Do not forget: Śrī, Kali and the Śaka’s flashing trickery (lasac-chalena)

Before turning to the story of Jaitrasiṃha’s death and the ensuing ‘debate’ between the forces of Time and Fate, I want to briefly draw attention to two episodes that intervene:

a short praise of Hammīra’s ideal kingship, followed by Jaitrasiṃha’s long lecture to his son on good governance. The latter seems to purposefully undermine the former and foreshadow all Hammīra’s upcoming flaws.

After Jaitrasiṃha entrusts Royal Fortune to Hammīra, the poem briefly resumes the hyperbolic, ideal (and unreal) panegyric mode to praise Hammīra’s kingship (8.65-71). As earlier, and later in the poem, the ideal rhetoric in such verses seems to generate a stark dissonance with the actualized tragic story preceding or following the eulogistic interlude. It is thus only in the panegyric mode (as praise and lamentation), occupying an illusory place outside of time, that Hammīra’s kingdom emerges as the locus of a roaring Dharma, shining Śrī, blooming policy, and dancing joy (8.68).⁴⁰ In Jaitrasiṃha’s subsequent long lecture on kingship the inevitable break of the ideal image can already be felt. These verses seem to flesh out earlier ideas about the all-important topic of Royal Fortune (rājya-śrī) and its necessary connection to good conduct, wisdom (buddhi, mati) and right judgment (viveka) – all associated with wakefulness. Like in the prologue, Śrī is presented as the principle underlying the (female) power of the self (ātma-śakti, 8.76), which is far superior to the display of masculine bodily strength. The recurrent idea is that Royal Fortune can be maintained, if she is handled with care, and if one doesn’t overestimate the value of physical force.

Hammīra is urged to take this advice at heart. The second verse (8.74) of Jaitrasiṃha’s talk thus says that Hammīra should not forget (vismaro mā) that it is the king’s ill-mannered behavior, like fire out of control, that causes the destruction of the entire clan (kulasya sarvasya vināśa-hetuḥ). Jaitrasiṃha’s lecture becomes more and more ominous as his advice about the importance of good governance becomes more concrete: one should not torment the people with taxes, not re-appoint ministers you harmed, not engage in the dice game and become a subject of ridicule (viḍambanām, 8.104) like the Pāṇḍavas, etc. We get the impression that Hammīra will indeed do precisely what his father warns against.

Put otherwise, Jaitrasiṃha’s warning that his son should not forget his advice anticipates Hammīra’s inevitable oblivion in the next canto.

40 Thus in the tenth canto, a brief set of panegyric verses, uttered by Bhojadeva, is followed by a conspicuous “but in the present time” (adhunā… paraṃ, 10.28), revealing what is actually happening: a blind man (Hammīra/Dharmasiṃha) is gambling in the kingdom, see my discussion of this episode in chapter four, section 4.4.

To the reader these verses indeed read as flashbacks to his predecessors, and flashforwards to the tragic kingship of the last Chauhan ruler. Let me quote just one highly ominous verse, which implicitly reintroduces the topic of Kali, the demonic spirit of ‘conflict’ from the present age, the kaliyuga:

Even though one has great strength, one should not cause a conflict (kali) with the Śaka king, who is endowed with flashing trickery.

In the same way, king Bali, even though very strong, was defeated by Viṣṇu, mostly because of trickery.⁴¹

This verse makes explicit that the kaliyuga is dominated by the superior ‘playful’ tricks of the Śaka kings. Hammīra’s task does not consist in obtaining Royal Fortune, but to maintain her – press her hand (kara-pīḍana, 8.38) - by not starting a conflict (kali) with the Śaka king. All he has to do is not forget this advice and not engage in war with an enemy who is more powerful, that is one who is endowed with flashing trickery (lasac-chalena).

Importantly, the employment of deceit (chala) is not part of the many warnings against

“bad conduct” ku-śīlatā, (8.77). As Don Handelman and David Shulman put it in their insightful book on Śiva’s game of dice, cheating or trickery is “the natural mode of play, inherent to the game as an aspect of its very structure.”⁴² It is something the clever trickster takes pride in, like Viṣṇu, who is known as the “great trickster” māyāvin.⁴³ Nayacandra clearly adopts this view, by repeatedly emphasizing how in the game like context of war (and life and poetry) clever deceit – an attitude of playfulness - outweighs the value of an outer display of physical force.⁴⁴ Moreover, the Śaka king is not vilified in this verse. His superior skill in deceit (chala) is purposefully connected to the recurrent motif of playing/shining/flashing (lasat, <las.), an essential attribute of Śrī and her role as a female power (śakti), through which she energizes her royal husbands, thus including the Śaka king.⁴⁵ This is made clear through the comparison of the Śaka king with Viṣṇu’s

41 mahābalenâpi kalir na kāryaḥ samaṃ śakêśena lasac-chalena | tathā samartho ‘pi balir vijagye chala-pradhānena janārdanena ||8.103||

42 Handelman and Shulman 1997: 100.

43 Ibid. p. 80.

44 I will show in the next chapter how an over-confidence in physical strength aligns more generally with the hero’s unplayful rigidity of mind, his unwillingness to bend the supposed ‘rules’ of a chivalric code and what he believes constitutes noble conduct.

