The Loves of Krishna in Indian Painting and Poetry by W. G. Archer
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W. G. Archer >> The Loves of Krishna in Indian Painting and Poetry
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Radha yields and as the night passes they achieve height upon height of
sexual bliss.
Their love play grown great was very delightful, the love play where
thrills were a hindrance to firm embraces,
Where their helpless closing of eyes was a hindrance to longing looks
at each other, and their secret talk to their drinking of each the
other's nectar of lips, and where the skill of their love was
hindered by boundless delight.
She loved as never before throughout the course of the conflict of love,
to win, lying over his beautiful body, to triumph over her lover;
And so through taking the active part her thighs grew lifeless, and
languid her vine-like arms, and her heart beat fast, and her eyes
grew heavy and closed.
In the morning most wondrous, the heart of her lord was smitten with
arrows of Love, arrows which went through his eyes,
Arrows which were her nailed-scratched bosom, her reddened sleep-denied
eyes, her crimson lips from a bath of kisses, her hair disarranged
with the flowers awry, and her girdle all loose and slipping.
With hair knot loosened and stray locks waving, her cheeks perspiring,
her glitter of lips impaired,
And the necklace of pearls not appearing fair because of her jar-shaped
breast being denuded,
And her belt, her glittering girdle, dimmed in beauty,
The happy one drank of the face where the lips were washed with the
juice of his mouth,
His mouth half open uttering amorous noises, vague and delirious, the
rows of teeth in the breath of an indrawn sigh delightedly chattering.
Drank of the face of that deer-eyed woman whose body lay helpless,
released of excessive delight, the thrilling delight of embraces.
When their passion is at last ended, Radha begs Krishna to help her with
her toilet.
She said to the joy of her heart,
Adorn the curl on my brow which puts the lotus to shame, my spotless
brow,
Make a beautiful spot on my forehead, a spot with the paste of the
sandal,
O giver of pride, on my tresses, untidy now on account of desire, place
flowers,
Place on my hips the girdle, the clothes and the jewels,
Cover my beautiful loins, luscious and firm, the cavern of Love to be
feared.
Make a pattern upon my breasts and a picture on my cheeks and fasten over
my loins a girdle,
Bind my masses of hair with a beautiful garland and place many bracelets
upon my hands and jewelled anklets upon my feet.
Krishna does so and with a final celebration of Krishna as God and of the
song itself--its words 'sweeter than sugar, like love's own glorious
flavour'--the poem ends.
[Footnote 51: Note 18.]
[Footnote 52: Plate 20.]
[Footnote 53: Plates 21 and 22.]
[Footnote 54: Note 19.]
[Footnote 55: Plate 23.]
[Footnote 56: Plate 24.]
[Footnote 57: Plate 25.]
[Footnote 58: Plate 26.]
[Footnote 59: Plate 27.]
(iii) Later Poetry
Jayadeva's poem quickly achieved renown in Northern and Western India and
from the early thirteenth century became a leading model for all poets who
were enthralled by Krishna as God and lover. In Western India,
Bilvamangala, a poet of Malabar, composed a whole galaxy of Krishna songs,
his poem, the _Balagopala Stuti_ (The Childhood of Krishna) earning for
him the title 'the Jayadeva of the South.' But it is during the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries that the most important developments occurred. In
Bengal, the poets Vidyapati and Chandi Das flourished in about the year
1420, while in Western India, Mira Bai, a local princess, began a
wide-spread popular movement. Mira Bai was followed by Vallabhacharya
(born 1478) who in turn inspired four poet disciples--Krishna Das, Sur
Das, Parmanand Das and Kumbhan Das. All these were at their height in the
middle of the sixteenth century, writing Hindi poems in which Radha's
adventures with Krishna and their rapturous love-making were devotedly
described.[60]
The work of Sur Das was of special importance for in one of his
compositions he took each of the thirty-six traditional modes of Indian
music-the _Ragas_ and _Raginis_--but instead of celebrating them as
separate 'musical characters,' appended to each a love-poem about Krishna.
Sur Das was followed by Keshav Das of Orchha (fl. 1580), Govind Das (fl.
1590), Bihari Lai (fl. 1650) and Kali Das (fl. 1700)--all poets in whom
religious ecstasy was blended with a feeling for passionate romance. Of
these poets Bihari Lai is famous for the _Sat Sai_ in which he celebrated
Krishna's romance in seven hundred verses.
