A Famous Dance of Long Ago

The following episode is taken from the Silappadhikaram, ‘The Lay of the Anklet’. Its author is Ilango Adigal, who is reputed to be a brother of the Chera king. The name sounds like a pseudonym; and looks rather like one bestowed by the public (or his peers), than like one assumed by the poet himself. There is, unfortunately, no reference in Sangham poetry to any such person in the Chera royal line.

The story of the poem is fairly well known. In the city of Puhar by the sea, known as Kaviri-p-poom-pattinam, there lived two great merchant princes-one owned a fleet of merchantmen, and traded by sea, apparently; and the other was a caravan owner, who traded by land. The former had a charming daughter Kannaki, just turning twelve; and the latter had a son, Kovalan, turning sixteen. The two young people were married with great pomp, and due ceremony, and were blessed by the elder folk. They set up house by themselves, and lived happily for a time.

Then, one fateful day, came this dance, of which more latter Kovalan fell in love with the dancer, and sought her love, and had it in such full measure, that he deserted his wife and home. The rest of the story does not concern us here.

Silappadhikaramis considered as one of the three masterpieces of Tamil poetry–the other two being the Kuralof the Tiru-Valluvar, wit: and the Ramayana of Kamban. It is in three sections–the plot of each being laid in one of the ancient Tamil kingdoms, namely, Chola, Pandya, and Chera, respectively. Some miracles are inter-woven with the texture of the story, which is, on the whole, well and told. There are some lovely songs and lyrics of exquisite pattern, in simpler language than the body of the poem, though parts of them are still above the language of the ordinary man of today.

Loveliest of all the celestial nymphs was glamorous Urvasi, the dancer without a peer in the court of Indra, king of the gods. By a cruel fate’s decree She was born on the earth, where she achieved a fame as great as in heaven. She was lissom as a creeper, and soft and fragrant as a flower; and was aptly named Madhavi–the jasmine creeper, with leaves like emeralds, and flowers like stars. Of her noble lineage, long long afterwards, was born such another; and she too was known as Madhavi.

The Dancer–This young dancer was “gifted with the magic of motion and sunshine of glance, and white arms wreathed lightly, and tresses full free, as the plumage of birds in a tropical tree.” It had been announced that young Madhavi was going to be “presented” to the king that day; and the courtiers, and nobles, and merchant princes, were all aflutter to see her. She had just turned twelve; and was already reputed to be a paragon of beauty, song and dance. She had perfected her charms and attainments by a seven-year course of culture. “Broad were her shoulders, and her eyes were like a fawn’s, and, from the fresh flowers twined among her curly tresses, fine pollen poured like fragrant dew.”

The Stage–The stage was set for her coming. It was a raised platform one “stick” high. The “stick” was the unit of length in such matters. It was defined as the length measured by twenty-four thumbs’ breadth–the thumb of a nobleman. Each thumb breadth was just the length of eight paddy corns set side by side. This stick measure had to be made of the finest bamboo, growing on any of the sacred hills, and which in its natural state, measured one span from joint to joint. By such a measure, the stage was seven sticks broad and eight sticks long. It had two doors for entrance and exit, which were four sticks high from the dance floor to their wooden lintels. It had one screen on the left, and two on the right, and an over-hanging curtain and some pillars. High up were figures of painted sprites, for all to pray to, and a canopy of cloth with painted pictures and rich embroidery. Strings of pearl hung down straight, and in loops and festoons. Skilful workmen built it, with many a novel feature. It was illumined by a graceful lamp so cunningly placed that it cast no shadows.

Location of the Theatre–The choice of a site for the dance stage was very important. It should be near a temple, or a prayer hall (or a palace), and near where the learned and pious brahmins lived, and near a well and a pond, and a flowery grove. It should stand on firm ground; and should not be near pits, or rubbish, or dug up earth. Land where any bones, or husks of grain, or gravel stones, lie scattered, wet and clayey land, brackish or alkaline soil, or ash-strewn ground, and loose earth, are all declared unfit. The stage should be built in the heart of the city, facing the broad city streets, where the temple cars run and the chariots ply.

The Song Master–The musician was a specialist on the lute and the flute, and could play deftly on the drum. His voice was rich, and could reach any pitch, high or low; and was under perfect control. He could suit it to all the needs, and all the moods of the dance–of every kind and tempo. He knew the meaning of the words of the song, and the poet’s mind, and the language and dialects of the land, with all their subtle shades of musical sound. He held inflexibly to the traditional form of the composition.

The Composer–Thecomposer was an expert in the language, and could wield it with skill and appropriateness. He knew the stage, and its special art and features, and he carefully avoided all solecisms. He was a master of both subjective and objective writing. He never gave a handle to critics to make adverse comment about his work.

