The Philosophy of ‘Sakuntala’

BY "A STUDENT OF INDIAN DRAMA"

Aesthetic impression is essentially a subjective one. When we ordinarily see an object, the impression, has a subjective as well as an objective side. There is the object without and there is the impression within. One is an exact counterpart of the other. Aesthetic impression is different from this primary impression which an object produces in us. It is a secondary impression. And for this secondary impression, both the objective and the subjective sides are within. The object without and the first impression within function only as stimulus for the production of the secondary impression, and have little in common with the final aesthetic impression. The aesthetic impression is not a picture with a definite outline and form as in the case of the first impression of an object; it is really a mood and not a picture.

What is termed art is an external object which can give the right stimulus to the aesthetic faculty within, to receive that impression to transform itself into that mood. In the external objects, there are various factors and each of them produces a primary impression within, through the various senses. There are certain other factors in the external objects which produce the secondary impression. Art consists in selecting such of the factors in the objects without, which can produce this secondary impression, and in eliminating all the other factors as far as it may be. A complete dissociation is impossible. That is only in the ideal art. A piece of art is judged by its approach to this ideal. By eliminating from the object such of the factors as produce the first subjective impression, it follows that some sort of indefiniteness is an essential factor in art, As the secondary impression, the aesthetic impression, can be ordinarily produced only through the channel of the senses, through the stimulus of the first impression, some sort of form and outline must be ordinarily associated with the art side of an object. A perfect art is possible only if we are ourselves perfect, without the limitations of the body, the senses and the mind.

As the aesthetic impression can ordinarily be produced only through the external senses, the mind and other channels, it naturally follows that the aesthetic impression, the particular mood into which the aesthetic faculty is transformed, has to be considerably coloured by the condition of the channel through which the secondary impression is produced. A tree, for example, may produce practically the same impression on different persons that look at it; but a piece of art produces entirely different impressions on different individuals.

Sakuntala has been recognised, through universal consent, as a work of art of a high order. The bare external outline of the story, whose primary impression produces the aesthetic impression, is understood in the same way by all the individuals who read the drama. There is no difference of opinion on the facts of the story that constitute the drama. But there is considerable difference on the final impression which the drama produces in various individuals.

To some persons what strikes in the drama is the contrast between the life in the forest and the life in the cities. To them the drama is a glorification of the life of the hermits in the forest, with their peace and contentment, with their few wants all well satisfied, with their life and time dedicated to the higher ends of life, in search of the Great Truth, and in helping their less fortunately placed fellow men. There in the forest, is the life of eternal communion with Nature. The trees and the plants and the flowers, the hills and the meadows and the rivers, the bees and the birds, the antelopes, all these live in a relation of fraternal unity with the hermits–men and women, young and old. Physical passions and impulses play no part in the life of the forest. The body serves only as a vehicle, as a protection and as a sheath to the pure spirit within, and is not a burden and a source of suffering to the soul. This is the picture that is presented to us in the first tour Acts of the drama.

With this serene peace and calm that reign in the forest, is contrasted the bustle and noise and confusion in the city, as we see in the fifth and the sixth Acts. The King, his many consortst their rivalry and quarrels, the consequent pang and worry which the King has to endure, doubt and vacillation, distrust and fear, the hierarchy of officers, theft and punishment, war and conquest–this in outline is the sum total of the life in the city. We see only men with all their base passions. We see nothing but men. There are no trees and plants and flowers. There are no bees humming. There are no birds cooing. Music gives pain to the King. Nothing of what is termed ‘Nature’ is allowed to come in within this scene. Two girls are introduced as plucking flowers to celebrate the Spring festival, and they are summarily sent away. Sakuntala introduces the incident of fondling the antelopes in the forest, and the matter is mercilessly dismissed. We see the stern, artificial, lifeless life in all its ugliness in the city.

The sacred grove of the hermits was the scene of the union of souls. The city is the scene of their separation. Then we are again transported to another holy hermitage. The mountains and the trees and the animals come . The human souls are united again in this scene. In the hermitage we find also the union of man and Nature. In the city man is rigorously divorced from Nature. He leads an isolated life. Such is the picture of the contrast between the forest and the city. This is the philosophy of life which one finds in the drama, if he is a rebel against civilization, if he is an admirer of the beauty of retired life in the forest.

To others Sakuntala does not present a study in contrast. They find here a study in harmony, in synthesis, within apparent contrast. Contrast is alien to the Hindu mind. The Hindu mind, if anything, is synthetic. To the Hindu, Matter and Spirit are not two mutually conflicting entities. They are not exclusive of each other. They are the twin products of the Lord Narayana. They function together; they co-operate with each other towards the same goal. Kaivalya is as much the goal of Matter as of Spirit. In the state of Kaivalya, Matter as well as Spirit resume their separate real nature.

To the Hindu, there is no conflict between a wordly life with all its implications, and a life of monasticism. Both can run concurrently in the same person. This world and the world above are not two water-tight compartments; each is a continuation of the other, and one can cross and re-cross from one to the other. To a Hindu, brought up in the traditions of the Bhagavad Gita, the Sakuntala is the artist's representation of true Hinduism; the Gita is the religious representation. Here we find the reconciliation of apparent contradictories. Here we find the study in harmony of human life. The King with his power and plenty in the palace, and the Saint in the forest; the King with his innumerable consorts, and the shy maiden who has never seen a man of the world; the life of ease and luxury, and the life of asceticism; the eternal Brahmacharin, and the anxious and loving, father; each is found united to the other, and in the end we find a really harmonious life pictured before us, life in its totality, the life that is extolled in the Bhagavad Gita.

