वासवदत्ता (महाकवि सुबन्धु - श्लेष-प्रधान शास्त्रीय गद्यकाव्य सान्वय सटीक)

28 VĀSAVADATTĀ
Nor does it seem to me that the ethical standard of the
Vāsavadattā can be objectionable to one of healthy mind.
True, the East is not as the West; and there are personal
descriptions more detailed than would be desirable in Occidental
literature, together with evident approval of relations and ideals
which the less sensual Western mind rightly condemns. There
are passages, too, which I would gladly have omitted, had I felt
that a faithful translator could do so. And yet, despite all this,
I find in the romance no evidence of delight in uncleanness, such
as nauseates, for example, in Petronius or in Martial. It is not
pornographic; it is, at worst, unmoral, though its rigid adherence
to all conventions, both in letter and, I think, in spirit, renders
even unmorality almost too harsh an accusation. From an
Indian point of view, unlightened by the radiance of Christianity
and the morality which it inculcates, I should not hesitate to
term the Vāsavadattā a moral work, especially in view of the
conditions of life in mediæval India. Its atmosphere, luxuriant
though it be, has never seemed to me to be debasing.
It is by no means impossible that some will dissent from the
views here expressed regarding the literary and moral quality of
Subandhu's romance. If so, they may turn from the first
Western translator of the Vāsavadattā to the first Western
editor of the romance, Fitzedward Hall, who, in his Introduction,
has unsparingly condemned the entire production both in its
literary and in its ethical aspects—a precedent followed by
Krishnamachariar in his sarcastic critique of the whole plot of
Subandhu's work (Introd., pp. 50–66).
Outline of the Plot of the Romance. The outline of the story
of the Vāsavadattā is as follows : A king named Cintāmaṇi had
a son Kandarpakētu, who was, like his father, the embodiment
of all virtues. Once upon a time toward dawn, when true
dreams come, the young prince saw in his sleep a vision of
a maiden of some eighteen years, whose loveliness could not be
surpassed. Jealous sleep forsook Kandarpakētu, who, with his
friend Makaranda, left the city in his love-longing for the
unknown princess. In their wanderings the pair came to the

INTRODUCTION 29
Vindhya mountains, and there, in the watches of the night,
the sleepless prince overheard the conversation of two birds
perched on a branch of the tree beneath which he lay. To the
story of the husband-bird, trying to explain his late hours to his
suspicious wife, Kandarpakētu listened, and was richly rewarded
by what he heard. In the city of Pāṭaliputra on the Ganges, so
the maina recounted, reigned the mighty monarch Śṛṅgāraśē-
khara, who had an only daughter named Vāsavadattā. In the
spring she, too, had met her fate in a dream—a youth of
matchless beauty, whose name was Kandarpakētu. The con-
fidante of the princess at this juncture was her maid, Tamālikā,
who had volunteered to seek Kandarpakētu and bear to him
a missive from the princess telling of her love. The lovers were
now soon united at Pāṭaliputra, where Kandarpakētu was informed
that Śṛṅgāraśēkhara, dismayed at his daughter’s unwedded state,
had determined to marry her the very next day to the Vidyādhara
prince Puṣpakētu. Kandarpakētu and Vāsavadattā accordingly
returned almost immediately, by means of a magic steed, to the
Vindhyas; but when the prince awoke in the morning, his
beloved was no longer in the bower. Mad with sorrow, he was
restrained from suicide only by a voice from heaven which
promised him reunion with the princess. After many months of
weary searching and waiting, he found Vāsavadattā turned to
stone. His touch gave the statue life again, and she told him
how, while two armies destroyed each other to gain her for their
leaders, she had unwittingly intruded in the garden of a hermit,
who laid upon her the curse of petrification until her lover should
come. Thus, at last, the woes of the lovers were over, and
returning to Kandarpakētu’s capital, delight was theirs ever
afterward (for other summaries see Hall, Introd., pp. 29–43;
Stréhly, Revue politique et littéraire, 44. 305–308; Krishnama-
chariar, Introd., pp. 9–14; and the references given in the
bibliography, below, pp. 197–199).
From this brief outline of the plot of the Vāsavadattā it will
be seen that Subandhu alludes to several incidents widely found
in literature and folk-tales, such as talking birds, magic steeds,

30 VĀSAVADATTĀ
and transformation. To all these I have sought to give parallels,
especially from modern Indian folk-tales, in footnotes to the
passages in which they occur. There seems to be no parallel,
however, to the story of the Vāsavadattā as a whole, and, as
already stated (p. 2), Subandhu evidently invented the slender
plot of his own romance (cf. also Hall, Introd., pp. 1–6).
Sanskrit ‘Estilo Culto’ Previous to Subandhu, and in Later
Epigraphy. This allusion to comparative literature brings us to
possible quasi-parallels to the style of the Vāsavadattā. The
commingling of prose and verse which is characteristic of the
ākhyāyikā, kathā, and other forms of gadya, or poetical prose (cf.
Regnaud, Rhétorique sanskrite, pp. 74–77, Paris, 1884), was by
no means an innovation of Subandhu. It is found, for instance,
in the Pañcatantra and the Jātakas, as well as in the gāthās of
the Brāhmaṇas and the Northern Buddhists, even though these
latter be more archaic than the prose in which they are set.
Obscure as is the date of the beginning of the kāvya style in
India, a flood of light has been cast on its early history by
Bühler in his ‘Die indischen Inschriften und das Alter der
indischen Kunstpoesie,’ in SWAW. 122, Abhandlung 11. There
he has shown that the eulogy of Vatsabhaṭṭi, preserved in an
inscription in the Temple of the Sun at Maṇḍasōr, and dated
473–474 A.D., contains descriptions of cities, natural phenomena,
and the like, together with compound words of inordinate length,
and the rhetorical devices of anuprāsa, upamā, utprēkṣā, rūpaka,
and (possibly) virōdha, all of which even fulfil the requirements
laid down, for instance, by Daṇḍin in his Kāvyādarśa. The term
kāvya itself occurs at least as early as 375–390 A. D. in Hariṣēṇa’s
panegyric on Samudragupta, inscribed on a pillar at Allāhābād,
which also contains long compounds and the rhetorical figures
of varṇānuprāsa, rūpaka, upamā, and ślēṣa. The kāvya style
is carried back to the early second half of the second century A.D.
by the Girnār inscription of Rudradāman, which has long com-
pounds and numerous anuprāsas, together with two upamās and
one utprēkṣā. It is thus clear that a fairly developed kāvya was
known in India as early as the second century of our era, not