All this later poetry differed from the _Gita Govinda_ in one important
respect. Instead of dwelling on the temporary rupture in Radha and
Krishna's relationship, it roved freely over the many phases of their
love-making, subjecting every incident to delighted analysis. A poet
thought and felt himself into Radha's mind when as a young girl about to
become a woman she discovered for the first time the exquisite sensations
of awakening love. Or he imagined he was Krishna stumbling on Radha by
accident and being stirred to ecstasy by his first glimpse of her glowing
charms. Sometimes he even became the unseen viewer of their rapturous
exchanges, comforting Radha with sage remarks or egging her on to appease
her hungry lover. In this way many incidents not recorded of any cowgirl
in the _Bhagavata Purana_, though possibly preserved in oral tradition,
came gradually into prominence, thereby confirming Radha as Krishna's
greatest love.
The following incidents will illustrate this process. Radha would be
described as one day taking her curds and milk to a village the farther
side of the river Jumma. Krishna hears of her expedition and along with
other cowherd boys waylays Radha and her friends and claims a toll. Radha
refuses to pay but at last offers to make a token gift provided he ferries
them over. Meanwhile a cowherd boy has hidden the boat and night is coming
on. It is now too late to return so the girls have no alternative but to
stay with Krishna. They lie down by the bank but in the darkness give
Krishna not only the toll but also their souls and bodies.
In another poem, Krishna is shown pestering the cowgirls for curds. Radha
decides to stand this no longer and partly in jest dresses herself up as a
constable. When Krishna next teases the girls, she descends upon him,
catches him by the wrist and 'arrests' him as a thief.[61]
It is in the poems of Chandi Das, however, that Krishna's most daring
ruses are described. Having once gained admittance to Radha's house by
dressing himself as a cowgirl, he is shown pretending to be a
flower-seller. He strings some flowers into a bunch of garlands, dangles
them on his arm and strolls blandly down the village street. When he
reaches Radha's house, he goes boldly in and is taken by Radha into a
corner where she starts to bargain. Krishna asks her to let him first
adorn her with a garland and then she can pay him. Radha agrees and as he
slips a garland over her head, Krishna kisses her. Radha suddenly sees who
it is and holds his hand.
On another occasion, Radha is ill from love and is lying at home on her
bed. Krishna thereupon becomes a doctor and goes from house to house
curing the sick. So successful are his cures that Radha also is tempted to
consult the new doctor and sends a maid to call him, Krishna comes but
before entering adopts a wild disguise--putting his clothes on inside out,
matting his hair with mud, and slinging a bag of roots and plants over his
shoulder. As he enters, he sits on Radha's bed, lifts her veil, gazes
intently at her face and declares that certainly she is very ill indeed.
He then takes her pulse and says, 'it is the water of love that is rotting
her heart like a poison.' Radha is elated at this diagnosis, rouses
herself and stretches her limbs. 'You have understood my trouble,' she
says. 'Now tell me what I am to do.' 'I feel somewhat diffident at
explaining my remedy,' replies the doctor, 'But if I had the time and
place, I could ease your fever and cure you utterly.' As he says this,
Radha knows that he is Krishna and this is only another of his reckless
wiles designed to bring him near her.
But it was less in the recording of new incidents than in lyrical
descriptions of Radha and Krishna, their physical charms and ecstatic
meetings, that the poets excelled.
i
Krishna is dancing in a medley of moods and poses.
His crown sways, his eye-brows move,
Displaying the arts of a clever dancer.
The swing of his waist makes his girdle sing
And the anklets jingle.
One fancies one is listening to the sweet voice of a pair of geese as
they touch each other in dalliance.
The bangles glitter and the rings and armlets shoot their rays.
When with passion he moves his arms, what grace the movements bless!
Now he dances after the gait of ladies and now in a manner of his own.
The poet's lord is the jewel of the passionate
And builds his dance in the depths of ecstasy.[62]
(Sur Das)
ii
With Krishna in their midst the cowherds come to their homes.
The calves and cows are ahead, frisking and playing as they go.
All the pipes and horns go forth, each his own notes playing.
The sound of the flute moves the cows to low as they raise a cloud of
dust.
The crown of peacocks' feathers glistens on the head like a young moon.
The cowherd boys frolic on the path and Krishna in the centre sings his
song.
Ravished by the sight, the cowgirls pour out their minds and bodies,
Gazing on Krishna, quenching their heart's desire.
(Sur Das)
iii
Radha's glances dart from side to side.
Her restless body and clothes are heavy with dust.
Her glistening smile shines again and again.
Shy, she raises her skirt to her lips.
