October 25, 2011
Power went down by 9am. Achan was reading Adhyatmaramayanam loudly upstairs. I had assumed that the grand old neighbor man had tuned into All India Radio which was having some Diwali devotional special. Coming out of the house, we noticed a fallen coconut frond stuck on the telephone cables running between the posts outside doctor uncle's house. Suddenly a billhook secured with rope to a long pole thrust itself towards the defoliated tree. A khaki-clad KSEB (Kerala State Electricity Board) worker was the motive force behind the pole. Overhanging branches and leaves were being dispatched on a war footing before the rainy season picked up momentum.
After shaving away a quarter of the gloriously green head of the coconut tree, the grim trimmer moved onto the Rambuntan tree in the vicinity. He wasn't alone. There was a supervisor wearing a white hard-hat. The one being supervised relied on the safety of his natural crown of well-oiled, thick black hair combed tightly backwards.
Couple of the cut small branches of the Rabuntan were left hanging on the telephone and tv cables. Those wires are not the KSEB's department. Their concern stops at the power lines that run much higher up. I don't think KSEB pays gravity for its services. It is high time electricity and gravity formed a union!
The precautionary botanical butchering that continued far up the street gently swayed the cables outside the house intermittently.
Since power was not going to return till the de-branching operation was complete in the colony, I decided to get back to some offline reading. The Shankunthalam episode in Kunjikuttan Thampuran's Mahabharatham.
What a delight!
I was only familiar with the Kalidasa version of the myth which formed the basis of numerous movies. Reading the original makes one stand up and applaud the genius of Kalidasa who refurbished this tale into one of romance, suspense, repentance and reunion. There is no disturbing bumble bee, no mudra ring, no heartbreak in a boat and no fish swallowing the ring in the original. The fishy birth of Matsyagandha appears in the epic immediately before the Shakuntala episode. It is pretty clear that Kalidasa borrowed from that story to add masala to his Shankuntalam.
Talking of masala, the infamous "pallu-drop", by vamps of yesteryears and heroines more recently, is an common fixture of any formulaic commercial Indian movie. The original inspiration is in the Menaka-Vishwamitra story of the epic. Vyasa did not make Menaka drop just her pallu. He went all out for a full 'chela' (dress) drop from the hip. And while bending down to gather the fabric all back up, Menaka casts a seductive look at medidating muni. That was the end of his penance.
In the Mahabharatha version of Shakunthalam, King Dushyantha, in the middle of a rather environmentally destructive hunting expedition, walks right into sage Kanva's ashram looking for sage Kashyapa. Much confusion. May be Kashyapa and Kanva were roomies. May be they had a time sharing arrangement about the magnificient (as described in detail) hermitic resort on the banks of river Malini.
There is no bumble bee disturbing Shankuntala, like it did M.S.Subbalakshmi, K.R.Vijaya and numerous other Indian heroines, from which she needs saving. Neither does she strike the classic Ravi Varma pose, turning backwards with her left feet raised, trying to glance at Dushyantha again while pretending to remove a thorn from her heel.
In the Vyasa version, she comes out of the ashram, introduces herself and sweeps Dushyantha off his feet. But before he does anything about that sweep, he must find out how a sworn celibate ascetic like Kanva ended up having a daughter. She explains in rather graphic detail her mother Menaka's escapade with Vishwamitra. Before going to dance before Vishwamitra as demanded by Indra, Menaka asks Indra to send a fragrant breeze with her which could gently shift her clothes as she dances. The iconic Marlyn Manroe photograph comes to mind.
As soon as Dushyantha realizes that Shankuntala is also a Kshatriya product, he proposes marriage by the "Gandharva" way....which is sort of like a third date. Shankuntala doesn't ask him to come upstairs for coffee. Instead she demands that he make their son the next king. She was pretty sure it was going to be a son. She was that good. Dushyantha was in a state of mind in which he would have agreed to an eight-way split of the empire if she became an Octomom.
Gandharva-rule marriage happens. Dushyantha promptly goes back to his palace without waiting to face Kanva. Kanva comes home and realizes what has happened. He gives a rather postmodernist nod to the union. Bharatha is born and grows up into a smart boy. Shankuntala is content as a single mom. But Kanva insists that she take the prince to the palace.