INTRODUCTION [p. 31]

forgetting that the epic of the Rāmāyaṇa contains many approxi-
mations to the kāvya style (Jacobi, Das Râmâyaṇa, pp. 119–126,
Bonn, 1893).
In the course of time kāvya inscriptions became more elaborate,
particularly in their use of the śleṣa. Mention can here be made
only of the śleṣas and virōdhas in the Valabhī grant of Dhruva-
sēna III, dated in 653–654 A.D. (Hultzsch, EI. 1. 85–92) ; the
Balōda plates of Tīvaradēva, of the middle of the eighth century
(Hultzsch, ib. 7. 102–107); a grant of Indrarāja III, dated in
915 A.D. (Bhandarkar, ib. 9. 24–41); the Cambay plates of
Gōvinda IV, dated in 929–930 A.D. (Bhandarkar, ib. 7. 26–47) ;
and the Dēvulapalli plates of Immaḍi Nṛsiṃha, dated in 1504
(Ramayya, ib. 7. 74–85); though allusion should also be made
to the general style of such an inscription as the Kaḍaba plates
of Gōvinda III, dated in 812–813 A.D. (Lüders, EI. 4. 332–349).
In the inscriptions of the Vāillabhaṭṭasvāmin temple at Gwaliar,
dated in 874–875 A.D. (Hultzsch, EI. 1. 154–162), which abound
in virōdhas, Kielhorn (apud Hultzsch, EI. 1. 157, note 23) has
already called attention to a possible reminiscence of the dhana-
dēnā ’pi pracetasā, ‘which is ⟨Kubēra⟩, yet ≪Varuṇa≫, for it is
⟨generous⟩ and ≪wise≫,’ of the Vāsavadattā (ed. Hall, p. 111) in
the dhanadō ’pi na pramattō, ‘he was ⟨Kubēra⟩, but not ≪Varuṇa≫,
for he was ⟨generous⟩ and not ≪inattentive≫’ (line 6). Kielhorn,
moreover, in his edition and translation of the Rādhanpur plates
of Gōvinda III, dated in 807–808 A.D. (EI. 6. 239–251), expressly
declares (p. 240) that ‘an examination of the language and
general style of most of these verses can leave no doubt that
their author or authors are greatly indebted for their expressions
and poetical devices to such works as Subandhu’s Vāsavadattā
and Bāṇa’s Kādambarī and Harṣacarita.’ There is no need here
to repeat the parallels which Kielhorn has drawn between the
inscription in question and the romances of Subandhu and Bāṇa
(EI. 6. 247–250), nor is it necessary to make more than a passing
allusion to the fact that a close examination of Indian epigraphy
would probably reveal many more parallels to the Vāsavadattā
and other productions of the same genre. It would by no means

32 VĀSAVADATTĀ
follow, however, that such resemblances necessarily imply
borrowing from the romances of Subandhu and Bāṇa, for the
same research would, in all probability, show an equal, or even
greater, affinity with kāvya literature in general. The kāvya of
the inscriptions must, therefore, be regarded as an integral part
of the vast mass of artificial Sanskrit literature, its development
being attained by a process of natural growth.
The Commingling of Prose and Verse and Paronomasia Out-
side the Vāsavadattā. Outside of India the commingling of
prose and poetry in the same composition is found in the Chinese
romance P'ing Shan Lêng Yen (tr. Julien, P'ing-Chan-Ling-Yen,
Les Deux Jeunes Filles lettrées, 2 vols., Paris, 1860); in Sa'dī's
Gulistān; in The Thousand Nights and One Night; in the Old
Picard Aucassin et Nicolette; in Norse Sagas and in Middle Irish
tales and histories (cf. Windisch, Irische Texte, 3. 447–449, Leipzig,
1891–1897); and in Boccaccio's L'Ameto; as well as in the Saturæ
Menippeæ of Varro; Petronius; the author of the Historia
Apollonii regis Tyri; and among Basutos and Eskimos (cf.
MacCulloch, Childhood of Fiction, London, 1905, pp. 480–481;
Teuffel-Schwabe, Geschichte der römischen Literatur, 5 ed.,
pp. 43–44, Leipzig, 1890). In like manner, the elaborate parono-
masias which are so essentially a part of the style of the Vāsava-
dattā, and which later led to such productions as Kavirāja's Rāgha-
vapāṇḍavīya, which in identical words celebrates the deeds of the
Raghu princes by one reading and those of the Pāṇḍava heroes
by the other reading, or Rāmacandra's Rasikarañjana (ed. and
tr. Schmidt, Stuttgart, 1896), which may be read as a laudation
either of asceticism or of eroticism, were in vogue, as we have
seen, long before the time of Subandhu.¹ They also occur in the
Chinese romance Ch'in P'ing Mei (cf. Giles, History of Chinese
Literature, p. 309, London, 1901) and in the writings of Lyly.
¹ To this list Krishnamachariar (Introd., p. 18) adds Dhanamjaya's Dvisandhāna-
kāvya (ed. Bombay, 1895 = Kāvyamālā, No. 49) and the Rāghavayādavapāṇḍavīya,
or Kathātrayīvyākhyāna, of Cidambara and his son Anantanārāyaṇa, which gives the
substance of the Rāmāyaṇa, Mahābhārata, and Bhāgavatapurāṇa. Another literary
curiosity of this general type is the elegy of Leon of Modena on his teacher, Moses
Bassola, which may be read either in Hebrew or in Italian (cf. Jewish Encyclopedia,
2. 576, New York, 1902).

