Kalidasa, the Poet

BY S. BALAKRISHNAN ¹

I

The Mahabharata and the Ramayana are undoubtedly our greatest poetical legacies, but Kalidasa is our greatest poet.

Arthur Ryder says when writing on Kalidasa that "rarely has a man walked our earth who observed the phenomena of living Nature as accurately as he, though his accuracy was of course that of the poet, not that of the scientist." Ryder was perfectly true. For Kalidasa knew minutely a continent's flowers and trees and brooks and landscape; more, he observed them sympathetically. The Himalayas of snowy grandeur, undefiled and pure, of awful majesty and giant strength; the windy music singing to the eternal snow; chill Himalaya's breeze; the breeze surcharged with Ganga's cool soft spray; the warm south-wind from the far Malaya-Hills; the holy Ganga, washing the mountain-pines; not these alone had caught our poet's view. For his were all smaller brooks and littlest flowers; not pouring rains alone and clouds were his; for, to adapt the words of a worthy, the tears of flowers he turned to visible pearls.

Thus far even a casual reader will agree with Ryder. But Ryder has taken a step further–and a tremendous step it is–and says: "It is delightful to imagine a meeting between Kalidasa and Darwin. They would have understood each other perfectly; for in both the same kind of imagination worked with the same wealth of observed fact." Why then, is the vast difference between the two mighties? Why should one be the greatest revolutionist and claim all the field of natural history as his own? And why should the other be one of the greatest poets–and considering his glorious achievements in all the different fields of poetry, the greatest poet–a poet who was great alike in epic composition, in drama and in lyrical poetry, who was original too in the method or writing poetry, in having created a new genre in the Megha-Duta.

A Ruskin will easily give a reply to this. The accuracy of our poet's knowledge was stayed by the tenderness of his emotion; and that, is exactly what Ruskin wants.

And plain Keats! He said that proud philosophy will clip an angel's wings to the rainbow. What would he have felt if he had read in the Kumara-Sambhava the descriptions of the Beautiful and the Permanent, the pictures of the sunset, the twilight and the nightfall on the mountains, the incomparable picture of spring and love, allover which is shed the magic of Kalidasa's style! Kalidasa clipped no angel's wings: only an ennobling human charm, enhanced often by love, beautified by a woman's presence, and all these purified again by Nature. Truly Kalidasa created no angel's wings out of the rainbow, though he built a bridge with the light of the setting Sun–which however Keats would have been pleased with:

See, my beloved, how the Sun
With beams that o'er the water shake
From western skies has now begun
A bridge of gold across the lake.

(Ryder’s translation).

I shall in this connection (regarding this topic of Kalidasa's ‘Nature-poetry’) now quote one instance–which has to my knowledge escaped notice of critics–for the poet's impulse underlying it is indisputable to the most careless of readers. Kalidasa has reduced in his Raghu-Vamsa effectively and brilliantly the long epic of the Ramayana into six short cantoes. Within this restricted limit, he has devoted one entire canto (the thirteenth) to describe the scenes and the realms which the aerial car flies over as it carries the triumphant hero to the city of his sires. Valmiki himself in his epic–which is considered to be twice as lengthy as the Iliad and the Odyssey put together–describes the triumphant journey in but a short chapter. Now Kalidasa has enlarged this alone and endowed it with a beauty which none but he can give. It thus occupies a very prominent place indeed in his condensed story. Its prominence is more striking because the previous canto is a particularly condensed narrative. And what a speedy, brilliant picture of all scenes of broad and minute beauty is given us! But observe: is not an unduly great proportion devoted to this? Yes; and why? Because Kalidasa is so fond of Nature; and he lavishes here his best on her. He loves her more than love and women themselves. Love of Nature forms a greater part of his poetic temperament than love. And any excess of passion–if any stole over his bosom, as he says it crept over Shiva, ‘dreaded God of dauntless will’–was subdued and soothed again, and ennobled and purified, by love of external Nature with its innocent children, and by reflection on the Permanent.

