Imagery of decay, ironies of misplaced joy

I highlighted how HMK’s monumental prologue – with its deep interplay of symbolic, thematic, religious-philosophical, intertextual and meta-poetic layers – only deceitfully frames the poem’s subject matter as a story about the rise, prosperity, successes and joy of the Chauhan dynasty. As I will show in this chapter, from the third canto onwards, with the story of Pṛthvīrāja, the poem makes the inevitable and expected tragic turn. Images of decay and separation – already implicit in the prologue - take over. It is important to take this imagery seriously if we want to move beyond modern interpretations of HMK that single out its supposed concern with idealizing or glorifying kingship and warriorhood. I hope to show that the more tragic imagery is dominant, and potentially subversive in effect. Throughout the poem we repeatedly hear about a process of decay, which eventually culminates in the complete dissolution (pralaya) of the Chauhan dynasty, with the death of Hammīra, the widowhood of Lakṣmī (14.2), after which nothing but a story remains - of fame, or blame.

I will argue that we are repeatedly confronted with the tragic and potentially ironic tendency of fame to turn into blame. The deep irony of this process comes down to this:

the tragic hero, whose efforts are deeply motivated by a desire or fear to secure a positive remembrance – gain fame, avoid blame – becomes the subject of a story that undermines the heroism of his efforts. Exposing this delusional desire to be famous becomes a major concern in the cantos about Hammīra’s tragedy, which I explain at length in the fourth chapter. The cantos about Hammīra’s predecessors already anticipate this tragic tendency.

Imagery of decay and blame purposefully confront idealizing modes and imagery of joy, success and satisfaction. In a typical tragic fashion, HMK’s author repeatedly - and often with a sense of humor - exploits the tragic irony of misplaced joy, of untimely

82

celebrations and moments of restoration that only signal upcoming defeat. Given the inevitability of the tragic plot, episodes of ‘Chauhan brilliance’ often seem to serve a contrastive purpose, making the upcoming darkness come out even stronger. In the course of time’s playful and degenerative process, from Pṛthvīrāja’s kingship (canto 3) to that of Hammīra (9-13), Śrī’s brilliance - on the Chauhan side - tends to swing, dance, play and gradually wane, until her complete disappearance from the Chauhan dynasty with the fall of Ranthambhor. This chapter seeks to demonstrate how Nayacandra models such dynamic and tragic patterns of kingship in Hammīra’s prehistory. Rather than transforming tragic defeat into a heroic success, the poem exposes the mechanisms behind this human tendency itself. Instead of a concern with heroic transformations the poem reveals a strong concern to give insight into the causes of and show multiple perspectives on the tragic transformation itself, the fall from fortune to misfortune, the shift from fame to blame.

After Nayacandra introduces Hammīra as the last, brilliant gem adorning the illustrious (śrī, 1.12) Chauhan dynasty, we get two cantos about his predecessors, describing their glorious rise to success (utpatti, 1.13) and, not unimportantly, its cause (utpatti-hetur, 1.25). These two cantos do not tell an actual story, but gradually take the reader from the Chauhan dynasty’s mythological origins and remote past, to the more remembered past. These cantos describe the gradual spread of the Chauhan’s fortune (śrī) over time and space. The verses name and praise each new Chauhan king, mapping the geographical landscape and center of their power (the Chauhan capital of Ajmer – Ajayameru, 1.52, and the Śākambharī region in 1.88-89), and mentioning various conflicts with rulers from neighboring dynastic clans, both ‘foreign’ (śaka) and indigenous enemies. Like in the benediction, two cantos long the always recurring theme is that of Śrī. She appears to remain without much trouble at the Chauhan side, conferring her beautiful brilliance on a range of important thematic concerns, sovereignty (rājya-śrī), valor (śaurya-śrī), heaven (svarga/diva-śrī), fame (kīrti/yaśas) and especially victory (jaya-śrī). Importantly, all these different Splendors go and belong together. Let us recall that Śrī indeed constitutes one principle. And consequently, as we will see, the loss of the Splendor of sovereignty (rājya-śrī) or victory (jaya-śrī) has a darkening effect on acquisition of fame. Thus, already in these two first cantos we learn that the ‘losers’ – those who become separated from Śrī - swoon, fall into darkness. And the splendor of their fame too is taken away, diminishes or gets stained.¹