The Drummer–The drummer knew the various kinds of dance, and all the songs, tunes, and their measures. He made the drum harmonise with the lute, and the flute, and the human voice. He would cover up their flaws, and show up their beauty. He made his instrument blend wonderfully with the other instruments in the orchestra, and echo closely even the lingering notes of the song. Such dextrous skill his fingers had.

The Flute Player–Theflute player too was a virtuoso. He knew both the modes of playing upon the instrument, and all the graces, and all the airs. His instrument softened even an occasional harsh note. He could blend with the big drum on the one hand, and the stringed lute on the other: He could, and did, elaborate the notes of the singer; and each note was clear and crisp.

The Lute Player –The lute player played upon the lute with fourteen strings from thin to thick, the thinnest on the extreme right, and the thickest on the extreme left. The notes thus played ranged from the highest to the lowest–just the opposite of how they sounded upon the flute. In the flute the lowest notes are on the right. The lute player could, at his will, play on the high notes, or the low, or mix them both in sweet harmony.

The Installation–Upon such a stage they set the dance “staff” after due ceremony. The staff was really the shaft of a royal umbrella seized on the field of battle from an enemy king. It was brought in triumph, and covered with gold plate, and every joint was inlaid with gems, and coral, and pearl. It represented Jayanta (son of Indra, king of the gods), and usually reposed in the palace of the king, and was offered worship there. It was seven span lengths high.

On the appointed day, the dancer bathed the “staff” with holy water, pouring it from a golden pitcher. She garlanded it, and gave it to the gloriously caprisoned state elephant. To the beat of drums and fanfare of trumpets, and the sound of music, the king and his cabinet went round the decorated royal chariot which stood ready by the side of, the royal elephant. The staff was taken from the royal elephant, and given to the musician seated on the chariot. The whole group went in a procession round the city; and then duly installed the staff upon the stage.

Entry on to the Stage–Then the orchestra took its place at the ground of the stage. When all was ready, the dancer stepped on the stage, with her right foot foremost, and stood modestly by the pillar on the right; while her older companions, proficient in dancing, stood on the left. Then, two benedictory songs were sung.

“Flourish, worth and virtue!
Perish, worthlessness and vice!”

was the theme of the songs. At their close, the entire orchestra studied in unison, and in perfect harmony.

The Dance–Then Madhavi danced first to the words of an auspicious song, and then to other Songs and tunes, in varied patterns of step and movement.

“When she danced with faultless grace
Keeping firmly to the rules ordained,
It seemed as if a golden vine
Had quickened and come to life,
Swayed and danced upon the stage.”

The presiding king admired her greatly, for she was a feast to the eye and ear, and gave her his own green-leaf garland, and one thousand and eight coins of pure gold.

The above material is to be found in the third canto of Silappadhikaram, which is entitled “Arangerru-kathai “, the story of Madhavi’s first performance on the stage. Much is said about the dance, but very little about her dance. Nothing is mentioned of her costume, or jewellery, or the songs that were sung on the occasion, except generally. We do not even know whether the queen was present.

I am tempted to digress, and refer to another classic dance of equally long ago, but of the “north countrie”. There is a dance episode in Malavikagnimitraone of the three Sanskrit plays of Kalidasa.

There we find the reverse process, almost. No details are mentioned of the stage. It was apparently tile amphitheatre of the palace. The king and queen are present, and a few courtiers, and another lady–a nun. Malavika’s beauty and grace of form are described directly and indirectly. The king’s friend, the clown, describes her as “nectar for the eyes.” The dance master notes her elegance of form, and the king praises her in rapturous language.

We are told that Malavika was a bit nervous, and was encouraged by her master. She sings a preparatory tune, and then, she sings in medium tempo a song consisting of four lines, sung originally by Sarmishtha. The song too is given–both in the “Prakrit” form, and in the Sanskrit form. It may be rendered thus:

He, my love, is far above me:
So, dear my heart, shed all your hope.
But, why, I wonder, does my left eye
Throb so often–Oh! dare I hope?
How shall I call him to me?
Long it is, since last I saw him.
I am, alas a dependant here;
But, dearest lord, I yearn for thee.

The king, the queen, the nun, and even the clown speak words of praise. It is the clown, too, who offers her a present, but the circumstances are somewhat different between the two events. The North Indian king is already in love with the dancer, who is a real princess, though not then known to be such; and after seeing her on the stage, falls more in love with her, if that were possible, all unaware of her lineage. But the Chola King is decorous, and does not lose his heart to the courtezan, and is entirely kingly. This is merely to state the difference–and not to praise or dispraise.