Appeasement of Radhika Page 2

  Caught in the fervour of nation-making, the early years of the twentieth century saw widespread public debate reexamining Indian culture and tradition. In an essay titled Empire, Nation and the Literary text, authors Susie Tharu and K. Lalita say: ‘Bureaucrats, missionaries, journalists and western commentators of various kinds filed sensational reports on Indian culture and made authoritative analyses on Indian character which was invariably represented as deceitful, irrational and sexually perverse.’ As the social purity movement spread from Great Britain to India, the rather extreme views held by reformers, missionaries as well as the local bourgeoisie sought to change the status of women in colonial India and in particular to abolish ‘nautch-girls, devadasis, and dancing girls’ as they were seen as being nothing more than prostitutes and thereby a menace to civilized society.

  This found deep resonance with the indigenous Brahmanic patriarchy who with their newly acquired Victorian prudery found Muddupalani’s verses too erotic for popular consumption; they issued stern warnings to the general public against interacting with musicians and temple dancers as they were a ‘damaging and corrupting’ influence. Legal experts in Britain were consulted and when they interpreted obscenity as anything that could adversely affect public morals, action was taken under Section 292 of the Indian Penal Code.

  Nagarathnamma’s edition of Muddupalani’s book was published by Vavilla Ramaswamy Sastrulu, a renowned Telugu pundit and owner of Saraswati Mudralaya which later became famous as the Vavilla Press. This edition priced at six annas caught the attention of Sasilekha, a Telugu literary magazine based in Madras. Taking the high moral ground, the magazine condemned the book: ‘a prostitute had composed the book and another prostitute has edited it’. The critics did not even spare Krishna, citing that no ‘literate gentleman can realize God by reading that he enjoyed sex in forty different ways with an adulterous woman’. Copies of this book were sent to the official government translator, a man called Goteti Kanakaraju Pantulu, who immediately declared that the book was grossly obscene and that both the author and editor were prostitutes.

  Almost immediately the publisher’s offices were raided and nine titles including Radhika Santawanam were seized. Protests ensued, where some erudite male scholars defended the book saying that ‘it was unfair to ban the entire book simply because it contained no more than two dozen, objectionable verses’. But when it was discovered that some of the seized titles had been published with the support of the Raja of Venkatagiri, the government decided to soft-pedal the whole issue. In 1911, the police commissioner Cunningham along with the chief presidency magistrate charged Nagarathnamma and her publishers for editing and publishing obscene literature. The book was banned and most copies destroyed. In light of the fact that the other works had even more graphic descriptions of lovemaking, it was clear that a pro-Veeresalingam lobby had wanted only this book out of the way. It was only after Independence that the ban was withdrawn by the enlightened chief minister of Madras, Tanguturi Prakasam, known as Andhra Kesari. Rescinding the ban, he said that he was ‘restoring a few pearls to the necklace of Telugu literature’.

  Bangalore Nagarathnamma, as she was known, died on 19 May 1952 and a memorial was built for her near her beloved Thyagaraja Samadhi. Ironically, her edition of Radhika Santawanam was reissued by Vavilla Ramaswamy Sastrulu the same year as her passing. Her effort to preserve Muddupalani’s art and restore it to its rightful place in Indian literature was more than an act of courage. By fighting the multiple forces at play at a time when Indian prudery and Victorian ideals sought to erase much that was intrinsic to Indian tradition, Nagarathnamma successfully combated all notions of womanly propriety that government and society sought to impose as hegemonic ideals on women.

  Radhika Santawanam

  Radhika Santawanam, also known as Ila Deviyamu (The Story of Ila) is written in Telugu, one of India’s four classical languages whose mellifluous poetic cadence gave cultural identity and a very rich literary heritage to the state that we today call Andhra Pradesh. Coming to the fore in the twelfth century, Telugu flowed with great storytelling techniques interspersed with extraordinarily brilliant literary showmanship. Niccolo da Conti, (1385–1469) an Italian merchant and explorer, visited India and the Vijayanagara empire during the reign of Vira Vijaya Bukka Raya in the 1520s. Impressed with its rich literary culture he calls Telugu ‘The Italian of the East’. Nearer home, the Tuluva emperor Krishnadeva Raya said, ‘Telugu is the sweetest of all Indian languages.’