Startled, she stirs and once again is calm,
As now she enters the ways of love.
Sometimes she gazes at her blossoming breasts
Hiding them quickly, then forgetting they are there.
Childhood and girlhood melt in one
And young and old are both forgotten.
Says Vidyapati: O Lord of life,
Do you not know the signs of youth?[63]
(Vidyapati)
iv
Each day the breasts of Radha swelled.
Her hips grew shapely, her waist more slender.
Love's secrets stole upon her eyes.
Startled her childhood sought escape.
Her plum-like breasts grew large,
Harder and crisper, aching for love.
Krishna soon saw her as she bathed
Her filmy dress still clinging to her breasts,
Her tangled tresses falling on her heart,
A golden image swathed in yak's tail plumes.
Says Vidyapati: O wonder of women,
Only a handsome man can long for her.
(Vidyapati)
v
There was a shudder in her whispering voice.
She was shy to frame her words.
What has happened tonight to lovely Radha?
Now she consents, now she is scared.
When asked for love, she closes up her eyes,
Eager to reach the ocean of desire.
He begs her for a kiss.
She turns her mouth away
And then, like a night lily, the moon seized her.
She felt his touch startling her girdle.
She knew her love treasure was being robbed.
With her dress she covered up her breasts.
The treasure was left uncovered.
Vidyapati wonders at the neglected bed.
Lovers are busy in each other's arms.
(Vidyapati)
vi
Awake, Radha, awake
Calls the parrot and its love
For how long must you sleep,
Clasped to the heart of your Dark-stone?
Listen. The dawn has come
And the red shafts of the sun
Are making us shudder.
(Vidyapati)
vii
Startled, the parrot calls.
See those young lovers are still asleep.
On a bed of tender leaves
His dark figure is lying still.
She, the fair one,
Looks like a piece of jewelled gold.
They have emptied their quivers.
All their flower-arrows are discharged,
Drowning each other in the joy of love.
O lovely Radha, awake.
Your friends are going to the temple.
Asks Govind Das:
Whose business is it
To interrupt the ways of love?
(Govind Das)
In another kind of poem, Radha and Krishna are themselves made to
speak--Krishna, for example, describing his first glimpses of Radha and
Radha struggling to evoke in words the ecstasies of their love.
viii
Like stilled lightning her fair face.
I saw her by the river,
Her hair dressed with jasmine,
Plaited like a coiled snake.
O friend, I will tell you
The secret of my heart.
With her darting glances
And gentle smiles
She made me wild with love.
Throwing and catching a ball of flowers,
She showed me to the full
Her youthful form.
Uptilted breasts
Peeped from her dress.
Her face was bright
With taunting smiles.
With anklet bells
Her feet shone red.
Says Chandi Das:
Will you see her again?
(Chandi Das)
ix
Listen, O lovely darling,
Cease your anger.
I promise by the golden pitchers of your breasts
And by your necklace-snake,
Which now I gather in my hands,
If ever I touch anyone but you
May your necklace-snake bite me;
And if my words do not ring true,
Punish me as I deserve.
Bind me in your arms, hit me with your thighs,
Choke my heart with your milk-swollen breasts,
Lock me day and night in the prison of your heart.
(Vidyapati)
x
Never have I seen such love nor heard of it.
Even the eyelids' flutter
Holds eternity.
Clasped to my breasts, you are far from me.
I would keep you as a veil close to my face.
I shudder with fright when you turn your eyes away,
As one body, we spend the night,
Sinking in the deeps of delight.
As dawn comes, we see with anxious hearts
Life desert us.
The very thought breaks my heart.
Says Chandi Das:
O sweet girl, how I understand.
(Chandi Das)
xi
O friend, I cannot tell you
Whether he was near or far, real or a dream.
Like a vine of lightning,
As I chained the dark one,
felt a river flooding in my heart.
Like a shining moon,
I devoured that liquid face.
I felt stars shooting around me.
The sky fell with my dress
Leaving my ravished breasts.
I was rocking like the earth.
In my storming breath
I could hear my ankle-bells,
Sounding like bees.
Drowned in the last-waters of dissolution
I knew that this was not the end.
Says Vidyapati:
How can I possibly believe such nonsense?
(Vidyapati)
[Footnote 60: Plate 29.]
[Footnote 61: Plate 35.]
[Footnote 62: Note 20.]
[Footnote 63: Note 20.]