II

One of the greater poems of Kalidasa is the Raghu-Vamsa; and the thirteenth canto is one of the most delightful cantoes in the poem. It speaks much indeed of the poet who wrote it. One significance of this canto has been pointed out in the previous part. Let us again in our imagination transport ourselves to the aerial car and gaze on the passing scenes below. We feel the freshness of the sea-breeze as we fly amidst the clouds, and the breath of a cool sky, and we hear the majestic voice of the ocean roaring below. The sight of land entrances us as the sea recedes, and we are now up above the holy spot Pra-ya-ga, where two sacred waters meet:

Oh faultless Sita mine, of faultless limbs,
See here the holy Ganga's clear wave
With Jumna intermix'd of waters blue,
See Ganga's current broken by her rival.
It seems a pearly necklace here that's woven
With emeralds covering it in splendour mixed;
And there, a lotus-chaplet white, set in
With lotuses all blue at intervals;
And there again, a row of flamingoes
From Manasa, midst geese of dark grey wings;
Seems here like grounds with whitest sandal smeared
And bearing ornamental leaves, black-sandaled;
And yonder there, all beautiful, equals
The splendour of the moonlight 'neath the shades,
By darkness lying there variegated;
And yonder there, it looks like streaks all white
Of clouds autumnal that midst them betray
A little sky to view thro' openings clear;
And here it looks a part of Shiva's form,
Anointed pure with sacred ash all o'er,
And adorned too with snakes all black; ah, thus
The merging glory of the waters two.

Many may think this a little overdone. But each comparison brings out the little differences in the mingling of the colours of the two streams at different places. In accents, how clearly forcible, does this speak to us that, to Kalidasa, the Infinite Great was never far from the Infinite small! The merging of the waters suggests to him a pearly necklace, equals a lotus-chaplet, a flight of birds, the ornamental leaves, the moonlight and the shade, the clouds, and lastly Shiva Himself. I shall not labour this point. If he had not solved that Great Equation, how could he have connected the birds and the lotuses and Shiva? And do you doubt the truth of Kalidasa's belief? If you do, my word is briefly told: the poet's vision can never fail; go, read the science of the atom and the star.

It is a common saying about Darwin that though many had visions of ‘the web of Life,’ none had spun it as well as he. For a poet, visions must suffice; and Kalidasa felt the thread of unity, running in all the living world and in the Universe. The human drama to him is staged against a ground of universal life. To him, human life is set to the varied harmony of Nature's symphony–to quote Tagore's phrase. "The moon-beams of the summer-evening" to quote Tagore again, "resonant with the flow of fountains, acknowledge it as a part of its own melody. In its rhythm sways the Kadamba forest, glistening in the first cool rain of the season; and the south breezes, carrying the scent of the fragrant blossoms, temper it with their murmur." Thus his pictures of human love are painted upon a ‘limitless canvas.’ The third canto of Kumara-Sambhava is a most convincing illustration.

To him man was inseparable from Nature. Kalidasa, as Ryder says, can hardly be said to be primarily a poet of the human heart, nor can it be said that he is primarily a poet of natural beauty. "The two characters unite in him, it may almost be said, chemically," says Ryder, "What I am clumsily endeavouring to say, is beautifully epitomised in the Cloud-Messenger. The former part is a description of natural beauty, yet interwoven with human feeling; the latter half is a picture of the human heart, yet the picture is framed in natural beauty."

Thus, while great poets like Wordsworth hold the view bordering on pessimism, that the more man is centred on himself–the more ‘the world is too much’ with him,–the more he cuts himself off from Nature, Kalidasa maintains an opposite view. Let man be self-important, only let him not chase love away for his own beloved, then all is right with the world. Love–that is the remedy. "All is right with the world as long as man and woman love!² Sympathy for all creatures, says Kalidasa, proceeds from true and ardent love of one's own beloved–love whether in union or in separation.

We shall now illustrate this from his works. Self-centred interests of mankind–which drove Wordsworth to cry out in anguish "little we see in Nature that is ours"–this self-importance, says Kalidasa, tries to find sympathy in Nature, and it does so most beautifully in the case of women. Let us begin with the case of women, and let us take the happy case of love in union.

Let us imagine the scene. We go to a beautiful young woman at sunset and we ask her,

Maiden, maiden, smiling sweet,
As closes in the dusk of eve,
Oh happy maiden, what thought rich
Makes you smiling, gay and sweet?

In reply says Kalidasa's maiden, "Sir"–she now points to the day-blooming lily at sunset–"Sir, the water-lily closes now, but how happy she will be at morn," And then she sings,

The water-lily closes, O,
The water-lily closes slow–
Reluctant droops her dear head now:
Poor thing! Against her wish–O how reluctant she
To shut her welcome door to the honey-bee!
Yet lily-pet, she shall revive when the morning breeze doth blow,
And dear thing! How she will raise her head at morn–Happy!
Happy then she will be
To ope her bosom to the honey-bee.