  Telugu literary works were composed so that they could be read or recited to a learned court audience. Immediately, there was an outpouring of creative prose and poetry. Early landmark works were Srinathudu’s Sringara Naishadham, Potana’s Dasamaskandham, Jakkana’s Vikramarka Charitra and Talapaka Timmakka’s Subhadra Kalyanam, among others. The sixteenth century, in particular, was considered to be the golden age of Telugu literature as literary activities flourished in the reign of the scholarly Krishnadeva Raya who reintroduced a new genre of love poetry called prabhandam through his magnum opus Amukta Malyada.

  Prabhandams and padam poetry had their roots in third century dramaturgy, where quarrels between lovers usually centred on fighting over rival affections, long periods of separation or disinterest on the part of the man. This gave the woman the right to be angry and, thereafter, to be appeased. In Kalidasa’s plays Vikramorvashiyam and Malavikaagnimitram, in Bhana’s Dhruta-vita-samvada and even Bharata’s Natya Shastra, the angry nayika was encouraged to harass her offending lover for visiting other women. The unfortunate man then had to appease his beloved through vows of undying devotion and the quarrel (and the play) usually ended in sexual union.

  Radhika Santawanam, a sringara prabhandam (erotic epic) wherein the principal rasa evoked is one of love and sexual gratification, follows this format closely. Written in 584 verses and divided into four sections, it adheres to convention, beginning with a mangalacharanam (prayer) seeking the blessings of a chosen deity, praise for poets past, reasons for writing the book, dedication to the patron, poet’s lineage, followed by the main poem and ending with a phala stuti (blessing). It was also customary for prabhandams to intersperse the verses with passages of prose to prove that the poet was equally adept at both styles.

  Ironically, even in texts such as these, where references to sex are overt and explicit, lovers express their ardour using a rich tapestry of poetic symbols. Flowers are never merely flowers, nor clouds just clouds. The symbols of Indian kavya—rooms filled with the fragrance of jasmine, thundering clouds and, especially in the case of Krishna, dark rain-laden clouds, eyes and feet like lotuses, clinging creepers, loose bangles on women’s wrists, are all intended to suggest passion-haunted lovers. Similarly the suggestive partaking of tambulam (betel leaves), milk and fruit are all literary, and literally, foreplay.

  The appearance of God in the dreams of kings and courtesans, inspiring them to write, also seems to have been an accepted phenomenon. Krishnadeva Raya describes how he, during his campaign against the Gajapatis of Orissa, visited a Vishnu shrine at Srikakulam. That night he was blessed with the sight of the Lord who, at the behest of His consort Lakshmi, advised him to write a poem on Andal, a Tamil Vaishnava saint. Serendipitously, Muddupalani who had translated Andal’s Tiruppavai into Telugu also dreamt of Krishna who extolled her to write the story of him appeasing the incensed Radhika.

  The Radha–Krishna saga is a tried-and-tested format yet remains seductive because it is unconventional. Theirs was not a sanctioned relationship—she was older, while he was still a very young man. It was adulterous and incestuous—she was married and apparently his maternal aunt. It was polyamorous—he is believed to have had 16,008 wives and innumerable other fleeting dalliances; he abandons her rather quickly too. Despite all this, passion prevailed.

  Muddupalani’s Radhika is certainly passionate and undoubtedly the dominant partner whose hold on Krishna is irrevocable. She is Krishna’s sakha—dearest friend and lover—who yearns to have him for
herself and gets intensely jealous when he gets attention from the other gopis. She defines the rules of engagement, at times expressing displeasure at her young lover and at other times insisting on making love even though he doesn’t want to—in short enacting all of passion’s play with its contradictions and confusions.