(iv) The Rasika Priya
It is a third development, however, which reveals the insistent
attractions of Krishna the divine lover. From about the seventh century
onwards Indian thinkers had been fascinated by the great variety of
possible romantic experiences. Writers had classified feminine beauty and
codified the different situations which might arise in the course of a
romance. A woman, for example, would be catalogued according as she was
'one's own, another's or anyone's' and whether she was young, adolescent
or adult. Beauties with adult physiques were divided into unmarried and
married, while cutting across such divisions was yet another based on the
particular circumstances in which a woman might find herself. Such
circumstances were normally eight in number--when her husband or lover was
on the point of coming and she was ready to receive him; when she was
parted from him and was filled with longing; when he was constant and she
was thus enjoying the calm happiness of stable love; when, for the time
being, she was estranged due to some quarrel or tiff; when she had been
deceived; when she had gone to meet her lover but had waited in vain,
thereby being jilted; when her husband or lover had gone abroad and she
was faced with days of lonely waiting; and finally, when she had left the
house and gone to meet him. Ladies in situations such as these were known
as _nayikas_ and the text embodying the standard classification was the
Sanskrit treatise, the _Bharatiya Natya Sastra_. A similar analysis was
made of men--lovers or _nayakas_ being sometimes divided into fourteen
different types.
Until the fourteenth century, such writings were studies in erotics
rather than in literature--the actual situations rather than their
literary treatment being the authors' prime concern. During the fourteenth
century, however, questions of literary taste began to be discussed and
there arose a new type of Sanskrit treatise, showing how different kinds
of lover should be treated in poetry and illustrating the correct
attitudes by carefully chosen verses. In all these writings the standard
of reference was human passion. The lovers of poetry might bear only a
slight relation to lovers in real life. Many of the situations envisaged
might rarely, if ever, occur. It was sufficient that granted some
favourable accident, some chance suspension of normal circumstances,
lovers could be imagined as acting in these special ways.
It is out of this critical literature that our new development springs. As
vernacular languages were used for poetry, problems of Hindi composition
began to dwarf those of Sanskrit. It was necessary to discuss how best to
treat each _nayika_ and _nayaka_ not only in Sanskrit but in Hindi poetry
also, and to meet this situation Keshav Das, the poet of Orchha in
Bundelkhand, produced in 1591 his _Rasika Priya_. Here all the standard
situations were once again examined, _nayikas_ and _nayakas_ were newly
distinguished and verses illustrating their appropriate treatments were
systematically included. The book differed, however, in two important ways
from any of its predecessors. It was written in Hindi, Keshav Das himself
supplying both poems and commentary and what was even more significant,
the _nayaka_ or lover was portrayed not as any ordinary well-bred young
man but as Krishna himself.[64] As a girl waits at the tryst it is not for
an ordinary lover but for Krishna that Keshav Das depicts her as longing.
'Is he detained by work? Is he loath to leave his friends? Has he had a
quarrel? Is his body uneasy? Is he afraid when he sees the rainy dark? O
Krishna, Giver of Bliss, why do you not come?'[65]
As a girl waits by her bed looking out through her door, it is the
prospect of Krishna's arrival--not of an ordinary lover's--that makes her
happy.
'As she runs, her blue dress hides her limbs. She hears the wind ruffling
the trees and the birds shifting in the night. She thinks it must be he.
How she longs for love, watching for Krishna like a bird in a cage.'
When the lover arrives at dawn, having failed to come in the night, the
girl (another _nayika_, 'one who has been deceived') upbraids Krishna for
wandering about like a crow, picking up worthless grains of rice, wasting
his hours in bad company and ruining houses by squatting in them like an
owl.
Similarly when a married girl sits longing for her husband's return, her
companion comments not on an ordinary husband's conduct but on that of
Krishna. 'He said he would not be long. "I shall be back," he said, "as
soon as I have had my meal." But now it is hours since he went. Why does
he sit beside them and no one urge him to go? Does he know that her eyes
are wet with tears, that she is crying her heart out because he does not
come?'
Krishna, in fact, is here regarded as resuming in himself all possible
romantic experiences. He is no longer merely the cowherd lover or the hero
prince, the central figure of a sacred narrative. Neither is he merely or
only the lover of Radha. He is deemed to know love from every angle and
thus to sanctify all modes of passionate behaviour. He is love itself.
Such a development concludes the varied phases through which the character
of Krishna has passed. The cowherd lover supersedes the hero prince. Radha
becomes all in all, yet touches of Krishna's princely majesty remain
throughout. Even as a cowherd Krishna shows an elegance and poise which
betrays his different origin. And in the _Rasika Priya_ it is once again
his courtly aura which determines his new role. A blend of prince and
cowherd, Krishna ousts from poetry the courtly lovers who previously had
seemed the acme of romance. Adoration of God acquires the grace and charm
of courtly loving, passionate sensuality all the refinement and nobility
of a spiritual religion. It is out of all these varied texts that the
Krishna of Indian painting now emerges.