INTRODUCTION 33
Subandhu and Lyly. It is Lyly, indeed, with whom Subandhu
may perhaps best be compared for a general parallel with the
style and spirit of the Vāsavadattā. Neither the Euphues nor
Subandhu's romance is concerned so much with the matter as
with the form, although the English author manifests a didactic
purpose which finds no counterpart in the Sanskrit writer. Like
the Vāsavadattā, the Euphues and its continuation contain epi-
sodes, or stories within stories, as the tale of Callimachus (Lyly,
ed. Arbor, pp. 227–245, Birmingham, 1868), which itself contains
the story of Cassander the hermit (pp. 235–239), thus parallelling
the arrangement not only of the Vāsavadattā and the Kādambarī,
but also of the Pañcatantra, Śukasaptati, Vetālapañcaviṁśati,
The Thousand Nights and One Night, Decameron, and other similar
works.¹ Lyly's romance is curiously like Subandhu's in yet other
respects. Here I may note particularly from his Euphues the use
of paronomasia, alliteration, antithesis (corresponding respectively
to Subandhu's employment of śleṣa, anuprāsa, and virōdha), and
learned allusions. From the mass of possible citations under
each category I quote but two of each. (1) Paronomasia : ‘and
though they be commonly in a great cholar that receiue the mate,
yet would I willingly take euery minute tenne mates to enioy Liuia
for my louing mate’ (Lyly, ed. Arbor, p. 66, Birmingham, 1868) ;
‘did not Iupiters egge bring forth as well Helen a light huswife
in earth, as Castor a light Starre in heauen ?’ (p. 208).² (2) Alli-
teration : ‘these subtill shiftes, these painted practises (if I wer to
be wonne) would soone weane me from the teate of Vesta to the
toyes of Venus’ (p. 76) ; I am Philautus no Italian lady, who
commonly are woed with leasings, and won with lust, entangled
with deceipt, and enioyed with delight, caught with sinne, and
cast off with shame’ (p. 360). (3) Antithesis : ‘how curious were
we to please our Lady, how carelesse to displease our Lorde ?
Howe devout in seruing our Goddesse, how desperate in forget-
¹ For a charming modern imitation see Bain, Digit of the Moon (London, 1899).
² It is well known that paronomasia occurs not infrequently in Shakespeare (e. g.
Julius Caesar, 1. 2. 155 ; Merchant of Venice, 4. 1. 123 ; Taming of the Shrew, 2. 1.
190 ; Richard II, 2. 1. 74) ; and it seems to have been a favourite device of Ben Jonson
(e. g. Mermaid ed., 1. 15–16, 20, 68, 106, 344 ; 2. 91 ; 3. 178, 402, London, n. d.).
D

ting our God'? (p. 106); 'thou weepest for the death of thy
daughter, and I laugh at the folly of the father, for greater vanitie
is there in the minde of the mourner, then bitternesse in the death
of the deceased. But shee was amiable, but yet sinful, but she
was young and might haue liued, but she was mortall and must
haue dyed. I but hir youth made thee often merry, I but thine
age shold once make thee wise. I but hir greene yeares wer unfit
for death, I but thy hoary haires should dispyse life' (pp. 182–
183). (4) Learned allusions: 'the filthy Sow when she is sicke,
eateth the Sea-Crab, and is immediatly recured: the Torteyse
hauing tasted the Viper, sucketh Origanum and is quickly reuiued:
the Beare ready to pine licketh vp the Ants, and is recouered:
the Dog hauing surfetted to procure his vomitte, eateth grasse
and findeth remedy: the Hart beeing perced with the dart, run-
neth out of hand to the hearb Dictanum, and is healed. . . . Ah
well I perceiue that Loue is not unlyke the Figge tree, whose
fruite is sweete, whose roote is more bitter then the clawe of
a Bitter: or lyke the Apple in Persia, whose blossome sauoreth
lyke Honny, whose budde is more sower then Gall' (p. 61);
'Loue knoweth no laws: Did not Iupiter transforme himselfe
into the shape of Amphitrio to embrace Alcmæna? Into the
forme of a Swan to enioy Læda: Into a Bull to beguile Iò: Into
a showre of golde to winne Danae: Did not Neptune chaunge
himselfe into a Heyfer, a Ramme, a Floud, a Dolphin, onely for
the loue of those he lusted after? Did not Apollo conuert him-
selfe into a Shephearde, into a Birde, into a Lyon: for the desire
he had to heale his disease'? (p. 93).
Parallels such as these might be multiplied indefinitely, not
only between the Vāsavadattā and the Euphues, but between
Subandhu's romance and many other productions both of the
East and of the West.¹ Here, however, it must suffice to note
that Dunlop, in his History of Prose Fiction (ed. Wilson, London,
1896), records the following incidents and motifs which may now