Thus, Kalidasa's maiden sympathises with lower forms of life, knowing as she does the beauty of the feelings of her own sex.

III

If we had raised an objection to Kalidasa that he read Kalidasa in all, he would have cried out merely: "Is not each kind of life one great drama of Love in five acts–longing (or, attraction, if you choose), union, fulfillment, influence (happy change of mind) on all the creatures around; and Love's triumph beyond? . . . And who is not renewed in spirit by the sentiment of love? Which sorrows does not love's deep simple wisdom heal? What but love makes life happy to live? And what but love finds deepest beauties and greatest truths and grandest plans in Nature? What but love unites man with the rest of creation by sympathy, and broadens his love and kindness to them?" etc.

Now we have returned to the point we started from, that is, sympathy for all creatures proceeds from true love of one's own beloved; and let us now take up the illustrations. Return to his maidens. We have seen his happy maiden, happy in her union; and we have heard her song brimming out of her lips. Let us now hear a disconsolate maiden of his, abandoned by her lover. She sings a pathetic little song, to lighten a little her gloom by way of songs:

You kiss'd the stale-hued mango-flower,
O buzzing guest, you honey-bee,
You gave her all within your power,
Yet the only boon she ask'd of thee,
You gave it her so tenderly,
You gave her all your passion's doze,
You fickle bee that go to where the air most scented blows.
And how are you now tempted thus,
Alas, by the deceiving lotus?
No loving hear’s she has, I know,
But fresher honey is sweet, you think;
Alas, will you be lured by ev'ry show?
Will you forget the old for newer drink?

This unhappy maiden here uses the same flower-and-bee idea of the happy maiden. But even if it be not granted that to women spring is always the inspiration, the same idea is modified in every different case so as almost to be original and no stale repetition.

With respect to women, then, his words have been proved, proved from Kalidasa's own stand-point. It is good enough in the case of women. But in the case of men, the men are tinged with a touch of a little too meditative turn, unbecoming a man. The critic's work however is to point out the idea of the poet and not to criticize it.

This is Kalidasa's argument: a bereaved lover appreciates external beauties more than anybody. He finds beauty in them, though proceeding only from the selfish motive of trying to find his lost love there or to identify her among them. The object having the minutest resemblance to her or even to any part of her catches his eyes; and because he has his eyes ever alert to find this beauty anywhere, he finds beauty everywhere he searches. For instance, he thinks he sees his lost love in a stream, and he exlaims:

The rippling curve is truly her arch frown,
The row of sailing swans her girdle zone;
The streaks of foam, by winds all scattered blown,
Her flutt'ring garment is, her garment own;
The devious current now to me does seem
Her stumbling gait. ’T is she–for Nature cannot scheme–
’T is she, ’tis she, turned now in her wrath into a stream.

‘This is from the fourth Act of Vikrama-Urvasi which abounds in such beautiful and apt fancies. Now, indeed, in the above piece, the sailing swan appeals to the bereaved lover more sympathetically beautiful than merely appearing, as it did to Wordsworth,

"To float double, swan and shadow"³

Indeed Kalidasa's bereaved lovers, in their expression of love-lorn sorrow, are often more wide-reaching in their sympathy than in the above case. Hear how the love-lorn Yaksha cries out in anguish to the cloud, that through the cloud she may hear:

Thy slender limbs I see in the graceful creeper,
Thine archful glances in the eyes of startled deer,
Thy curved eye-brows in small ripples of the river,
Thy shining tresses in the fair-plumed peacock's pride;
Thy lovely face in the cool moon's disc I oft have spied,
Thy sportive frown in the curving river's dimpled tide;
But ’lack, these combined charms in one sweet form
I ne'er can see, ah ne'er behold thy combined charm!

Beautiful indeed ! In tones of how unmistakable sorrow does it speak to us of the Yaksha's love-lorn condition!

Now one case yet remains to be illustrated–the case of man in happy union. Without more ado, let us ask, "Well, the same river with its sombre mist, that appeared to Vikrama his own love transformed, how does it appeal to a happy lover?"

Her reeds to him seem hands
That clutch,–ah, too zealous
To hide her charms,–the dress,
And veil her loveliness.

These display intense poetic feeling, a heart which throbbed with the sway of the branches, a mind which saw Nature vibrating with life. All his poems have been written on a literally limitless canvas, and no illustrations can exhaust them. Turn wherever we may, we still find equal beauties greeting us, literary treats everywhere awaiting us.