The King and the Saint do not represent two conflicting interests. These two characters drawn from opposite sides in human life are brought together: they work towards the same goal. The purpose of the King is in harmony with the plan of the Saint. There is no conflict between the two. In most literary works, we see characters drawn from opposite extremes grouped in two conflicting camps; we see their fight with each other and the victory of the one over the other. This is what we find in the Ramayana and the Mahabharata; this is what we find in Homer and Virgil; this is what we find in Milton; in the great tragedies of Shakespeare we find the same thing. But in Sakuntala, the two extremes meet and co-operate. The King and the Saint are the two co-heroes of the drama. The only difference is that one is always before our eyes and the other is always before our mind. One is the conventional hero on the stage; the other is the real hero behind the scene.

The King is the conventional hero of the drama. He is on the stage when the first scene opens; he continues on the stage throughout the first three Acts. He is always before our eyes. Then in the fourth Act he retires for a while, and re-appears in the fifth Act; really he opens the Act. Then he does not leave the stage till the curtain finally falls. The other characters come and go. But the King is always present on the stage (except in one Act). The whole story centres round him. Event after event rolls on, and the King it is who sets the plot in motion and keeps it moving from beginning to end. At least this is what we see on the stage.

Then there is the co-hero, the Saint, who is mostly behind the scene. He is brought to our notice quite at the beginning of the drama. In the first three Acts, the Saint never appears on the stage. Yet he never leaves our mind. His presence behind the scene is always felt by us. In every movement of the story, we feel his influence. He dominates our mind entirely. The whole movement of the story looks like being controlled by some unseen power. In the presence of this all-dominating power, the actual characters, even including the King, seem to be mere machines worked from behind. The Saint works out his plan through the King, so long as he could do so through this medium. Slowly the plot develops and we come to a state, where the King's powers are arrested. The King retires and the Saint comes with his bodily presence on the stage. For a short time, the invisible, but real hero dominates the stage both in body and in spirit. Then he resumes his position behind the scene. The King comes . Although the Saint has retired physically, his spirit continues its influence on the course of events.

The King and the Saint are never together on the stage. If we bend the drama into the form of an arch it will be found that the fourth Act will be in the centre and at the top, and the first three and the last three Acts will form the two sides of the arch. The King appears on the sides of the arch, on the lower parts of the arch; the Saint is in the centre, on the top of the arch and pours down his influence on the King below, on the sides. The King works out the plan of the saint from below. The Saint watches the action of the King from above. There is the plan of the Saint, there is the purpose of the King. The King sets his purpose according to the plan of the Saint; the Saint designs his plan to gain the purpose of the King. The King acts; the Saint supervises and controls. The Saint does not come in his bodily presence where the King is; and the King does not go where the Saint is in his bodily presence.

And is this not what we find in real life also? The man in his physical form is always before our eyes. Man is here from the very beginning of the world and continues right up to the end. He keeps the world going, or rather he seems to keep the world moving. But above all the activities of man is the eternal Divine Spirit. That Spirit Divine is above and in the centre. He pours down His influence on the men below. The Divine is not physically visible in the lower portions; but His influence is felt. He supervises and controls the actions of man. His plan is so designed as to gain the purpose of man. Man sets his purpose according to the plan of the Divine. He works on towards his goal according to the Divine plan. The Divine functions through man, and manifests through man; He works out His plan through man. There is a region above where man does not function. There is the region of the pure Spirit. He shows himself in his ‘form’ in that region.

We see this unity between the purpose of man and the plan of God, between the Divine and the human, between the regions of the pure Spirit and of man, well exhibited in the drama. Again neither the life in the forest, nor the life in the city is the ideal. It is the union of the elements in the two that constitutes life. There is artificiality in both, in separation. The city is divorced from Nature and the higher and nobler emotions of man; the forest is lacking in many of the true implications of life. The whole purpose of the drama is to bring about a union of these two imperfect parts into a harmonious whole, and that is the meaning of the union of Sakuntala with the King, which is the end of the drama. The plan of God is the union of man and woman, a recognition of the true realities of life and its implications. This plan is disregarded by man through ignorance (represented by the curse of Durvasa). What is implied by life in the world is not a thing that can be thrown away and could be got rid of. The real plan is that man must live through all such implications. There is no conflict between what are called the higher ends of man and the implications of life in the world, and this point is illustrated by the reconciliation in the Saint of the life of a Brahmacharin and that of a fond parent. Sanyasa does not free anyone from the responsibilities of life. Even the Saint, the Nityabrahmacharin, fulfils his responsibilities as a parent. Thus in Sakuntala, we find the reconciliation between the Kingand the Saint, between the Kingin the city and Sakuntala in the hermitage, between the life of a Brahmacharin and the life of a parent; and finally we see the union of God, man and Nature into a harmonious whole. It is no wonder that Goethe, reading only the translation from a translation, wrote as follows:

Wilst thou the blossoms of the early Spring and the fruits of the later season,
Wilst thou what charms and delights, wilst thou what strengthens and supports,
Wilst thou the heaven and the earth with one name encompass;
I name thee, Sakuntala, and so has all been said.