¹ For parallels in the Vāsavadattā and Bāṇa's romances with The Thousand Nights
and One Night see Gray, 'Literary Studies on the Sanskrit Novel,' in WZKM.
18. 39–48.

be compared with those in the Vāsavadattā : story within story
(1. 30, 37 ; 2. 389, 405, 409, 416, 436, 438) ; love from a dream
(1. 253, 258–259, 380) ; magic steeds (1. 339, 342, 375) ; love
letters (2. 382–383 ; cf. Schlegel, ‘Feuilles d’arbre comme lettres
d’amour,’ in Mélanges Charles de Harlez, pp. 271–274, Leiden,
1896) ; and birds playing a part in affaires de cœur (2. 482). It
should also be observed that Dunlop repeatedly alludes to Indian
parallels with Occidental literature (1. 12, 64–65, 74, 76, 109–110,
210, 306, 318, 413, 459–461 ; 2. 8, 30, 49, 53–54, 81, 87–88, 90,
118–120, 127–128, 272, 509, 558–559), although the most of these
refer to the novel, or ‘short story,’ and not to the romance.
The Sanskrit Romance Compared with the Greek. The sole
national romance literature of the West which has been regarded
as connected with that of India is the Greek. The view has been
advanced by Peterson (Kādambarī, 2 ed., Introd., pp. 101–104,
Bombay, 1889, where several parallels are adduced between the
Kādambarī and Achilles Tatios), Weber (Sitzungsberichte der
Berliner Akademie, phil.-hist. Klasse, 37. 917), and Goblet
d'Alviella (Ce que l’Inde doit à la Grèce, p. 136, Paris, 1897) that
the Indian romance was a direct importation from Greece. This
hypothesis, however, is rejected by Lévi (Quid de Graecis veterum
Indorum monumenta tradiderint, p. 60, Paris, 1890) with what
seems to me to be perfect justice. It is, of course, true that many
parallels of incident and even of literary device exist between the
Sanskrit and the Greek romance. Among parallels of incident
I may note the following, restricting the list to similarities be-
tween the Greek romances and the Vāsavadattā : falling in love
from a dream (story of Zariadres and Odatis as recorded by
Athenaios, Deipnosophistai, 13. 35 ; this story is clearly of Eastern
origin ; cf. Rohde, Griechischer Roman, 2 ed., pp. 47–54, Leipzig,
1900, where the parallel with the Vāsavadattā is expressly noted ;
for dreams in general in the Greek romances see Rohde, op. cit.
pp. 508, 524, 531–533, 547, 561, 566) ; svayaṃvara, or ‘self-
choice’ of a husband (also in the story of Zariadres and Odatis ;
cf. Rohde, op. cit. p. 52) ; letters between lovers (Achilles Tatios,
Τὰ κατὰ Λευκίππην καὶ Κλειτοφῶντα, 5. 18, 20 ; Niketas Eugenîanos,
D 2

36 VĀSAVADATTĀ
Τὰ κατὰ Δρόσιλλαν καὶ Χαρικλέα, 2. 169–179, 202–223, 240–277,
284–314; 5. 199–247; Eustathios, Τὸ καθʼ Ὑσμίνην καὶ Ὑσμινίαν
δρᾶμα, 9. 8; 10. 2; cf. Rohde, op. cit. pp. 513, 566); fainting
(Chariton, Τὰ περὶ Χαιρέαν καὶ Καλλιρρόην, 1. 4; 2. 7; 3. 6; 4. 5;
8. 1; cf. Rohde, op. cit. p. 172, where the parallel with the Vāsa-
vadattā is noted); long-winded lamentations (Niketas Eugenianos,

