Udbhaṭa (fl. c. 800) is one of the most underappreciated heroes of South Asian intellectual history. This was not always so. In the twelfth-century (), Kalhaṇa celebrates him in no uncertain terms as the lead intellectual in what he sees as Jayāpīḍa’s self-conscious reshaping of Kashmir as a capital of letters.

4.402–502, cf. Bronner 2013.

Udbhaṭa is said to have been the president of Jayāpīḍa’s star-decked royal academy that caused an acute brain-drain in all neighboring countries; he is also said to have been the recipient of an astronomical renumeration of 100,000 dinars per diem.

4.495, cf. Bronner 2013: 173–174 n. 38. The salary of no other academy member is mentioned.

What may explain Udbhaṭa’s acclaimed status in Kalhaṇa’s eyes? We know that he is the author of at least four works in the field of Sanskrit letters. There is his () on Bhāmaha’s ()—the first known commentary in the field of Sanskrit poetics, and highly erudite at that. Then there is a commentary on Bharata’s vast (), likely the first such work in a long line of interpretations. Both commentaries are now lost save for fragments of the former and some mentions of and citations from both. Udbhaṭa is also the author of (), a short, versified manual on alaṅkāras that seems to be fully extant, as well as of his accompanying , some 94 verses of which—all in seemingly continuous narrative—were preserved as the illustrations of his . This is not the place to discuss the combined impact of this corpus in Sanskrit poetics. Let me just note that Udbhaṭa forever changed the field’s course: in particular, by leading its deep foray into semantics and its partial merger with dramaturgy.

Bronner 2016; Bronner forthcoming.

From this point onward, when writers wanted to present their ideas as innovative, they would contrast them with those of Udbhaṭa or of “the followers of Udbhaṭa” (audbhaṭāḥ).

I cannot provide here a complete survey of the mentions and citations of Udbhaṭa’s works (the latter are often unnamed) in subsequent works on poetics. Let me just briefly mention that in the opening sentence of his , which starts with a historical prelude, Ruyyaka says “Here, to begin with, the ancient makers of ornaments, Bhamaha, Udbhaṭa, and the others” (iha hi tāvad bhāmahōdbhaṭaprabhr̥tayaḥ cirantanālaṅkārakārāḥ…; AS p. 3). The term audbhaṭāḥ in the plural is found, for example, in Abhinavagupta’s . See , p. 258 of vol. 1.

To stake a claim in post-ninth century Kashmiri poetics meant the contender first had to emerge from Udbhaṭa’s long shadow.

Moreover, there is a growing agreement that the Udbhaṭa who authored works of poetics, poetry, and dramaturgy is none other than the one who composed treatises on the heterodox materialist Cārvāka philosophy (and its relations to logic) and on grammar, thus making him an authority on an astonishing array of disciplines.

Shah 1972: 7, Solomon 1977–1978: 992 (where the question of the identity between the different Udbhaṭas is left open), Bronkhorst 2008: 297–298, Pollock 2016: 65–66, Bronner 2016: 139–141.

I briefly return to this in my conclusions.

If Udbhaṭa, as I propose, is one of the unsung heroes of South Asia’s history of thought, this is epitomized by his . To the best of my knowledge, not a single study of this work exists. In fact, I doubt very much that, in the century and a half since modern scholars have discovered Udbhaṭa’s , anyone has even read his illustration verses as a continuous poem and examined them as such.

One exception is Narayana Daso Banhatti, who in his introduction to his edition of the dedicates two pages (Banhatti 1982: xiv–xv) to the poem, and notes that “sometimes the natural order of verses seems to be changed.” He also provides in an appendix “[a] list of all examples given by Udbhaṭa in the order in which they occur in the text” (appendix iii, p. xii). But other than a brief summary of the text and a note that it is “a great pleasure to read the poem even more than once” (xiv–xv), he offers no analysis.

I believe that this is not a coincidence, and that the neglect of modern scholars reflects that of their premodern predecessors. Udbhaṭa’s was intentionally ignored.

The purpose of the current essay is therefore simple: to begin the process of thinking about Udbhaṭa’s forgotten poem. This I do in four sections. In the first, I discuss its status as an independent work and briefly introduce the narrative structure of the verses preserved in the . The second section consists of a translation of these verses, excerpted from my forthcoming reader on Sanskrit figurative theory.

Bronner forthcoming.

But whereas there, as in all previous treatments, the poetic illustrations are subordinated to the figurative phenomena they serve to illustrate, here I let the reader appreciate the poetry without interruption (references to and explanations of the relevant alaṅkāras are relegated to the footnotes). The third section is dedicated to an initial analysis of some aspects of the poem, and finally, the fourth, to speculations about the reasons that might have led to its cold reception.

Udbhaṭa’s as an Independent Poem

Are Udbhaṭa’s verses part of a larger independent poem? They are certainly not presented as such in the . There is no reference to a larger poem, and there is no marked beginning or end. That said, the itself is also strangely not introduced by its author: there is no benediction, and no opening verse presenting the work’s title or its goals. The simply begins unannounced with the list of its first group of ornaments, and it ends unceremoniously sixty-something verses later with the last ornament in the sixth and final group.