45 Also recall how in the poem’s introduction this word is used to qualify Śiva/Mahāvīra who, followed by his female consort, is endowed with a playful/flashing power śivânuyāto vilasad-vibhūti, 1.5) allowing him to destroy the demon Andhaka/darkness. It is interestingly also the attribute of the playful poet (lasat-kavi), whose creative power is similarly bestowed upon him by the goddess Sarasvatī. Here it is the attribute of Viṣṇu and the Śaka king to whom he is compared. Let’s also recall how earlier Pṛthvīrāja’s enemy

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former incarnation as a dwarf who deceitfully tricked the generous asura king Bali into giving away his kingdom. In Nayacandra’s poem it is indeed the Śaka who plays the role of Śiva or Viṣṇu, the māyāvin or trickster. He lives by deceit, and therefore remains resistant to the fatal effect of delusion, as explained earlier.⁴⁶ Throughout the poem the sleepy protagonists forget, the wakeful antagonists remember.⁴⁷ Moreover, unlike the Chauhan protagonists, the Śakas seem to know how to confront or even master time, and therefore also their personal fates.

Let me give one example to illustrate this point. In verse 13.68 we learn that Alauddin as it were saw the arrival of Time right before his eyes (sākṣāt kālaṃ ivâgatam), after experiencing the destructive force of the monsoon season (ambumuk-kālam). The rains had drenched his camp, causing many deaths, leading many of his soldiers to abandon their military service (13.67). Although his camp is on the verge of destruction, and his soldiers are deserting him, Alauddin comes up with a clever plan. Instead of despairing in the face of Time’s destructive force, he invites Hammīra’s most beloved general, Ratipāla – “Protector of Pleasure” - to his camp and manages to make him “attached” (arañjayac) through trickery (kūṭena, 13.72). (The political game, like love, is a game of attachment/attraction, and playful deception.)⁴⁸ It might not be a coincidence that the word for trickery here - kūṭa - is chosen to resonate with the story of the black kāla-kūṭa poison, “the trick of time”, which emerged at ‘the beginning of time’ with the churning of the milky ocean, and to which Hammīra will refer as the evil product of fate, as I explain below in the next section. Śiva swallowed this poison, becoming the god of Time, the great destroyer god Mahākāla.

In HMK too Śiva is evoked as this destructive principle, mahā-kāla, “Great Time” or the

“Great Darkness”. During Hammīra’s “world-conquest” (digvijaya), when passing Ujjain,

“he there worshipped Mahākāla, who is Death to wicked enemies” (tatrânarca mahākālaṃ kālaṃ duṣkarma-vairiṇām). But it is Alauddin who emerges as the real master of time. In the episode where he defies Kāla’s destructive force, he emerges as the “trickster king of the Śakas” (māyāvī śakêśvaraḥ, 13.81), who uses Hammīra’s general Ratipāla to play a destructive ‘dice game’ in Hammīra’s fort. We learn how the demonic spirit of the kaliyuga takes over Ratipāla’s mind, becoming like Śakuni (the trickster-gambler of the Mahābhārata) to the Śaka king (13.80). Despite clear signs of treason, Hammīra will fail to

Shahabuddin was imagined as an incarnation of Paraśurāma (3.10), another avatar of Viṣṇu, descended on earth to destroy the whole warrior race, and compared to Śiva as the destroyer of the three cities (3.12).

46 At the end of section 2.4.

47 For example, fear, inspired by remembering past defeats, leads both Shahabuddin and Ulugh Khan to resort to trickery, respectively in 3.53 and 11.19. The Chauhans, by contrast, do not seem to learn from their past mistakes.

48 See for example Ali 2002.

see that Kali is indeed playing dice (dīvyati) in his fort.⁴⁹ Alauddin appears to emerge as the more wakeful king, mastering his fate and time itself, employing its own trickery (kūṭa). Unlike Hammīra, the Śakas escape that fatal state of delusion which haunts the Chauhans, as noted earlier: “do those who live by trickery ever err in their tricks (kūṭôpajīvinaḥ kiṃ vā kūṭe muhyanti kutracit, 13.72)?

3.5 “How long will this goose play?”

