Poetry’s life-affirming power: the story of Vāgbhaṭa, “Warrior of Speech”

“Warrior of Speech”

From the above discussion it might seem that Nayacandra presents a rather dark, and perhaps pessimistic vision of kingship. But pessimism or political cynicism may not be the right words to describe the tone and overall effect of the poem. I want to draw attention to the fascinating story of the minister-turned king Vāgbhaṭa, “The Warrior of (poetic) Speech” (vāg-bhaṭa). He is the only Chauhan ‘king’ who doesn’t succumb to tragic blindness and successfully ends up establishing a stable reign. This man is the younger brother of the hunt-lover Prahlādana and minister to his reckless son Vīranārāyaṇa. His exceptional role in the poem is worthy of our attention. Nayacandra indeed took his time

king of Ajmer, see Sharma 1975: 115-6, who also explains how the Chauhans of Ranthambhor ruled as feudatories of the early Delhi Sultanate (p.119), that is until the resistance of Hammīra.

46 As discussed in Bronner’s reading (2010) of Bilhaṇa’s Vikramāṅkadevacarita.

47 sva-svāmi-vaṃśa-kāsāra-haṃsaṃ taṃ bhūpam āśritāḥ | kīrti-pātrī-bhavanto ‘vatiṣṭhemahy akuto-bhayāḥ ||4.25||

to tell the story of Vāgbhaṭa, the wise minister who is told by the foolish king Vīrānārāyaṇa – who is his nephew - to mind his own business (4.99, translated below), but ultimately saves the kingdom. He is introduced in 4.38 as Prahlādana’s younger brother and chief minister, auspiciously described as “the vessel of wisdom, having Fortune herself as his wife” (dvitīya-śrīr vāgbhaṭaḥ pratipad-ghaṭaḥ, 4.38). And he leaves the poem almost hundred verses later when in verse 4.129, where he is described as the king who

“happily ruled his kingdom for twelve years” (sukhaṃ dvādaśa-varṣāṇi svayaṃ rājyaṃ sa tenivān).

This precise temporal information makes his story different from his predecessors, perhaps indicative of the ‘truthfulness’ of Vāgbhaṭa’s story. I do not mean truthfulness in an historical sense, even though his conflict with the ruler of Malwa, mentioned in 4.107, and his recapture of Ranthambhor does have an historical basis; he is even praised in a contemporary Persian chronicle.⁴⁸ What I mean is that in his story the enclosing heroic frame is not hollowed out by the actualization of his story. He is fittingly described as “the tree for the creeper of the Chauhan’s Royal Fortune, which is about to fall” (patiṣyac-cāhamānīya-rājya-śrī-vallī-pādapam, 4.73). He is cast as the “warrior of insight/illumination” (pratibhā-bhaṭaḥ, 4.94) when in his role as a minister he tries to prevent the reckless king Vīranārāyaṇa from uniting with the enemy. He vainly tries to explain the real, secret meaning (rahaḥ) behind his enemy’s deceitful message of flattery, with which Jalaluddin tricked the gullible Vīranārāyaṇa into defeat. When Vāgbhaṭa later manages to reconquer Ranthambhor he is described as the “master among those who know the science of policy” (nīti-vidāṃ guruḥ, 4.120). He indeed saves the kingdom by resorting to stratagem, instead of force, keeping his soldiers away from battle by encircling the fort and starving the enemy to death. The citizens are described as highly devoted to him, “who is endowed with the most praiseworthy splendor of victory” (jaya-śasyatama-dyuteḥ, 4.124). Unlike earlier and later in the poem, the brilliance of victory doesn’t blind him. It doesn’t make him overconfident and do stupid things.⁴⁹ He seems to truly understand the value of Śrī’s playful charm (vilāsa), and therefore deserves the epithet of having her as his wife. ⁵⁰

48 As discussed by Sharma (1975: 121), noting how his conquest of Malwa is mentioned in the inscription of Balwan of 1288 CE. In the Prabandhakośa genealogy he is mentioned as “Conquerer of Malwa”

(mālavā-jetā) (Jinavijaya 1935: 134), but no dates are given. Sharma mentions how the roughly contemporary Persian chronicle Tabaqat-i-Nasiri (1260 CE) even praises him as “the greatest of the Rāis, and the most noble and illustrious of all the princes of Hindustan” (1975: 105). In the Sanskrit Prabandhakośa he is named Vāhaḍa(deva), and not Vāgbhaṭa.