As a whole, these cantos can be said to absorb the reader into the illustrious world of the early Chauhan kings and their rise (utpatti) to success. It looks like Nayacandra deliberately paints an illustrious, spotless background of the early Chauhan’s brilliant

1 Also worthy of note is the repeated mention in the first canto of poets (kavi), who are needed to spread the fame of the victors, as in 1.49, 1.56, 1.84, 1.86, 1.93.

fortune and fame – white in the Indian imagination - to make a sharp contrast with the darker tones of the closer, imaginable past, which the reader slowly enters toward the end of the second canto. We know that it won’t take long before the Chauhan kings will also face defeat. They are bound to become separated from Śrī. And they will therefore also swoon and slumber into darkness. The topic of fame is therefore crucial. In an important sense, this is what is really at stake for the Chauhan heroes of the poem. This is explicitly thematized in the cantos about Hammīra, as I show in the next chapter.

Apart from depicting the brilliance of the Chauhan past - till the tragic turn in Pṛthvīrāja’s story, the topic of the next section - these verses already anticipate major thematic emphases and motifs. I will limit myself to examine one striking cluster of images evoked in the penultimate verse of the first canto (1.103). It reads as some sort of conclusion, or guiding principle, in the form of a statement of praise about the Chauhan king Siṃharāja (ca. 994-971). His fame and might surpasses that of the Moon and Ocean, who embody respectively the whiteness of fame and the vastness of might. The verse comes after learning that this Chauhan king defeated the rulers of Karṇāṭa, Lāṭa, Cola, and Aṅga (1.97), and right before learning that he killed the Śaka king Hetim (1.104):

Oh, oh! How inappropriate of the Ocean!

Even now he instantly rejoices when seeing his son, the Moon

who got defeated, indeed, by his [the Chauhan king’s] fame.

In the same way, because of his greatness

he [the Ocean] received the submarine Fire Mare, and alas, now he is drying up!

Every man sees the fault in the “other” (parasya) but not in himself!²

This may just sound as a standard royal praise. However, it contains several of the major tragic themes in HMK: misperception, misplaced joy, mistaking fame for blame, blaming others, over-confidence in strength, giving shelter, self-consuming emotions, insatiable desires, etc. The basic image revolves around the whirling ocean, who becomes thrilled with joy when seeing his ‘famous’ son, the Moon, the symbol of fame (and its tendency to wane, or become blemished). But the verse says that the Ocean’s joy is in fact highly inappropriate. The Ocean is blamed as it were for being unwilling to see that the fame of

2 hā hā kêyam anaucitī jala-nidher adyâpi hṛṣyaty asau

yaṃ drṣṭvā jitam apy amuṣya yaśasā candraṃ muhuḥ svâṅgajam | prāpyâitan mahasā tathâiva vaḍavā-vahniṃ ca śuṣyaty aho sarvaḥ ko ‘pi parasya paśyati jano doṣaṃ na ca svasya tam ||1.103||

84

his son, the Moon, is overtaken by the greater fame (yaśasā) of the Chauhan king. (The Moon indeed is blamed for his dark spots; and he is associated with illicit behavior, which he has to repay with its monthly waning). Moreover, in the same way the Ocean deserves to be blamed for his blind over-confidence in his physical, outer greatness. Because indeed, “in the same way”, the Chauhan king also surpasses the greatness and depth of the Ocean.³

The Ocean’s arrogant nature and misplaced joy have severe consequences for him (and the whole universe). Mythology tells us that the Ocean was given the important task of saving the world by controlling the dangerous apocalyptic fire at the bottom of his waters. This doomsday fire may represent Śiva’s uncontrolled anger and passion (or seed), released from his third eye into the world when he attempted to destroy Kāma, the god of love.⁴ On request of the gods, fearing the world’s destruction, Brahmā had transformed this fire in the form of a female horse (vaḍabā), a Mare, with which he went to the great Ocean, asking him to contain and control it or her. It is on account of his unsurpassed greatness (mahasā) that the Ocean consented to accept this unquenchable fire, in the form of wild, untamable Mare. This verse implies that this act too may have been inappropriate. After all, the Ocean is indeed slowly drying up (śuṣyati). At the end of the end kaliyuga, the submarine horse will indeed come out and destroy the universe. The implication of this verse is that ultimately the Ocean is not great and strong enough to control this fire. In other words, it is meant as a praise for the much greater Chauhan king who would have made a better candidate to control this dangerous fire-horse.