1. 226–257, 289–352; 2. 8–23; 4. 110–150; 5. 131–168, 183–
   193; 6. 34–94, 204–234, 306–327; 8. 84–130, 196–238; 9. 37–
   107; cf. Rohde, op. cit. p. 566); and threatened suicide (Chari-
   ton, 1. 5; 5. 10; 6. 2; 7. 1; 8. 8; cf. Rohde, op. cit. p. 527). The
   following parallels of literary device, similarly restricted, may also
   be noted : stories within stories and episodes (the adventures of
   Derkullis and the sub-episode of Astraios in the lost Τὰ ὑπὲρ
   Θύλην ἄπιστα; the story of Aigialeus in Xenophon Ephesaios, Τὰ
   κατὰ Ἄνθειαν καὶ Ἀβροκόμην Ἐφεσιακά, 5. 1; and the stories of
   Knemon in Heliodoros's Αἰθιοπικά, 1. 9–14; 2. 8–10; and of Kala-
   siris, ib. 2. 24–5. 1; 5. 17–33; with the sub-episode of Charikles,
   ib. 2. 29–33); descriptions of nature (Niketas Eugenianos, 1. 77–
   115; Achilles Tatios, 1. 15; Longos, Ποιμενικὰ τὰ κατὰ Δάφνιν
   καὶ Χλόην, 4. 2–3); detailed personal descriptions (Achilles Tatios,
2. 1; Niketas Eugenianos, 1. 120–158; cf. Rohde, op. cit. pp. 160–
   166); learned allusions and citations of precedents (Longos, 1.
   16; 4. 17; Achilles Tatios, 1. 8; 2. 36–37); and alliteration,
   parisoi, homoioteleuta, and similar figures of rhetoric which cor-
   respond in a sense to the Sanskrit anuprāsa (Achilles Tatios, 1.
   1–2; 2. 7; 3. 2, 7; 4. 4; 5. 1, 21; Longos, preface; 1. 18, 30;
3. 35; 3. 3, 24, 33, 34; 4. 18; Eustathios, 1. 4; 2. 13; 4. 1, 3, 12,
   21; 5. 11; 7. 13; cf. Rohde, op. cit. pp. 552–553, 561), although
   they often form rhymes (Achilles Tatios, 1. 1, 11; Longos, pre-
   face; 2. 26; 3. 13, 23; 4. 17, 28; Eustathios, 1. 9) and strained
   compounds (Niketas Eugenianos, 1. 133; 2. 143; 3. 121; 5. 341;
4. 48; cf. Rohde, op. cit. p. 567).
   Yet all these parallels, and many more which might be cited,
   seem to me to prove nothing. In the first place, a large number
   of them can be considered parallels only by straining the sense
   of the term; and in the second place, they are obviously the out-

working of independent, though partially similar, processes in the
development of Greek and Sanskrit literature respectively, and
should be interpreted accordingly. But even were an essential
resemblance granted, it would still be difficult, I think, to prove
the dependence of the Sanskrit romance on the Greek, the latter
being, of course, the earlier. The romances of the two peoples
are totally different both in plan and in spirit, as even a cursory
reading will show. The least part of the Sanskrit romance is the
thread of the story or the adventures of its characters ; all the
stress is laid on rhetorical embellishment, minute description of
nature, detailed characterisation of exploits and of mental, moral,
and physical qualities. In the Greek romance, on the other
hand, as in Latin (if we may judge from the Satiræ of Petronius),
the story is everything. The reader is hurried from adventure
to adventure, the wilder and more improbable the better ; fine
writing is practically disregarded ; description and appreciation
of nature are, to all intents and purposes, non-existent. The only
Greek romance, it seems to me, that can, by the utmost stretch
of imagination, be compared even superficially with the works of
Subandhu and Bāṇa is the Ποιμενικά of Longos ; but even there
the sole real similarity is a longing for nature rather than for
feverish adventure, a longing which may be traced back to
Theokritos, Bion, and Moschos on the one hand, and to
Bhartṛhari and his congeners on the other. Even the Daśakumā-
racarita, which, as a picaresque romance, one might be tempted
to compare with the works of Achilles Tatios, Heliodoros, and
Chariton, has a totally different plan from any Greek romance,
tracing its ‘box arrangement’ of stories to the peculiarly Indian
scheme which may be seen, for instance, in the Pañcatantra, the
Kathāsaritsāgara, or the Jātakas, and which was later carried to
Persia, where it was incorporated in The Thousand Nights and
One Night, ultimately appearing in the Occident in the Decameron
of Boccaccio.¹ The adventures narrated in Daṇḍin’s romance of
¹ For the ‘box arrangement’ in Egyptian see King Khufui and the Magicians
(about 2000 B.C. ; tr. Maspero, Contes populaires de l’Égypte ancienne, 3 ed., pp. 23–42,
Paris, 1906) ; and in Japanese cf. Bakin’s Shichiya no Kura (1810 A.D. ; Aston,
History of Japanese Literature, pp. 359–360, London, 1901).

38 VĀSAVADATTĀ
roguery, moreover, bear no resemblance, either in plot or in
episode, to the amorphisms of Eustathios and his fellows. To
sum up, the spirit of the Sanskrit and of the Greek romancers is
as divergent as the audiences of scholars on the one hand, and of
weaklings on the other, for whom they wrote ; nor can any real
affinity, much less any direct connexion, be traced between the
romances of India and of Greece.
The Double Recension of the Vāsavadattā. Like the
Mahābhārata and the Rāmāyaṇa, the Vāsavadattā appears to be
preserved in two distinct recensions, which I would tentatively
call ‘northern’ and ‘southern.’ The first of these is represented
by the text of Hall (Calcutta, 1859) and the second by the
Madras edition of 1862, reprinted as an appendix to the present
volume, as well as by Krishnamachariar’s text (Srirangam, 1906–
1908). The ‘southern’ text, to which Hall’s manuscript D seems
also to belong, differs from the ‘northern’ chiefly in showing a
large number of interpolations, particularly śleṣas, virōdhas, and
other forms of similes appended to the series given by the
‘northern’ text. The spirit, however, of the ‘southern’ recension
is identical with that of the ‘northern.’ There is, indeed, one
omission of a complimentary allusion to the Buddhists (ed. Hall,
p. 235) and of one derogatory reference to the Jains (ed. Hall,
p. 297 ; cf. above, p. 7), but the retention of all other deprecia-
tory mentions of both sects shows that the ‘southern’ redactor
was not led to modify his text by any circumstances surrounding
him ; nor is there any added allusion in the ‘southern’ text which
seems to be specifically South Indian. It may be regarded as
practically certain that the ‘northern’ text represents Subandhu’s
original composition more closely than does the ‘southern’
recension, not only in view of the fact that the author of the
romance was, in all probability, a native of northern India, where
he almost indubitably wrote (cf. above, pp. 12–13), but also in
consideration of the familiar principles of textual criticism that
the shorter text is, other things being equal, to be preferred to
the longer, and that the more difficult reading is to be preferred
to the easier, since the ‘southern’ recension evidently seeks, by