She obeys. In the court, King Dushyantha refuses to recognize her and the son. She goes mad and delivers some stunning lines in front of the courtiers in a magnificent speech which foreshadows the Draupadi speech that comes later. This fiercely independent, assertive Shankuntala is nothing like the faint-hearted, coy, oh-so-delicate Shankuntala of Kalidasa. I guess by Kalidasa's time, India had already moved women from their rightful, equal standing to the tv-serial stereotyping that continues to this day. Here's my translation of a few of the original Shankuntala's lines: "Wife is the wealth of a man. She is his half. She is the relative of the man who desires a good life. She is the friend of the lonely man. When she advises him, she becomes his father. When she consoles him, she becomes his mother...................Look at the ants, even they take so much care of their eggs. You refuse to recognize your own son. Is there any pleasure greater than the embrace of a child, covered in dust after having played in the river?"
In an attempt to jog his memory, she narrates her story of her birth again.
But her powerful, earnest entreaties are met with the harshest and timeless response from Dushyanta. I am translating here in full because it is dramatic perfection:
"Shankuntale, I don't remember giving you a child. It is natural for women to lie. Nobody minds that. Your mother is a prostitute of the heavens. Without an iota of mercy,she abandoned an innocent baby like you. And your father? A Kshatriya who deeply desired to become a Brahmin but wavered with lust. Their daughter you are and you harangue like a whore. Are you not ashamed to use such harsh words? Coming here with a big fat son plump like a Saala tree! Can a child grow so big in such a short time? Miracle it must surely be! Ha! When you lie, at least try to make it believable. You words and deeds are as decadent as your birth. Harlot! You might have been born out of Menaka's concupiscence! I don't want to know all that. Do whatever you want to do."
Hearing this, naturally, Shankuntala fuse is blown. Cursing Dushyanta profusely, she begins to walk away with her son when a divine voice from the heaven confirms the identity of Bharatha as Dushyantha's son. Courtiers are shocked. Immediately Dushyantha says that he recognized Shankuntala and Bharatha all along but was waiting for the heavenly voiceover so that his citizens and courtiers will never have any doubt about the lady and the boy!
Well played, King, well played!
A thousand years later, poet Kalidasa brings a pregnant Shankuntala to Dushyanta's court. The King doesn't recognize her because he has been cursed by hot tempered sage Durvasa. Dushyanta was day dreaming about Shankuntala once when Durvasa approached him. In his reverie, he did not notice the sage. Angered at being ignored, Durvasa curses that Dushyanta will forget completely whoever he had been dreaming about. Dushyanta begs for mercy. Durvasa relents and says that if some material evidence is presented in court Dushyanta will regain his memory and recognize the person. Kalidasa introduces a ring with the royal emblem that the king gives Shankuntala before parting as this material evidence early in his poem. Unfortunately, she never presents it in the court when he rejects her in his state of selective amnesia. On her way back, in a boat, the ring slips into the river. A fish swallows it. A fisherman catches the fish. In the market, soldies arrest him after a royal ring is discovered inside the fish. The ring is taken to the king. Seeing it, all the memories of Shankuntala come flooding back to the king who rushes to the forest and reunites with her. Curtain. Applause. Blockbuster.
For Kalidasa, it is clearly Dushyanta's story more than Shankuntala's. She is mostly a passive, silent victim of the twist and turns of fate. Vyasa, judging from the original, wrote in a society of outspoken, independent women and dramatically entertaining royal court room dramas.
It is a pity that A.K.Ramanujam is haunted by the Hindu fundamentalists for his essay on the various versions of Ramayana that exist in this country. The updating and adaptation of the epics and the myths that happened over the ages are such a rich source of insights on the evolution of socio-economic, political and religious life in this ancient land. But then fundamentalists are not a insightful lot! It is not Ramayana's defense but rather Ramananda Sagar's defense that they are performing. Anyone dumb enough to be a fundamentalist cannot be familiar with anything other than Ramananda Sagar's Doordarshan serial version of the epic.
UTI has delivered my PAN card within two weeks as promised. Now I have a unique account number in India. Time to get on with those certification courses.
I edited this note while trying to avoid being startled by the firecrackers going off, near and far. Diwali is on in full swing in the neighborhood. Equivalent fireworks from Captain M.S. Dhoni at Eden Gardens in the one-day match against England.
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