  Radha is Krishna’s maternal aunt, being the sister of Nandabala who raised him. Nanda’s brother-in-law Kumbhaka has a daughter Iladevi, who also grows up in Vrepalle (Vrindavan) under Radha’s care. The child Ila constantly accompanies Radha and Krishna, playing with them in fragrant gardens and, much to their amusement, even following them into the bedroom:

  When Radha would offer her bountiful breasts

  To the slayer of demons,

  Ila would lament: ‘But I have none!’

  When Radha would present her full red lips,

  Ila would lament: ‘Mine aren’t so luscious.’

  When Radha would present him a peacock feather,

  Ila would lament: ‘I have nothing to give!’

  When Radha would flash her shining teeth,

  Ila would lament: ‘Mine don’t sparkle.’

  And when Radha would invite Krishna,

  ‘Come into the bedroom …’

  Ila would wail: ‘Wait for me too!’

  To the merriment and delight

  Of Radha and Krishna.

  Soon, things come to a head when a wedding is arranged between the young, prepubescent Iladevi and Krishna. Muddupalani describes in great detail the onslaught of puberty, the physicality of adolescence and the elaborate rituals traditionally held when a girl came of age. This is followed by the wedding where Radha, in her role of aunt to both bride and groom, takes the responsibility of organizing the ceremony. She dresses Ila and advises her on sexual matters. Before handing her over to Krishna, she warns him, ‘She is quite the innocent, mind how you handle her!’

  Wedding over, sleep eludes Radha. Unable to reconcile herself to the loss of her lover to another younger woman, Radha is in anguish. In pure poetry, Muddupalani captures the idyllic world of romance, the ecstasy of togetherness, the trauma of separation, the truancy of the adulterous lover, the vicarious pleasure of mischievous maidens at Radha’s plight, the plaintive cry of chakravaka birds for their mates and many other such romantic motifs:

  Lying on her bed, she thought,

  ‘One can give away precious jewels,

  One can give up most relationships too,

  Even the most precious thing,

  Her own life,

  Can a woman give up.

  But giving away one’s own lover to another?

  Is this humanly possible?

  Which woman would do that?

  As long days pass, unable to bear the separation and convinced of Krishna’s duplicity, cavorting as he is with Ila, Radhika curses the god of love Kamadeva who is the personification of all personal passions. Kamadeva is the mind-born son of Brahma and is also believed to have reincarnated as Pradyumna, Krishna’s son (hence the constant references to Krishna as the father of the god of love). Here he is not a child like the nappy-wearing Roman Cupid, rather more like the Greek Eros, a very handsome man. His wife Rati or passion and his close friend Vasanta (spring) usually accompany him. In his hand, Kamadeva carries a bow made of sugarcane, which is strung with a line of humming bees. There are five flowery arrows in his quiver, representing the five senses from which all pleasures emanate.

  The irate Radhika sends her pet parrot as a duta or messenger. The parrot is the vahana or vehicle of Kamadeva. It is described in folklore as being wise and able to offer sagacious advice in matters concerning the heart, since he lives in close proximity to the god of love! In Indian literature, the bird is often used to counsel quarrelling couples and bring closure to messy love affairs. The pet parrot is duly dispatched to meet Krishna, only to find him kept extremely busy by his new wife:

  ‘As Kamsa’s killer came to embrace,

  She coquettishly stepped forward

  Pressing her breasts unto him with fervour.

  As he pressed his lips against hers,

  She responded fervently.

  As he drew his nails over her bare back,

  She did the same on his cheeks.

  ‘And thus they indulged

  Exploring pleasure

  Different postures, differing styles

  Regaling and pleasing each other.