49 Like in HMK 10.68, discussed in chapter four, section 4.4.

50 I believe Nayacandra purposefully employs the same imagery to refer to the playful charm (vilāsa) of Sarasvatī, as in 14.40, and that of Lakṣmī/Śrī, in 1.9. Given the game-like attitude that pervades the treatment of the narrative in each canto, and the poet’s framing of his poetic project as true play, we might

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The story of Vāgbhaṭa “Warrior of Speech” illustrates one of the poem’s defining themes, namely that (political or poetic?) insight (nīti, pratipad, pratibhā) is the only successful means to secure Royal Fortune.⁵¹ Speech (vāc) is typically synonymous with Sarasvatī, Goddess of poetic Speech. Similarly Vāgbhaṭa’s later designation as the warrior of pratibhā “insight/brilliance”, seems to allude to the significance of this term in Sanskrit poetics, where it is used to designate the poet’s luminous ‘genius’ as one of the essential conditions to compose poetry (kāvya).⁵² Let me try to illustrate how his exceptional role in the poem seems to reinforce the poem’s meta-poetic undercurrent.

Vāgbhaṭa’s role in the poem indeed resembles that of the poet’s task as a visionary

‘seer’ and instructor to the king. His story is also suggestive of the characters’ and reader’s task to interpret texts, to see through poetry’s deceitful guises, especially when it looks like royal flattery. But the childish and reckless Vīranārāyaṇa is not able to detect the

‘real’ message of the ‘poems’ sent to him. He succumbs to royal flattery, having his attention elsewhere, and acts in haste, without thinking. This contrasts dramatically with the thoughtful plan of Jalaluddin. We thus learn in 4.84 that this mighty Śaka king, whose manly efforts are ‘mature’ (prauḍha-pauruṣaḥ), realizes that he has to capture Vīranārāyaṇa with deceit (chala-grāhyaṃ). Then in the next verse, we learn that he conjures up a plan. Wishing to conquer him by trickery (vijigīṣuś chalenâmuṃ), he “lets some time pass”(kiyaty atha gate kāle, 4.85), and sends forth a messenger (dūta) (4.85).⁵³ The envoy’s message is meant to flatter the Chauhan king. Using the conventional imagery of royal panegyric, Jalaluddin makes Vīranārāyaṇa believe that they make a good pair:

through their alliance, like the Sun and the Moon, they will rule the whole earth together (4.86). Let me quote the two verses that follow

make note of the following analogy between the poet’s play and the royal game of fortune. Only through the grace of Sarasvatī – Goddess of speech – the poet is endowed with his creative power (śakti) to playfully deceive his readers, and disguise the “real message” for the attentive reader to uncover. Similarly, it is only through the energy of his playful consort, the goddess of Fortune, that a king can manage to employ deceit and see through deceit. Both the royal protagonists, poet and reader have to value and understand the playful/shining (vi-lasat) nature of poetry/fortune.

51 This is also repeatedly emphasized in Jaitrasiṃha’s lecture on kingship in the eighth canto (especially in 8.80-85).

52 His name may also purposefully resonate with a Jain theoretician on poetry named Vāgbhaṭa, who is also quoted in the commentary Hammīramahākāvya-dīpikā, 151, 165. Edwin Gerow (1977: 278-9) notes that there are two Vāgbhaṭas, who are both associated with the school of Hemacandra, and his “Jaina emphasis on pratibhā.” (p.279).

53 Such details are important to understand how the poem repeatedly juxtaposes the more mature antagonists as patient ‘masters of time’ against the Chauhan tendency to act recklessly (like children).

Taking time is what allows Jalaluddin to trick the Chauhans into defeat. Hammīra’s wise brother Bhoja – who will abandon the Chauhan king - and Alauddin’s brother-general Ulugh Khan exert a similar control of time.

I discuss their role in chapter four, in sections 4.3 and 4.4.

Because it is the union of our mutual affection that leads to the ripening of our fruit, not indeed the outburst of conflict, which is brittle like the game of happiness. ⁵⁴ Having obtained an ally with someone like you, like fire uniting with wind

I will instantly burn down the dynasties of my enemies, however strong they are.⁵⁵ I’m delighted by your bravery! You are my brother!

if henceforth I would betray you then, for sure, I will curse the Creator.⁵⁶ But you should come over for a meeting one time!