In this final section I will return to what I believe constitutes the story line of the eighth canto: Jaitrasiṃha’s tragic choice of bestowing kingship on the wrong son. After Jaitrasiṃha’s lecture on kingship, we learn about his desire to leave behind the burden of kingship and do good for his Self (svâtma-hitaṃ, 8.106, repeated in 8.12) in a town named

“Illustrious Hermitage” (śrī-āśramaṃ, 8.106). Interestingly, he will never reach this town.

The episode revolves around the ministers’ laments and complaints: they seem not to agree with Jaitrasiṃha’s decision to leave the kingdom in the hands of Hammīra. They break into tears (8.109) when realizing that Jaitrasiṃha will abandon the kingdom, seeming to know what Hammīra too predicted. They explain that when Jaitrasiṃha left behind Royal Fortune (sāṃrājya-lakṣmīṃ) earlier “our own good fortunes do not reach their former Splendor, like fireflies in the darkness of being separated from you”

(khadyota-vat tvad virahândhakāre bhāgyāni no yānti purā-prakāśām, 8.110). They further explain that without the sun-like Jaitrasiṃha the Splendor (śriyam) of the city will turn into darkness (prapatsyante, 8.111) - the future mode is used purposefully to express certainty. Like earlier with Hammīra’s own protest, Jaitrasiṃha doesn’t heed their words.

He tries to assure them that Hammīra will make a great king. “Do not worry” (mā kārṣṭa kaṣṭaṃ), Jaitrasiṃha explains, “this is not desired by the wise” (viduṣām aniṣṭaṃ, 8.112).

There is no reason for their worry. He explains them in verse 8.113 that Hammīra is like the rising moon who will fill up the empty darkness left by the setting sun: the kingdom will indeed soon (a-cireṇa, and literally “not long”) become very splendorous (prakāma-śrīkaṃ). Interestingly, Jaitrasiṃha supports his vision on the future by referring to Hammīra’s (traditional) stature as an ideal, praiseworthy king:

When this royal goose to my lotus-like dynasty, praised in this world by all his qualities.

49 See my discussion of this episode in the next chapter, in section 4.5.

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is served like me, with his gracious gifts he will grant you perpetual bliss.⁵⁰

Again, a huge contrast plays out between Jaitrasiṃha’s bright vision of the future and the darker visions held by his ministers, and earlier by Hammīra himself. Everyone but Jaitrasiṃha seems to know that the darker vision lies closer to the truth.

Unfortunately, the ministers do not get to respond. As soon as Jaitrasiṃha reaches the sacred city of Pallī while dismissing (vi-sṛjan) his ministers with the above words, a (poisonous) spider (lūtā) appeared, fell down on him, making him die instantly (8.115).

This verse comes entirely unexpected. It might sound as an echo of an episode in the eighth canto of Raghuvaṃśa, where Aja’s wife Indumatī dies unexpectedly from a flower falling from the sky. Like in Raghuvaṃśa, such an unexpected death is followed by the lamentations of the king who is left behind, blaming the adverse workings of Fate (vidhi).⁵¹ But the atmosphere in Nayacandra’s poem is quite unlike the pitiful lament of Aja in Raghuvaṃśa’s eighth canto, where he eventually dies from grief and becomes happily united with his wife in heaven. In Nayacandra’s poem it brings the audience back to the main theme of the canto, and poem as a whole: the importance of waking up from delusional visions.

Like Aja with the loss of his beloved wife Indumatī, Hammīra becomes entirely caught up in his sorrow, with his self being grasped by delusion (moha-grahilī-kṛtâtmā, 8.117). It is in this state of delusion – this is important – that he utters his laments (8.119-122), directed at the cruel workings of Fate as the Creator god (vidhi, vedhas, dhātṛ), the force that ordains life, and appears to cause destruction (vināśa-hetoḥ, 8.119) without any reason. Let me give one example of Hammīra’s lament:

Fire, bad people, and the kāla-kūṭa poison (“the trick of time”) – who created those things that have the power to harm others?

Today the answer is born: it is the Creator who killed the illustrious king Jaitrasiṃha!⁵²

The accusation of Fate as the cause of misfortune has been brought up earlier, namely in Pṛthvīrāja’s story where we read in 3.65 that this Chauhan king was captured by the Śaka king Shahabuddin “on account of Fate’s playful gestures” (vidhi-vilasita-yogād), or

50 mad-vaṃśa-pāthoruha-rājahaṃsas tais tair guṇair viśva-kṛta-praśaṃsaḥ | saṃsevyamāno ‘ham iva prasāda-dānaiḥ sadânandayitâiṣa yuṣmān ||8.114||

51 Raghuvaṃśa, 8.45-52.

52 hutāśanâsajjana-kāla-kūṭān paraṃ-tapôrjīn iti ko vyadhatta |

śrī-jaitrasiṃha-nṛpatiṃ praṇighnann ajāyatâsyôttaram adya vedhāḥ ||8.120||

translating yogād differently, “through his control of Fate’s playful gestures”.⁵³ This is just like Jalaluddin killed the reckless Vīranārāyaṇa through his “control of poison” (viṣa-yogena, 4.104). It will also turn up later when Hammīra reaches the long-awaited moment of tragic recognition (the Greek anagnorisis) at the end of the penultimate canto, discussed in the next chapter. I argue that Nayacandra in fact intends to confront the notion of fate as a force that strikes unexpectedly, cruelly, without any clear motif. He presents this as the perspective of those who are caught up in delusion (moha), clouded by the short-sightedness that accompanies the blinding emotion of sorrow. He will link the topic of fate to the human tendency to avoid personal responsibility, to save one’s name and reputation.