Importantly, this verse suggests that the great Ocean has no clue about his tragic fate (and what it causes for others). He doesn’t see that he is burning up, blinded as it were by the joy of seeing the fame of his son, the Moon, whose exemplary splendor too is in fact dimmed by the greater fame of the Chauhan king. The final line sums up the general wisdom about human nature (arthântara-nyāsa) that can be learned from this phenomenon.

sarvaḥ ko ‘pi parasya paśyati jano doṣaṃ na ca svasya tam Everyone sees the fault in another, but not in himself

This message, including the imagery used to support it, may well serve as the guiding theme of the poem. The Chauhan protagonists (from Pṛthvīrāja onwards) will never see that they may be doing something inappropriate. Similar to the image of how the Ocean is fated to dry up, we will see that the Chauhan dynasty’s ‘pond-like Śrī’ – a recurrent metaphor - will dry up, precisely because of the constant problem of misperception,

3 This is standard trope in royal panegyric, also mentioned in 1.24, where the first Chauhan is said to take away the Splendor of the ocean’s depth (gāmbhīrya-lakṣmīṃ harati).

4 See Doniger 1971: 26, on the imagery of the ocean accepting this fire.

misplaced joy and a blinding over-confidence in one’s physical, outer strength. Even when confronted with their faults and blindness, they will deny it, and confer guilt and blame on something or someone else, the “other” (para).

The imagery of the unquenchable fire or female horse (vaḍavā) within the Ocean is significant for other reasons. Wendy Doniger has shown how this female fire may stand for many things: one’s inner heat (tapas), the inner power (śakti) or potency of the self, the prancing horse-like senses which need to be controlled, the deadly poison called kālā-kūṭā “the trick of time”, which Śiva swallowed to save the universe when it emerged out of the cosmic ocean, or Śrī/Lakṣmī, who like the Moon is born from the Ocean’s body.⁵ Suggesting that all this is implied or latently present in Nayacandra’s Ocean verse would be an overinterpretation. The main point is that the great Ocean is doing something wrong, he is unaware of the tragic process, blinded by pride and over-confidence. Only truly great men – like the Chauhan king Siṃharāja - can control this inner fire-mare, and use its potent energy, without being consumed or blinded by it.

This myth – like most Indian myths - is full of meaningful paradoxes and contradictions, which are purposefully exploited here. Doniger points out that the imagery of the fire within the ocean is often used to emphasize the Ocean’s greatness, generosity and compassion, but poets typically play with potentially conflicting relations between these qualities. This is how Daniel Ingalls explains how the poet turns imagery associated with praise into messages of blame:

The ocean is praised for its power, beneficence, respect for law, etc. (…) but blamed for its overinclusiveness, for its being too salty to drink, for its harboring dangerous monsters, for its uselessness and its noisy boasting.⁶

When reading HMK we are also repeatedly invited to look out for ‘the other’ side of heroic qualities. Think already of Hammīra’s legendary courageousness (sattva) and compassion, which made him decide to give shelter to the Mongols in his kingdom, not unlike the stories about the great Ocean perhaps. Yet, in Nayacandra’s version this act of harboring a potentially dangerous enemy won’t be presented as an act of compassion, as I show in the fourth chapter. I will explain that Hammīra’s defeat is linked to a series of misperceptions, including about the ‘otherness’ (paratvam) of the Mongols. The Chauhans are more like the Ocean in the sense of not being able to control their horse-like senses, and of being blinded by their confidence in strength and might, and Hammīra’s father, Jaitrasiṃha will be blinded by his love for his son, etc. This is why the pond-like Splendor of the Chauhan dynasty will dry up.

5 Doniger 1971: 14, 17-18.

6 Ingalls 1965: 302.

86

Keeping this in mind we can proceed to the concretization of this fatal imagery in the next cantos, where we will encounter many kings who are unable to control their senses.

Pṛthvīrāja will fall victim to a dancing horse; Harirāja will succumb to dancing girls;

Prahlādana to a sleeping lion during a hunting expedition that is also compared to a stage of dance, and a whirling ocean, etc. All this will resonate powerfully in the story of Hammīra, including a nod, at a critical turning point, to the insatiable and unquenchable fire of the submarine mare.⁷