And if not, I, for the same purpose, will subject myself to your command.⁵⁷

The reader of course knows that all this is a scam. The message itself is indeed also somewhat see-through. (And Vāgbhaṭa will try to point this out to the king.) Note how the flattering tone switches from a flattering ‘we perspective’ in 4.87 to a more violent ‘I- perspective’ in 4.88: “I will burn down the dynasties of my enemies”. Nayacandra again purposefully exploits the irony by describing in the next verse that the Chauhan king, was driven by a desire for ‘war’ (vigraha) with someone else. The verse thus says that he was “taken in” (vigṛhīta) by his conflicts (vigrahaiḥ) with a ruler named Vigraha, “War”, the ruler of the city Vakṣaḥ-sthala, whom he desires to overpower easily (sutarām sisādhayiṣato).⁵⁸ Jalaluddin’s message, which talks about the futility of war (vigraha, 4.88) to seduce him to ‘unite in peace’, ironically highlights that the Chauhan king is in fact entirely caught up in war (vigraha). This is presented as the reason why he falls into the trap. We thus learn that the Chauhan king is kissed or ‘touched’ (cumbitaṃ) by the Śaka’s flattering message:

Kissed by the deviously roundabout speech of the messenger

like a lotus by bumble bees the heart of the Chauhan

54 tan nau yuktā mithaḥ prītiḥ pacelima-phalôdayā | na tu vigraha-visphūrtir saukhya-keli-bhidelimā ||4.87||

I take the Koṭā manuscript variant here, instead of na ca and bhidelima-tamāyatiḥ. The compound saukhya-keli fits well with HMK’s recurrent concern to turn everything into a game (keli).

55 sahāyaṃ tvādṛśaṃ labdhvā samīram iva pāvakaḥ | dandahye yat kṣaṇenâiva vairi-vaṃśān dṛḍhān api ||4.88||

56 prīto ‘smi tava śauryeṇa tvaṃ me bhrātā ‘sy ataḥ param | druhyāmi yady ahaṃ tubhyaṃ kartre tarhi śape dhruvam ||4.89||

57 eka-velaṃ sametavyaṃ milanāya paraṃ tvayā | na ced ahaṃ samākāryas tvad-ādeśa-vaśaṃ-vadaḥ ||4.90||

58 Sharma (1975: 119) asks in his notes whether this Vigraha is the (Pratihāra) king Vigraha, the father of Malayavarman of Gopagiri. I believe the name is meant to be fictional.

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was inspired with trust.⁵⁹

Kissed (cumbita) by deceitful flattery, the Chauhan king is about to rush headlong towards his death. It is in this verse, about Vīranārāyaṇa’s misplaced trust (vyaśvasīt), that his father’s ominous advice about the triple set needed to maintain Royal Fortune– bravery, intelligence, and prudence (a-viśvāsa) – comes to fruition. It ironically illustrates how

‘bravery’ (śaurya) is meaningless without the cleverness of deceit. ‘The heart of the Chauhan’ (cāhamānasya hṛdayaṃ) is not sensitive enough to see through the deceitful flattery of his enemy. The enemy, by praising Vīranārāyaṇa’s valor (śaurya) in 4.89 cleverly makes use of the royal (or human) susceptibility to praise and flattery. The deceptive ‘bend’ (bhaṅgī) of the words is indicative of the curved, roundabout, indirect way of speaking. But the word bhaṅgībhir also literally and audibly– like in Pṛthvīrāja’s story (bhaṅgyā, 3.46, or even in the bhaktir of 1.7 – all placed as the last word of the first pāda – and later in canto ) – signals another dangerous rupture in the Chauhan dynasty’s waning flow of Splendor (Śrī).

Importantly, the reckless, war-obsessed Chauhan king is still given an opportunity to bridge this gap. (Hammīra will be given several occasions to prevent the tragedy from further unfolding). He only has to listen to the wise speech of Vāgbhaṭa, the ‘Warrior of (poetic) Illumination’ (pratibhā-bhaṭaḥ, 4.93).

Then, Vāgbhaṭa, that warrior of illumination, after seeing the king, restlessly desiring to unite with the Śaka, told the secret truth (rahaḥ).⁶⁰

He reminds the king to turn his mind (buddheḥ) to the wisdom of policy (naya-śāstrām) and not fall into the trap by uniting with the “bad-hearted barbarian” (duṣṭa-hṛn-mleccha) (4.94). But the episode clearly invites us to consider who is truly ‘bad-hearted’.