IV

It is as a poet of natural beauty that Kalidasa decidedly towers above all other poets who were born to charm the world. If you will have the sweetest beauties of Nature, and pregnant brevity of poetic picture, all beauty's landscape vivid-coloured, all Nature's realms most glorious-flowered, I must beg your indulgence to recite all his poems. And if I were to give you fair pictures of Nature's scenes from his poetry, I may as well take you round the whole wide India's land and down its rivers. As an Indian critic points out, Kalidasa is the only poet who has described a particular flower growing in Kashmir.

So it is that Ryder says, "Poetical fluency is not rare; intellectual grasp is not very uncommon; but the combination has not been found perhaps more than a dozen times since the world began. Because he possessed this harmonious combination, Kalidasa ranks not with Anacreon and Horace and Shelley, but with Sophocles, Virgil, Milton." It is evident too that no man would write as he wrote without deep and careful study. He was a man of extensive education and vast culture. He had mastered the science of grammar which is believed to require twelve years’ study; he had mastered the works on dramaturgy and rhetoric; he knew the most profound systems of philosophy, he knew the elements of astronomy and law. At the same time he found time to stroll through a continent and observe minutely. Throughout all the aspects of the man, this singular balance of character comes to his help. "Thus the great Bhavabhuti spent his whole life in constructing three dramas; mighty spirit though he was, he suffered from the very scrupulosity of his labour. In this matter, as in others, Kalidasa preserves his intellectual balance and his spiritual initiative: what greatness of soul is required for this, everyone knows who has ever had the misfortune to differ in opinion from an intellectual clique."

Kalidasa is a great poet of the heart, a very great dramatist. At the same time, in Kalidasa's poetry, brighter Nature appears most truly personified, both broadly grand like Milton's and minutely beautiful like Wordsworth's or Tennyson's, with charms as well as music in her. And the sonorous solemnity which his poetry attains to suit sublime descriptions like that of Shiva in the third canto of Kumara-Sambhava and beautiful descriptions like that of Parvati in the sante canto, are incomparable. What Beethoven said of Goethe's poetry⁴ is mightily true with respect to Kalidasa's–that it exerts a sway over us not only by the meaning but by the rhythm also. Kalidasa has beautified things and incidents of daily occurrence, as did Wordsworth. He is one of the glorious lyric poets. He is a master of historical poetry–poetry of the type of Scott’s Lord of the Isles, because he had to follow in his Raghu-Vamsa written records, though even the records were in the epic vein and of imaginary mighties. If Shakespeare and Milton have created two kinds of sonnets, Kalidasa created a new genre in his Megha-Duta. Thus take whatever poet we may, Kalidasa rises equal tohim. Kalidasa's genius displays itself in all the different fields of poetry as one of the highest rank. Ryder ranked him with Milton. Kalidasa was what Milton chiefly was–a poet of epic composition. He had what Milton had–great scholarliness, and more, because he refrained from the over-scrupulosity of labour against the tendencies of the age. And Kalidasa was also what Milton was not–a great poet of the human heart. The quality and variety of Kalidasa's poetry is such that we can argue to his advantage against any other poet–though that will show an eminently diseased taste on the part of the critic.

Kalidasa is universally acclaimed as the essence and the darling of Hindu Culture. Sakuntala's marriage is at first tinged with passion, so she has to suffer for it; and only after cruel suspicion and meek humiliation have purified her love from passion does she enter into the true happiness that is now her right after her great trial, grown more beautiful than ever and proved courageous and sweet by her painful experience. Toquote another instance, in the Kumara-Sambhava, Parvati who is merely the live woman of the earth is altogether unable to win the love of Shiva; and after the mortification of her little faith (not to say, pride) in her beauty, she reproaches her own beauty as being useless and vain; and it is only through humiliation, service and penance that she wins at last the love of the great God, who has also prepared Himself for the sweet duty by great purity of thought and mind arising from penance ; and thus their love bestows the gods with a conquering hero who is to overthrow the aggressive Titans. This shows that Kalidasa not only sang of love but often of deeper love and peace. That is why the late Mr. V. Krishnaswami Aiyar used to say: "He knows little of the true inwardness of Hindu Culture who knows not the best of Kalidasa's creation."

1 The translations, when not otherwise stated, are by the author.

2 Quoted from Ryder.

3 From Yarrow Unvisited.

4 See George Henry Lewes’ Life of Goethe.