INTRODUCTION 39
substitution or omission, to avoid many difficulties of word,
phrase, or allusion which the 'northern' text boldly retains.
Manuscripts and Editions of the Romance. For the manu-
scripts of the Vāsavadattā and its commentators reference may
be made to the catalogues of Sanskrit manuscripts enumerated
by Aufrecht (Catalogus Catalogorum, 1. 566, 726; 2. 133–134,
224; 3. 120, Leipzig, 1891–1903). The principal commentators
on the Vāsavadattā have been discussed by Hall (Introd.,
pp. 44–48), and I myself have written on 'Śivarāma's Com-
mentary on the Vāsavadattā' (in JAOS. 24. 57–63), so that the
problems there treated need not be repeated in this place.
Although the editions of Subandhu's romance will be duly
listed in the bibliography (see below, pp. 197–198), a more detailed
discussion seems appropriate here. These editions are seven in
number. The first and best-known, which represents the
'northern' recension, is that of Fitzedward Hall (Calcutta, 1859),
based on eight manuscripts and accompanied by the gloss of
Śivarāma Tripāṭhin, who flourished early in the eighteenth
century. The introduction to this edition has become a classic
among Sanskritists, and the learning which it evinces on every
page renders it amply deserving of this honour. Hall's text, how-
ever, represents a form really older than any of his manuscripts,
being that of Śivarāma, in whose favour the editor repeatedly
discarded the united authority of all his manuscripts, a method of
textual criticism which may perhaps be considered open to objec-
tion. The text of Hall has been reprinted verbatim by Jīvānanda
Vidyāsāgara (Calcutta, 1874; 3d ed., 1907). The remaining five
editions belong to the 'southern' recension. Of these the earliest
is one in Telugu script (Madras, 1861), which was reprinted, with
a correction of misprints, in Telugu (Madras, 1862) and Grantha
script (Madras, 1870). The second of these, duly collated with
the India Office copies of the other two, which Mr. F. W. Thomas,
librarian of the India Office, London, most kindly placed at my
disposal, is transcribed below (pp. 145–195). The text of this
'southern' recension is evidently later than the 'northern', since
it abounds in interpolations, especially in the lengthened ślēṣas and

40 VĀSAVADATTĀ
virōdhas. The three editions under consideration contain the same
commentary, which has appeared to me to be negligible, and
which, according to Mr. J. K. Balasubrahmanyam, the publisher
of the Srirangam text (Pref. p. 1) to be mentioned below, 'is
traditionally attributed to one Tippa Bhupala, but nothing is
certain about it. For instance, just as we were completing this
book we got a palm-leaf manuscript of this work containing a
commentary said to be by one Ramanatha. On closer exami-
nation it turned out to be neither more nor less than the
commentary given in the Grantha and Telugu editions.' The
same general recension, though with a number of interesting
variations, is represented by the edition published at Srirangam
in 1906–1908, on the basis of several old palm-leaf manuscripts.
It also contains an admirably full, careful, and suggestive modern
Sanskrit commentary and an equally noteworthy Sanskrit intro-
duction by the editor, R. V. Krishnamachariar, of which I have
most helpfully availed myself. I distinctly consider Hall's and
this as the best editions of the Vāsavadattā that have yet
appeared. The Telugu text is also represented, more closely, by
T. V. Srinivasachariar's edition (Trichinopoly, 1906), which, I
regret to say, seems to me to offer scope for some improvement.
All the divergencies of the Madras, Srirangam, and Trichinopoly
editions from the text of Hall will be found duly recorded in the
footnotes to the present translation, while the variations of the
'southern' from the 'northern' recension will be indicated by
parentheses in the appended transliteration, the portions of the
'northern' text omitted by the 'southern' being there supplied
in square brackets. It will be clear that a critical text of the
Vāsavadattā, which shall take into account all accessible manu-
scripts, commentaries, and editions, is still a desideratum.
The Remaining Sanskrit Prose Romances. Except for a
digression on the relation sometimes held to exist between the
Sanskrit and the Greek romance (see above, pp. 35–38), this
Introduction to the Vāsavadattā has thus far purposely been
restricted to Subandhu and his work, especially as Meyer
(Daṇḍin's Daçakumāracaritam, die Abenteuer der zehn Prinzen,