Interestingly, the ‘truth-revealing’ speech of Vāgbhaṭa is presented in the same poetic imagery as the truth-disguising and flattering speech of the enemy’s messenger:

If you want to rule the kingdom and live for a long time,

Then you should bring my bee-like speech to your lotus-like heart.⁶¹

59 tābhir dūtôkti-bhaṅgībhir bhṛṅgībhir iva vārijam | cumbitaṃ cāhamānasya hṛdayaṃ vyaśvasīttamām || 4.92|

60 tato ‘vanīpatiṃ vīkṣya śaka-saṅga-manôtsukam rahaḥ saṃvādayām āsa vāgbhaṭaḥ pratibhā-bhaṭaḥ ||4.93||

61 pracikīrṣasi ced rājyaṃ jijīviṣasi cec ciram |

tadā mad-ukti-bhṛṅgîyaṃ nīyatāṃ hṛdayâmbujam ||4.96 ||

I believe this message is of some importance. I want to suggest that Vāgbhaṭa is an advocate of a fortune- and life-affirming perspective. Importantly, he shares this concern with the citizens of the kingdom. Throughout the poem this life-affirming perspective entails a radical opposition to the de facto selfish warrior perspective which glorifies war and death. Warriors are blinded by pride, desire for fame, martial lust, the reward of heaven, and are as it were “disgusted” (nirvinna) with life.⁶² Let me show what happens next.

Thus he (Vāgbhaṭa) had spoken. And there, in silence, blinding anger pervaded the king’s body, making his eyebrows take a terrifying (bhīmāṃ) curve as he answered:

“Whether an improper or proper act, I will do what pleases me the most according to my own will. Mind your own business (kṛtam)!”

As it were by a spear, these words struck Vāgbhaṭa in his heart.

He therefore left the kingdom, and went with his retinue to Malwa.⁶³

Contrary to the deceitful flattery of his enemy, Vāgbhaṭa’s (poetic) bee-like speech does not please the king. His subsequent insults pierce his minister-uncle-poet Vāgbhaṭa in the heart, making him leave for Malwa (where another court intrigue awaits him). The Chauhan king’s blind anger (krudhândhalaḥ, 4.98) is connected to a delusional arrogance or pride. In the next verse (4.101) we learn that he goes to the enemy out of pride (garvāt), not only ignoring or literally ‘overlooking’ (upekṣya) Vāgbhaṭa’s message, but “also - or even -the words of the citizens, who were shining with supreme love” (parama-prīti-gaurāṇāṃ paurāṇām api bhāṣitam). The imagery of seeing and light is used effectively and with a wry sense of irony to highlight the king’s blindness. The next verse shows how the Śaka king (śakêndra) leads the king ‘with great light’ (mahena mahatā) into the inner chambers (4.102), where he is further kissed (cumbitam) by flattering speech (4.103), and ultimately gets poisoned (4.104).

The other day the Śaka had the king killed by means of poison.

Oh! Do sinful people, when doing bad acts, ever err? ⁶⁴

62 This view is made explicit in 13.208. And the warrior’s strong sense of egoism (ahaṅ-kāra), which exerts supervision (adhyakṣa) in 13.197.

63 ity uktvā tatra tūṣṇīke sarvâṅgīṇa-krudhândhalaḥ | ghaṭayan bhrakuṭīṃ bhīmāṃ pārthivo jagivān iti ||4.98||

akāryaṃ yadi vā kāryaṃ yan me rociṣyatetamām | kariṣye tad ahaṃ svairaṃ cintayâtra kṛtaṃ tava ||4.99||

vāgbhaṭas tena vākyena prāsenêva hato hṛdi |

yayau tad rājyam utsṛjya mālave sa-paricchadaḥ ||4.100||

64 anyedyur viṣa-yogena śako bhūpam amīmarat |

kvā ‘py akṛtyaṃ prakurvantaḥ pāpā muhyanti hanti kim ||4.104||

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On the surface, this rhetorical question may read as a critique of the ‘sinful’ Jalaluddin and his act of trickery – or perhaps through his control of the poison (viṣa-yogena), like Śiva who swallowed the poison called “trick of time” (kāla-kūṭa). Although this interpretation may seem far-fetched, this rhetorical question is later modified in Hammīra’s story. Thus, this is what we learn when Alauddin, the Trickster (māyāvī, 13.71), manages to win over Hammīra’s favorite general Ratipāla “Protector of Pleasure” (13.72):

And he charmed him, deceitfully, with various honors and gifts.

