Tulsidasa's Devotional Poetry

Tulsidasa’s Devotional Poetry

A Note on “Kavitavali”

How all-consuming was Tulsidasa’s passion for Shri Rama is evident from the fact that even after writing a full-length epic on his adored hero he kept returning to the story of his life, his struggle with Ravana and his marvellous exploits. It looks as though the poet was never weary of, in fact was eager for, celebrating Rama’s exemplary qualities and chanting his glories. Whenever he gets an opportunity, he lets himself go with abandon, be it in Vinayapatrika, Geetavali, Barvai Ramayana or Kavitavali. The last-named quickly traverses the enormous ground of Ramacharitamanasby focussing on the elected episodes. However, its distinctive feature is to be found in the final section called “Uttarakand” which is self-revelatory and testifies to the saint-poet’s personal devotion.

There is a lot of rage these days for what is designated as “confessional” poetry. One wonders why psythoneurotic problems, emotional imbalances and disturbances of an individual, the various clues to his sense of guilt, should be of such over­whelming attraction for the literary critic. Why should the lower urges like libido and suicidal tendencies be made so much of? Why should it be considered modish to gaze at the seamy side only? Would it not be more helpful to see the upward strivings of a God­ dedicated person rather than waste our time and corrupt our taste by wallowing in the nightmarish region of the Id? Moreover, those who value “confessional” poetry for its honesty should keep in mind that this virtue is not the sole monopoly of their kind of poetry. Is it, one would like to ask, honesty or a desire for self-­dramatization, that makes the confessional poet dwell largely on the abnormal and the aberrant? Actually, devotional poetry is nothing if not honest and it’s honest in a more serious sense. Arising out of the devout poet’s transaction with his chosen deity this poetry is transparent, laying bare the very soul of the poet? I would like to corroborate this dictum by citing a few instances from “Uttarakand” in Kavitavali.

It is a well-known fact that Tulsidasa’s early life held no promise of what he came to be later on. He himself is struck by this contrast and makes no secret of the metamorphosis that comes over him. This is how he puts it: “The world said that this man (Tulsidasa) was heavy with sin, humble through penury, and wore rags and tatters. Fate had not written anything for him and even in a dream he couldn’t walk on his own feet. But today the self-same Tulsidas become Rama’s servant.” This is better under stood than stated. This transformation (of a sinner into a saint) has not taken place without his worshipping Rama, the shepherd of the monkeys. Attributing this change to the effect of Rama’s name he says that it is Rama’s name that has made this man, ever a donkey-rider, mount an elephant.­
A tendency towards self-debasement is inevitable in a devotee’s attitude towards his deity and this is very much in evidence in “Uttarkand.” This is the self-potrait that Tulsidasa offers us: “Neither do I know the Vedas nor the songs of the Puranas. So also I am ignorant of science and knowledge. I cannot boast of any competence in concentration, meditation or in going into a trance. It is not in my fortune to cultivate detachment, practise Yoga (spiritual exercise) or perform sacrifices. I am deficient in generosity and in the giving of alms. Only I am strong in sin. Who is my equal in such infirmities as greed, attachment, worldly (sensual) desire and anger? Even Kaliyuga (the corrupt age) has learnt my impurities. Oh Rama, I have just one hope. I am called yours. You are compassionate and brother of the­ poor; mine is only poverty.” In another stanza, going on in the same strain he says: “One who has evil in his speech, whose actions are wicked, whose mind is devoid of discrimination and is a veritable storehouse of filth, such a one is making his living by being called a Rama’s man and by selling his name without engaging in service and good company. There is no other reason for such a Tulsidasa being called a nice man by the world than that; as is seen in life here and there and as found in an old proverb, a dog is treated well because of the attachment for its master. “What can be such an utter destitution as that of Tulsi who has no means of subsistence, who but for the protection of ­Rama incapable of offering as an oblation to his deceased ancestors even the hair of his head?