  Having explored love in full sail, Muddupalani delves into its contrariness: absolute adoration that turns into despair, detestation and anger. Radha’s proprietary feelings towards Ila turn into intense jealousy, pettiness that creeps in with envy, and distrust that replaces confidence. When the bird returns with the ill tidings that Krishna may have well forgotten her, Radha is first infuriated and then sinks into depression at losing her lover. Cursing her fate, her misplaced trust and even the god of love, she rues the day when she fell in love with the impish wayward Krishna. He, however, has seen the parrot slip away and remembers Radha and her intense love for him. He returns immediately to Vrindavan to confront an extremely irate lady. Believing that she has been scorned and abandoned by her lover, her anger is so intense that she actually kicks a repentant Krishna when he bends down to touch her feet.

  This is reminiscent of Jayadeva’s magnificent twelfth century Gita Govinda, a celebrated work describing the intimate pastimes of Radha and Krishna. It is said that when Jayadeva was composing a particularly sensitive section where he wanted Krishna to bow down to touch Radha’s feet, his hand shrank from the audacity of penning such a thought. He decided to go for a dip in the Ganges, hoping for inspiration. On returning, he found that the lines had been completed by Krishna himself. In the same vein, in pushing Krishna away and ultimately kicking him heartlessly, Radhika realizes her folly as Krishna gently appeases her, more concerned that her feet are not hurt. Krishna is to experience this again when he marries Satyabhama, known for her strong will and taciturn behaviour. On the other hand Ila, the reason for all the angst, gets relegated to the background, abandoned and forgotten in this celebration of love and longing.

  Ironically, despite its notoriety, Radhika Santawanam was never translated in its entirety and this edition is rather serendipitously being published 100 years after it was banned by the British Resident. The verses are in medieval Telugu, a language that has changed, becoming more colloquial over the intervening two and a half centuries. Given that the lady was a courtesan, she also uses adages and metaphors that are now obsolete, difficult to unravel and translate. The verses use word play, duplicity of meaning and linguistic subtleties as well as shabda (sound) and onomatopoeia that add rhythm and rhyme to the original Telugu verse but are simply lost in translation.

  There is another inbuilt problem with translating medieval Indian languages, especially erotic texts. Locating the corresponding vocabulary in English is difficult, to say the least. We have many more words for love, desire and intercourse than English does, each representing a distinct layer and subtle emotion that defies description.

  Despite the risk of seeming repetitive, all the verses have been kept per the original. All the 584 verses, including the banned twenty-four, have been translated here along with the interspersed paragraphs in prose. Rather than a transliteration that ends up sounding archaic and stilted, this is a loose translation that explores the expressed sentiment.

  On reading some of the banned verses, one may wonder what all the fuss was about. But considering that it was written 250 years ago, Muddupalani was a woman who dared to write what she felt, proclaiming that a woman’s sexual needs were just as keen as a man’s, and that women too had the right to demand and seek gratification, something that despite today’s ‘sexual renaissance’ many would shy away from acknowledging publicly.

  Given the politics of sexuality still being played out by governments and self-styled moral keepers of the nation, it remains to be seen whether a century later, modern India can tolerate and, more important, appreciate such viv
id imagery and creativity.

  Avatarika

  Interlude between Radha and Krishna

  Mangalacharanam to Rukmini and Satyabhama

  Respect for Sanskrit and Telugu scholars

  Reasons for a new book

  Krishna appears in a dream

  Wise men interpret the dream

  Praise to the patron king Pratapsimha

  Genealogy of Muddupalani

  Qualities of Tanjanayaki

  Rama Vadhuti, the embodiment of good qualities

  Genealogy and qualities of Muddupalani

  In praise of Lord Krishna

  1. The Lord, glancing lovingly at Radhika, said,

  ‘O gorgeous one,

  Can there be another of comparable beauty?’

  ‘Tease me not! Have I not idolized you forever?’

  Retorted the irate maiden.

  And so, to appease the angry Radhika,

  Did young Krishna embrace her

  And on this Lord God, I do meditate

  To fulfil my heart’s desires.

  2. She who like a swan glides

  With tortoise-like gait,

  Raised full breasts and waist so small,

  Like a lioness, her shoulders strong

  The enticing threefold lines at her waist

  Face aglow, radiant and bright,

  Luminous eyes alluring

  Sweet lips that beckon