Do those who live by trickery ever err in their tricks?⁶⁵

It is quite significant that in this modified version Alauddin’s deceit (kūṭa) is not linked to pāpa, or “sin” as in the story of Jalaluddin’s trickery. It is presented as the creative mastery of time or fate itself, like Śiva or Viṣṇu, the divine Trickster (māyāvin). This, I believe, is implicit in all the victory stories throughout HMK.⁶⁶ Moreover, the skill to deceive and see through deceit is a sign of wakefulness, a quality that attracts Śrī. It is a sign of knowing how the game of Fortune works. Both ‘general truths’ point to the fact that the Chauhan heroes always get tricked into defeat, become sleepy or deluded (mūḍha), unlike the clever antagonists, who never seem to err in their trickery (muhyanti). In the first case - more than in the conclusion to Pṛthvīrāja’s story -we are clearly asked to consider who is really engaging in inappropriate acts (akṛtya) – the reckless Chauhan king or the clever Śaka king. Who therefore really deserves the label of sinful (pāpa)? Who is the real villain?

And who is really blind and sleepy? Of course, Nayacandra never gives explicit answers.

Many of the general truths (arthântara-nyāsa) are formulated as ambiguous, open ended questions. Often these questions blur the moral distinction between protagonist and antagonist. This is in tune with the all-important ambiguous introductory question of 1.9 – the thematic seed (bīja) of the poem - about Hammīra’s potentially problematic relation to the playful charms of his symbolic wife Royal Fortune (rājya-śriyo vilāsās).

Vāgbhaṭa’s story is clearly indicative of the poem’s meta-poetic concern. Like the Chauhan king, the reader is invited (or urged) to see through the guise of the panegyric mode which praises heroic virility (śaurya, vikrama). The heroic frame tends to lose its grip

I take the Koṭa manuscript variant śakobhūpam instead of śakān nṛpam, and hanti, instead of hanta.

65 arañjayac ca kūṭeṇa mānair dānair anekadhā|

kūṭôpajīvinaḥ kiṃ vā kūṭe muhyanti kutracit||13.72||

66 Something similar has been noted by Satya Vrat (2003: 171), who observes that “Alauddin had a marvelous sense of time”, in contrast to “short-sighted as well as short-tempered” behavior of Hammīra.

Yet, in his earlier work (Vrat 1994: 151) he concludes that Hammīra emerges “as a brave and, in a restricted sense, an idealistic king but, like most Rajput rulers of mediaval [sic] history, he suffered from an appalling lack of political sagacity.”

on the Chauhan heroes, whose hearts are touched or kissed (cumbita) by the wrong kind of words or ideas. We are constantly confronted with the problem that the true warriors of the poem lack the insight to both see through deceit and employ deceit. Somewhat ironically indeed the heroes of the poem are more than once described as devotees of the nirvyāja-vīra-vratam, the “true hero’s vow”, or literally the hero’s vow which is free or not dependent on deceit (nir-vyāja).⁶⁷ The poem only praises this vow on the surface, or somewhat sarcastically as through Jalaluddin’s deceiving flattery. Throughout the poem the warrior-code is presented as a blinding obsession with – a being ‘caught in by’

(vigṛhīta) - (unnecessary) violence and war (vigraha).

The overall poetic effect of Vāgbhaṭa’s story resembles that of the earlier idealistic descriptions. Vāgbhaṭa’s illuminous ideal, his exceptional story of success, makes the tragedy of his predecessors and the ensuing tragedy of Hammīra come out sharper, more intense. After all, we know that unlike Vāgbhaṭa his grandson Hammīra will not be able to prevent the kingdom’s Royal Splendor from falling, drying up, waning.

2.5 Conclusion

The cantos about Hammīra’s predecessors are clearly concerned with modelling a tragic pattern of kingship. The decline of Chauhan fortune is powerfully inaugurated through the story of Pṛthvīrāja’s ‘dancing horse’ Nāṭârambhā, which he was unable to control. Or alternately, it started with Shahabuddin’s skillful deceit, namely with his control over this prancing mare, allowing him to stretch out the sleepy ‘Earth’ in his own hand or bed, as

The cantos about Hammīra’s predecessors are clearly concerned with modelling a tragic pattern of kingship. The decline of Chauhan fortune is powerfully inaugurated through the story of Pṛthvīrāja’s ‘dancing horse’ Nāṭârambhā, which he was unable to control. Or alternately, it started with Shahabuddin’s skillful deceit, namely with his control over this prancing mare, allowing him to stretch out the sleepy ‘Earth’ in his own hand or bed, as