Nayacandra is clearly engaging with the complex debate about the notion of fate in relation to the law of karmic justice, which is highly central in Jain literature, where typically every ‘unexpected’ twist is linked to past actions, as noted by other scholars.⁵⁴ It is also not unique to Jain literature.The general idea is that one’s fate is the accumulation and coming to fruition of one’s past actions: we may get what we deserve. Jaitrasiṃha’s

‘unexpected’ death can be said to ensue from his stubborn attitude and tragic choice to give Śrī to Hammīra, excluding his elder brother and the ministers from this decision.

HMK shows how people bring up the notion of fate to explain something that only appears to have happened unexpectedly, without any reason. But the point throughout HMK, I suggest, is that ultimately, this may be a misunderstanding of how karmic retribution and time really works.⁵⁵

53 Glossed by the commentary as daiva-yogāt. However, Nayacandra seems to make a distinction between the notion of daiva as personal fate, and the idea of an impersonal Creator (vidhi, dhātṛ, etc.), who supposedly determines the fates of men without any reason. I discuss this in the next chapter, commenting on Hammīra’s moment of tragic hindsight.

54 As for example noted by Warder (1988: §4271), discussing the famous poem Tilakamañjarī of the Jain poet Dhanapāla: “As we know from other Jaina authors, what is popularly known as ‘Fate’ and sometimes understood to be Brahmā is in reality the workings out of the results of previous actions of the individuals who experience it. Dhanapāla generally expresses himself in the popular language and freely sprinkles his character’s speeches with references to ‘Fate’. (…) There is nothing casual or ‘chance’ (another concept equivalent to ‘Fate’ in Dhanapāla’s view) in this story or in its artistic presentation. All these surprising adventures belong to a single fabric and if any detail were cut, so to say, the whole would unravel.”

55 Cf. with Barbara Miller’s observation (1967: xxii) in the preface to the translation of Bhartṛhari’s poetry, explaining that “[p]opular tradition pays lip-service to the doctrine of karma, but turns to a notion of fate to provide a more ready explanation for the apparent absurdity with which karma expresses itself in the world. The concept of fate as it appears scattered through the Śatakas does not impair the validity of karma, it operates on a different level: fate does not have the cosmic significance that karma does. It is invoked to explain the irrationality and confusion of events in the life of a man in society, frustrated by the pursuit of worldly gain and concerned only with immediate results. He need not blame his own actions for this present state; he has recourse to the belief that his destiny was written on his forehead, having been traced there at the beginning of birth by a creator-god who acts by mere caprice. ” And, on the same page:

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Jaitrasiṃha’s death brings us back to the atmosphere of the beginning of the canto.

If the opening suprabhātam, as I argued, was actually meant to awaken king Jaitrasiṃha before handing over the burden of kingship to one of his sons, then the concluding part is meant to awaken Hammīra, whose self is caught up in delusion. We soon learn in verse 8.124 about an intervention by some wise men in Hammīra’s court, Viprabījāditya⁵⁶ and others, who are “excellent among those who understand ultimate reality” (brahma-vidāṃ vareṇyaiḥ). Like sailors they try to pull Hammīra’s mind out of his ocean of sorrow.

Another important detail: they try to uplift Hammīra for the good of the people (janatā-hitāya), just like earlier in Vāgbhaṭa’s story (see the previous chapter, 2.4). They start their exposition by making clear that death is the unescapable nature of things. Does Hammīra not see that everyone’s father dies (8.125)? To be alive is already a great wonder, for the breath of life is fickle (taralaṃ) like the wind (8.126). These verses are again reminiscent of Aja’s ministers who similarly try to console the prince and remove his sorrow.⁵⁷ In HMK they set the tone for the subsequent wake-up call about the ‘delusional gestures’ of Time (8.128). We can understand the following set of verses as resuming the message of the suprabhātam with which the eighth canto started. And along with the meaningful change of meter (to vasanta-tilaka, “the ornament of spring” which is the suprabhātam meter)- the degenerative process of Time is (finally) explicitly introduced. Let me start with the first verse.

With his sweet and charming cooing sounds

With his sweet and charming cooing sounds