Among nine forms of devotion mentioned in our Shastras, there is one closely akin to friendship. Although the dominant tone in Tulsidasa’s poetry is that of a servant to his master characterized by utmost humility, at times he does use a bantering tone also. “In the world,” he mockingly says, “has spread the false fame that I am your servant. You never owned me, considering me unfit for that favour. However, your name which I have been repeating has proved greater than yourself.” Boast­fully he asserts that the scale will dip in his favour against any man of good deeds because of the weight of Rama’s name with him. Elsewhere he argues with Rama that in the past he had come to the rescue of bandits and prostitutes. Has he taken completely to new ways as to judge him by his merits before offering him the refuge of his lotus feet? Pride is regarded as a deadly sin but Tulsidasa declares that he has this pride in his heart that he won’t go to any other man or God asking for help except Rama.

Tulsidasa’s prayer is generally addressed to Rama but like a devout Hindu he offers obeisance to the other gods of the Hindu pantheon as well. Shankar is the principal among them. His body smeared with ash, the slayer of Kaama, bearing the Ganga among the matted hair, his spouse Parvati as his left half, wearing the serpents as ornaments, adorned by the garland of heads, the crescent on his forehead, drum and skull in his hand, carrying a trident, this naked and poison-eating Shiva is very easy to please. There is, however, no absolute depending on him. Did he not create a problem for himself by granting the boon to Bhasmasur by which he threatened to reduce the giver of that boon himself to ashes? Only by dropping a couple of bilva leaves, knowingly or unknowingly, in anger or just in play, one secures everything that his heart can yearn for. When Tulsidasa was once afllicted with some dread disease he prayed to Shankar to cure him in view of his strong attachment to Rama whom Shankar knows so well. Similarly he bursts into panegyrics on the goddess Annapurna
Parvati, Ganga and the monkey God, Hanuman. Feelingly he prays to Hanuman to save Kashi from the depredations of the plague and reminds him that he had set things right when they were going wrong with Rama himself.

Devotional poetry derives its strength from sincerity. It’s just a dialogue between the poet and his adored, or more correctly, a monologue, because it is only the poet who is doing all the speaking. He is so completely lost in the rapture of communion that the idea of any other audience does not occur to him at all. All his talents and energies are used in pouring out his love for his deity, sometimes remonstrating with him, sometimes even in indulging in a mild jibe at his expense. At all events, the presence of the deity is patently felt throughout or the kind of poetry that Tulsidasa writes cannot be written. His total surrender to Rama and his complete absorption in him, make him the saint ­poet par excellence that he is. The English metaphysical poets of the 17th century use a great deal of what has been called “conceit” which should never be dismissed as a dispensable contrivance. A properly used conceit does not detract from the poet’s sincerity. Tulsidasa, while singing of the glory of the sacred river Ganga, introduces this conceit: “O Ganga, if as a result of watching your water I am turned into Vishnu, then I would be sinning because of my touching you with my feet (Ganga originates from Vishnu’s feet). If I become Mahadeva, then I would be afraid of bearing you on my head because that would involve me in the serious wrong of claiming equality with the Lord (Shankar). Rather, I would like to be born again and again so that I can be forever Rama’s servant living on your bank.”

It would be interesting to compare Tulsidasa’s devotional poetry with that of John Donne, a near-contemporary, though estranged by the wide chasms of the seas and other physical barriers. There is room to mention just one significant detail. Donne invokes the Lord to put him in a certain condition, whereas Tulsidasa describes himself to have arrived in that state; in effect, he is permanently fixed there. To quote from one of Donne’s prayers, “And when thou shalt have inflamed and thawed my former coldness and indevotions with these heats, and quenched my former heats with these sweats and inundations, and rectified my former presumptions and negligence’s with these fears, be pleased, O Lord, as one made so by thee, to think me fit for thee…” In Tulsidasa, this sought-for transformation has already taken place. With his being steeped in the divine presence of the Lord manifest in the form of Rama, Tulsidasa sings in the ecstasy of devotion which has been experienced by only a few like Tuka Rama, Mira and Sura. Since this kind of poetry comes gurgling out of the depth of the poet’s heart, language being all the time at his beck and call through some mysterious process, it penetrates the reader’s sensibility with a corresponding force. That is why Bhakti poetry in India has outlasted all the vogues and modes.