pp. 1–139, Leipzig, 1902) and Collins (The Geographical Data of
the Raghuvaṃśa and the Daśakumāracarita considered more
especially in their Bearing upon the Date of these Works, Leipzig,
1907) have devoted admirable studies to Daṇḍin, while Peterson
(Kādambarī, 2 ed., Introd., Bombay, 1889) has done a similar
service for Bāṇa. Moreover, the Daśakumāracarita, Harṣacarita,
and Kādambarī are all readily accessible, not only in numerous
editions, which need not be enumerated here, but also in excellent
translations (the Daśakumāracarita by Meyer, op. cit., and by
Haberlandt, Munich, 1903; the Harṣacarita by Cowell and
Thomas, London, 1897; and the Kādambarī by Ridding,
London, 1896). It may not be amiss, however, to add a brief
outline of such other Sanskrit romances as have thus far been
analysed, though it must be borne in mind that further investiga-
tions and additional and fuller catalogues of Sanskrit manuscripts
will, in all probability, add to the sum of ākhyāna literature.¹
Omitting campūs on Rāma, Kṛṣṇa, Aniruddha, and Nala, as well
as rifacimenti of the Mahābhārata and Rāmāyaṇa, and pseudo-
histories of Śālivāhana and Mayūravarman, attention may here
be called to two late Sanskrit romances. The first of these is
the Yaśastilaka of Sōmadēva, who completed his romance in
959 A.D. The work has been analysed in detail by Peterson
(Second Report of Operations in Search of Sanskrit Manuscripts
in the Bombay Circle, pp. 33–49, Bombay, 1884) and has been
edited by Śivadatta and Parab (Kāvyamālā, No. 70, 2 parts,
Bombay, 1901–1903). It is a religious romance, treating of the
conversion of Māridatta, king of Rājapura, from Brāhmanism to
Jainism through the agency of his twin nephew and niece, whom
he was about to offer in sacrifice, not knowing who they were, and
through the arguments of the Jain sage Sudatta. The familiar
device of the story within a story, whereby Māridatta’s nephew
¹ Krishnamachariar (Introd., pp. 1–2) notes the paucity of works of this type, but
he enumerates the following which would otherwise have escaped my notice: Dhana-
pāla’s Tilakamañjarī (ed. Bombay, 1903 = Kāvyamālā, No. 85), the Jain romance
Gadyacintāmaṇi (variously ascribed to Vādībhasimha, Pradīpasimha, and Simhasūri),
Abhinavabhaṭṭabāṇa’s Vīranārāyaṇa and Haricandra’s Jīvandharacampū, the frag-
mentary Śrīkṛṣṇacarita of Agastyakavi, the lost Trāilōkyasundarī of Rudra, and
the lost Taraṅgavatī. He also attempts to account for this scantiness (pp. 2–8).

42 VĀSAVADATTĀ
tells his uncle all his history, and a series of reincarnations, as
in the Daśakumāracarita and Kādambarī,¹ are both found in
Sōmadēva’s romance, while learned precedents and, what is still
more remarkable, explicit quotations from other poets, including
Bāṇa, abound. Altogether, it is clear from Peterson’s admirable
analysis that the Yaśastilaka richly deserves translation, both
as belonging to a category of Sanskrit literature of which too
few specimens are extant, and as a valuable source for additional
knowledge of the tenets of the Jains.
The second romance which should be noted in this connexion
is Bāṇēśvara Vidyālaṃkāra Bhaṭṭācārya’s Citracampū, written in
1744 A.D. in honour of Citrasēna, king of Vardhamāna, and
briefly analysed by Eggeling (Catalogue of the Sanskrit Manu-
scripts in the Library of the India Office, 7. 1543–1545, London,
1904). This novel is characterised especially by a long dream,
and by an unmistakable inculcation of Vāiṣṇavite Vēdāntism ;
otherwise it offers but little of interest.
¹ See ‘Reincarnation as a Novelistic Device’, in WZKM. 18. 54–58. For reincar-
nation in a modern Western novel see Margaret Potter’s Flame-Gatherers (London,
1904), and Bain’s Descent of the Sun (London, 1903). The earliest example known
is the Egyptian Tale of the Two Brothers, written in the nineteenth dynasty (1375–
1202 B.C.; tr. Maspero, Contes populaires de l’Égypte ancienne, 3 ed., pp. 3–20,
Paris, 1906).
[Dr. Ogden draws my attention to a reference to Subandhu
in an anthology of a certain Lakṣmaṇa, described by Peterson
(Third Report of Operations in Search of Sanskrit Manuscripts
in the Bombay Circle, p. 35, Bombay, 1887) under the title of
Sūktāvali. The stanza, whose date is thus far unknown, is as
follows (Peterson, op. cit., Appendix, p. 55) :
jīyād gadyasudhādhunyāḥ
subandhuḥ prabhavācalaḥ
yad bhaṅgaślēṣam āsādya
bhaṅgaḥ kavibhir āśritaḥ,
‘may Subandhu, in strength immovable, prevail over the nectarous
stream of prose, for since he gained combination after the break-
ing (of words into their component parts), the breaking (of words
into their component parts) has been employed by poets.’]

VĀSAVADATTĀ OF SUBANDHU

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45
[2] Victorious is divine Sarasvatī,
Who aideth bards of keen and nimble wit
To see the world, as 'twere a jujube-fruit,
Lying within the hollow of their hands.
Victorious, too, is Hari, resting now,
The while he smileth on the shepherd lads
Whose upraised arms bend ¹ 'neath the awful weight
Of their vast burden; yet cry unto him:
‘Ah, weary art thou, let the mountain be;
We will sustain it, Kṛṣṇa, lord of all’!
[3] May he ² whose waist is girded keep you safe,
Yea, he whose serried furrows brightly shine;
E'en while the zone he hath too tightly drawn
Doth work distraction by its beauteousness.³
[4] Victorious is the god ⁴ whose crescent gleams
Like to a silvern pearl by Umā set ⁵
Upon his brow, when from his blazing eye
She gathereth the black collyrium.
How blessèd are those souls beneficent
Who work the weal of others, for to them
The moon that openeth the lotus-buds
Doth give a twofold meed of radiance ⁶!
[5] The wise say sooth: ‘More loathsome than a snake
Is he whose soul is filled with wickedness’:
The serpent ⟨hateth the ichneumon tribe⟩,
But leaves his brethren safe; while knavish folk
With venomed tongues ⟨destroy their nearest kin⟩.⁷
¹ Tel. ed. and Srirangam text, ‘arms bent in vain.’ ² Kṛṣṇa.
³ Tel. ed. interchanges this stanza with the one following.
⁴ Śiva. ⁵ Srirangam text, against the metre, adds ‘upon his head.
⁶ Translated in Böhtlingk, Indische Sprüche, 2 ed., No. 4552, St. Petersburg, 1870–1873.
⁷ Böhtlingk, op. cit. No. 6214. The stanza is still popular in Mithila (see Grierson,