[Footnote 64: Plate 28.]
[Footnote 65: Note 21.]
VI
THE KRISHNA OF PAINTING
Indian pictures of Krishna confront us with a series of difficult
problems. The most exalted expressions of the theme are mainly from
Kangra, a large Hindu state within the Punjab Hills.[66] It was here that
Krishna, the cowherd lover, was most fully celebrated. Pictures were
produced in large numbers and the Kangra style with its delicate
refinement exactly mirrored the enraptured poetry of the later cult. This
painting was due entirely to a particular Kangra ruler, Raja Sansar Chand
(1775-1823)--his delight in painting causing him to spare no cost in
re-creating the Krishna idyll in exquisite terms. Elsewhere, however,
conditions varied. At the end of the sixteenth century, it was not a Hindu
but a Muslim ruler who commissioned the greatest illustrations of the
story. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Hindu patrons were the
rule but in certain states it was junior members of the ruling family
rather than the Raja himself who worshipped Krishna. Sometimes it was not
the ruling family but members of the merchant community who sponsored the
artists and, occasionally, it was even a pious lady or devout princess who
served as patron. Such differences of stimulus had vital effects and, as a
consequence, while the cult of Krishna came increasingly to enthrall the
northern half of India, its expression in art was the reverse of neat and
orderly. Where a patron was so imbued with love for Krishna that adoration
of the cowherd lover preceded all, the intensity of his feeling itself
evoked a new style. There then resulted the Indian equivalent of pictures
by El Greco, Grunewald or Altdorfer--paintings in which the artist's own
religious emotions were the direct occasion of a new manner. In other
cases, the patron might adhere to Krishna, pay him nominal respect or take
a moderate pleasure in his story but not evince a burning enthusiasm. In
such cases, paintings of Krishna would still be produced but the style
would merely repeat existing conventions. The pictures which resulted
would then resemble German paintings of the Danube or Cologne
schools--pictures in which the artist applied an already mature style to a
religious theme but did not originate a fresh mode of expression. Whether
the greatest art resulted from the first or second method was
problematical for the outcome depended as much on the nature of the styles
as on the artist's powers. In considering Indian pictures of Krishna,
then, we must be prepared for sudden fluctuations in expression and abrupt
differences of style and quality. Adoration of Krishna was to prove one of
the most vital elements in village and courtly life. It was to capture the
imagination of Rajput princes and to lead to some of the most intimate
revelations of the Indian mind. Yet in art its expression was to hover
between the crude and the sensitive, the savage and the exquisite. It was
to stimulate some of the most delicate Indian pictures ever painted and,
at the same time, some of the most forceful.
The first pictures of Krishna to be painted in India fall within this
second category. In about 1450, one version of the _Gita Govinda_ and two
of the _Balagopala Stuti_ were produced in Western India.[67] They were
doubtless made for middle-class patrons and were executed in Western India
for one important reason. Dwarka, the scene of Krishna's life as a prince,
and Prabhasa, the scene of the final slaughter, were both in Western
India. Both had already become centres of pilgrimage and although Jayadeva
had written his great poem far to the East, on the other side of India,
pilgrims had brought copies with them while journeying from Bengal on
visits to the sites. The _Gita Govinda_ of Jayadeva had become in fact as
much a Western Indian text as the _Balagopala Stuti_ of Bilvamangala. With
manuscript illustrations being already produced in Western India--but not,
so far as we know, elsewhere--it was not unnatural that the first
illustrated versions of these poems should be painted here. And it is
these circumstances which determined their style. Until the fifteenth
century the chief manuscripts illustrated in Western India were Jain
scriptures commissioned by members of the merchant community. Jainism had
originated in the sixth century B.C. as a parallel movement to Buddhism.
It had proved more accommodating to Hinduism, and when Buddhism had
collapsed in Western India in the ninth century A.D., Jainism had
continued as a local variant of Hinduism proper. Jain manuscripts had at
first consisted of long rectangular strips made of palm-leaves on which
the scriptures were written in heavy black letters. Each slip was roughly
three inches wide and ten long and into the text had been inserted lean
diagrammatic paintings either portraying Mahavira, the founder of the
cult, or illustrating episodes in his earthly career.
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