theory. Literary critics of our times were less concerned with evaluating the two literary forms, kāvya and nāṭaka. Orientalism, in using the play as an articulation of Indian culture—and particularly as reflected in the depiction of Śakuntalā—could well have drawn on a comparison of the woman in the two genres, but did not do so.

Orientalism of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries influenced many cultural choices of the Indian middle class, among them being a perception of what was regarded as the Indian cultural tradition. The question of Indian womanhood was an important dimension of this perception, and Kālidasa’s Śakuntalā was seen to epitomise the Indian woman. What is regarded as “tradition” however, is always selective and needs to be understood in terms of why particular selections were made at particular moments.

The epic as narrative is believed to predate Kālidāsa by a few centuries and, possibly, has an even earlier origin in the oral tradition.³ Dating the Mahābhārata has been a perennial debate. As an oral epic it may well go back to earlier centuries, but at some point it was converted into a text, although left open to interpolations. The bracket of 400 B.C. to A.D. 400 would probably be the most appropriate for the text. Similarly the date for Kālidāsa varies but he is generally placed in about the fourth century A.D. This allows of two possibilities: that the epic version predated the play or, that the two were closer in time, but evolved from dichotomous social contexts and addressed different audiences. Neither possibility disallows a discussion of the differences in both and some analysis of the reasons for these.

The two versions belong to different genres and their literary and social purpose differs; divergences would therefore be expected. The epic version was initially bardic recitation, as part of the oral performance of such narratives for an audience of chiefs and clansmen. Epics were stitched together from bardic fragments where the fragments often observe the morphology of folk narratives.⁴ Such fragments had their origin in stories of heroic feats, myths and possibly a community memory of what were believed to have been events which had taken place in earliest times. It was in part a recital of what was claimed to be family history and the deeds of actual or fictive ancestors, for many later clans sought status through linking themselves with the earliest established clans. The oral nature of the epic made it prone to narrative stereotypes, repetition of actions and formulaic verses. It was also prone to interpolations which were inserted as and when required, or for that matter to deletions of some portions if thought necessary. The final text therefore takes on the quality of a palimpsest.

This was different from a court drama, written in finely honed and crafted language, performed before a select audience on a special occasion, and familiar to a literate, formally educated, sophisticated segment of society—the urban nāgarakas. It was the legitimation by paradigm not of the clan but of the court and the dynasty, and moulded in the tradition of the romantic comedy where the sport of kings was articulated in hunting and romantic love. Themes were often taken from the epic or earlier compositions which would make them familiar to the audience, and in doing so there would have been some reflective search for links, but not in too apparent a fashion. Yet it is likely that the Śakuntalā of the epic would have been more widely known at the popular level than the heroine of the drama. Taking a story from the epic repertoire and converting it into a play with the highlighting of a mood, an emotion or a situation was common to other cultures as well, and the Greek tradition comes immediately to mind.

Differences in cultural preference are often socially conditioned and socially functional. The Kālidāsa version could have been seen as a refinement of the epic version. Court culture inevitably was associated with the ruling class, particularly in well-stratified societies. Even the later version of the narrative in Braj-bhāṣā, intended for the court, had limited audiences among the aristocracy of the eighteenth century. Although they considerably widened the social span by adapting the story to more commonly spoken languages, the adaptations nevertheless remained a part of court culture. Translations of the Kālidāsa play into modern European languages introduced further historical dimensions, such as German Romanticism and British Orientalism, and these in turn influenced the modern Indian perception of the significance of the narrative. But the modern treatment of high culture allows for many foci which are expressed simultaneously, and so the theme of Śakuntalā is depicted in painting, read as a Sanskrit text by students, and made into popular films.

2. The Narrative from the Mahābhārata

WHAT appear to be the mythical pre-epic origins of the narrative of Śakuntalā occur in some parts of the Vedic corpus. An early but passing reference to her is made in the Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa,⁵ where she is linked to the preeminent clan of the Bharatas, whose greatness could not be superceded by any. It is said that the apsarā Śakuntalā conceived Bharata at Nāḍapit (which a later text glosses as the location of the āśrama of the ṛṣi Kaṇva). Bharata, the son of Duḥṣanta, performed a gigantic aśvamedha sacrifice, where seventy-eight horses were bound near the Yamunā river and fifty-five near the Gaṅgā, a fantasy on the preeminence of the Bharatas. He conquered the earth and brought more than a thousand horses for Indra’s sacrifice. This in itself marks him out as extraordinary, for horses were imported from the north-west and much prized. The exaggerated figure for the number of horses therefore is more an indication of the esteem in which Bharata was held and the presumed efficacy of the sacrifice, than a literal accounting of the numbers involved. The connection between the deity Indra and the lineage of Bharata was close, and is often reiterated. The mother of such a hero was clearly special.

Another passing reference is made to Bharata in the Aitareya Brāhmaṇa⁶ where Dīrghatamas is said to have anointed Bharata, who then conquered in every direction and performed many aśvamedhas. The number of horses involved increases a hundredfold in this version and the number of cows gifted runs into thousands. The name Dīrghatamas—literally, deep darkness—supports the legend that he was born blind, and in later life set adrift in a river which took him to the Aṅga country in the east where he married outside the social pale.⁷ His son Kakṣīvant was therefore a dāsi-putra brāhmaṇa, by birth a brāhmaṇa of lower status, but an established category nev...