46 VĀSAVADATTĀ
[6] In evil only are the wicked wise;
Like as the owl is blind, save in the dark.¹
There is but one eclipse—foul calumny;
Only the clouds that hide the moon are black.²
[7] And when with sooty and polluting touch
The man of evil fain would smirch the good,
He doth increase the radiance of the just;
E'en as the ashes in the grinder's hand
Do but enhance the lustrous mirror's sheen.³
Yet ‹drought doth rule› o'er all, the «cranes sport not»,
Nor doth the ⋘heron seek the azure vault⋙,
For lo, the lake hath left this mortal world;
All ‹joy is fled›, and «strange kings now bear rule»,
Wasting the earth with ⋘fratricidal⋙ strife,
For Vikramāditya hath passed away.⁴
[8] The words of goodly bards rejoice thine ears,
E'en when thou knowest not their wondrous skill;
For in a jasmine wreath thine eyes delight,
Though to thy senses come no perfumes sweet.⁵
The noble gain true knowledge of themselves
By observation of their fellow men;
As on the mirror's polished surface falls
The vision of the soul's own magnitude.⁶

Curiosities of Indian Literature, pp. 8–9, Bankipore, 1895, who says : ‘ Here naku-
ladvēṣī is a threefold pun. It means either “hating the ichneumon,” or “not hating
his own race,” or “not hating the members of the family of the man he has bitten”).’
My attention was kindly called to this reference by Professor Zachariae (card of May 2,
1907), and Dr. Grierson very courteously loaned me his personal copy of the little
book. It should be noted that the modern proverb reads mṛṣā na instead of na mṛṣā.
¹ Böhtlingk, Indische Sprüche, 2 ed., No. 142, St. Petersburg, 1870–1873.
² Böhtlingk, op. cit. No. 6126; Tel. ed. and Srirangam text interchange this stanza
with the one following.
³ Böhtlingk, op. cit. No. 7376.
⁴ For the valuelessness of this stanza as a source to determine the date of the
Vāsavadattā see Introduction, pp. 8–11.
⁵ Böhtlingk, op. cit. No. 680.
⁶ Böhtlingk, op. cit. No. 2148.

A SANSKRIT ROMANCE 47
[9] Through great Sarasvatī this book was writ
By Sujana's one brother, whom mankind
Doth call Subandhu, skilled full dextrously
To interweave in every word a pun.¹
[10] There was a king named Cintāmaṇi, whose like had
never existed,² whose nail-jewelled feet were unscarred, though
rubbed by the edge of a touchstone which was the series of the
beautiful crest-gems of the circle of all the princes of the earth.
[11] He caused astonishment by ‹gifts of gold, food, raiment,
and estates› as Nṛsiṁha caused astonishment by ‹rending the
body of Hiraṇyakaśipu› ³; he gave joy to the ‹divinities by his
goods› as Kṛṣṇa gave joy to ‹Vasudēva› ; [12] he ‹conquered
with ease› the circle of the earth as Nārāyaṇa ‹upheld› the circle
of the world by his ‹boar's form›; he produced ‹glorious and
blissful› prosperity as Kaṁsa's foe produced prosperity for
‹Yaśōdā and Nanda›; he made ‹poetry honoured› as Ānaka-
dundubhi made ‹Kāvyā afraid› ⁴; [13] he had his lotus ⁵ feet
embellished by the rays ⁶ of the crest-jewels of ‹many serpents›
as Sāgaraśāyi had his lotus ⁵ feet embellished by the rays ⁶ of the
crest-jewel of the ‹cosmic serpent›; he protected ‹unceasingly› as
Varuṇa protected the ‹western regions›; he adorned ‹petitions
with gifts› as Agastya adorned the ‹southern districts›; he was
the lord of a hundred ‹armies› and «habitually levied just taxes»
as the ocean is the lord of a hundred ‹rivers› and is the «habitat
of fish»; [14] he was followed by a ‹great army› and repulsed
«obstacles» as Hara is followed by ‹Mahāsēna› and repulses
«Māra»; he was the home of the ‹wise› and the dwelling-place
of the «acts of all men» as Mēru is the home of the ‹gods› and
the dwelling-place of «Viśvakarman»; he ‹rejoiced in generosity
at festal times› and removed sorrow by his «beauty» as the sun
‹loves not the night› and removes the sorrow of «Chāyā»; he
¹ Omitted by Tel. ed. and Srirangam text. Cf. Introduction, p. 13.
² Tel. ed., 'of no mean nature.' For a somewhat similar description of a king see
Kādambarī, pp. 7–14, Bombay ed., 1890 (tr. Ridding, pp. 3–5, London, 1896).
³ Cf. Viṣṇupurāṇa, 1. 17–20. ⁴ Cf. Harivaṁśa, 59.
⁵ Tel. ed. and Srirangam text omit 'lotus.' ⁶ Tel. ed., 'series.'