The commentators, for their part, see their task as explicating just one work, the . For example, the third and last verse in Pratīhārēndurāja’s brief introduction of his commentary (c. 900) simply states that having studied with his learned teacher Mukula, the author now has elucidated the . He does not acknowledge here that the examples in Udbhaṭa’s work form a cohesive narrative that belong in a separate work, and that, therefore, commenting on the also means commenting on Udbhaṭa’s poem. Thus, when he comes to the example of the first ornament, he merely introduces it by saying: “here is its example” (tasyōdāharaṇam), a style he repeats throughout. The approach of Tilaka (c. 1100), who knew his predecessor’s commentary, is identical.

The commentators are, however, aware of Udbhaṭa’s poem as a separate entity. This we learn a bit later when they address a minor textual discrepancy in the . In the opening of the work, where the first group of ornaments is listed (in what forms, in essence, the chapter’s table of contents), “simile” (upamā) precedes “illumination” (dīpaka) but later, when the ornaments are defined and illustrated, “illumination” precedes “simile.” Why this change of order? Pratīhārēndurāja raises this objection himself and answers as follows:

anēna granthakrtā svōparacitakumārasambhavaikadēśō ’trōdāharaṇatvēnōpanyastaḥ. tatra pūrvaṁ dīpakasyōdāharaṇānī. tadanusandhānāvicchēdāyātrōddēśakramaḥ parityaktaḥ. uddēśas tu tathā na kr̥tō vr̥ttabhaṅgabhayāt. ēvam uttaratrāpi lakṣaṇēṣūddēśakramānanusārēṇa samādhir vācyaḥ.

(Banhatti 1982: 16, ll. 22–26)

A portion of our author’s own poem, , is used here for illustration. There, the illustrations of “illumination” come first. So as not to depart from that poem’s flow, he abandoned the order found in the [’s] initial list. In fact, the only reason that the order in that list is not changed accordingly is to avoid breaking the meter. Later, too, we will likewise state adjustments by ignoring the original list when it comes to the actual definitions.

Pratīhārēndurāja asserts that there is a separate work by “our author,” that it has its own title, , that it includes more than is found in the (only a “portion” from it “is used here for illustration”), that it has its own “flow,” or integral sequence, and that this sequence overrides whatever order is found, for purely metrical reasons, in the tables of contents of the different chapters of the . Indeed, it seems important for him to convey this information. After all, referring to the metrical constraints of the initial list of ornaments is a perfectly sufficient explanation for the noted change in the order of their illustration. It thus may be that Pratīhārēndurāja was looking for an opportunity to acknowledge the existence of this poem qua poem and then to quickly move on. Tilaka, the other commentator, says something to the same effect: “Although ‘simile’ was listed first for metrical considerations, it is defined after ‘illumination’ in agreement with the sequence of the poem he composed, entitled . In later changes in order, too, the same distinction is to be realized.”

(Ramaswami Sastri 1931: 12, ll. 15–16): vr̥ttānurōdhād upamā prāgupadiṣṭāpi svayaṁkr̥takumārasambhavākhyakāvyasaṁgatyanurōdhād dīpakasya paścāl lakṣitā. parivartanē cōttaratrāyam ēva viśēṣō jñēyaḥ.

Note that Tilaka does not mention that the poem was larger, though it is unclear if this omission has any significance.

Note that, in Pratīhārēndurāja’s reading, the order in which Udbhaṭa illustrates the five subcategories of Gujarati alliteration is also different from that in which he defines them (verses 6-10 below; Tilaka, however, provides the examples in the order of the categories). Here a different order would have changed little in the meaning of the poem, and hence Pratīhārēndurāja’s insisting on a different order may have been inspired by having access to a manuscript of the poem itself, but this is of course speculative and inconclusive.

Some later writers also knew about Udbhaṭa’s poem. An example is Māṇikyacandra, who cites an illustration verse from the in his commentary on Mammaṭa’s (). In introducing it he says: “For example, in the praise of Gaurī in Udbhaṭa’s ” (yathōdbhaṭakumārasambhavē gaurīstutau).

, p. 252, l. 18.

So Māṇikyacandra refers to Udbhaṭa’s poem by its name, and for him, it is the source of the citation rather than the . Note also the need to insert the name Udbhaṭa into the compound naming the source. Just to say is to refer strictly to Kālidāsa’s far more famous and original work of the same name, where no mention of the author is needed, whereas a reference to the less celebrated competitor work requires differentiation, if not a trigger warning.

For example, p. 539: yathā bhagavatī pārvatī kumārasambhavē.

That said, the verse cited here is from the part of the poem illustrated in the . Did Māṇikyacandra have access to a more complete, separate copy?

He cites two illustration verses from Udbhaṭa’s stanzas already in the , both already precited: the first (nētraiḥ, p. 228) by multiple sources, and the second at least by Sōmēśvara (, p. 294, although without the explicit reference to Udbhaṭa that Māṇikyacandra gives). On the relative chronology of Māṇikyacandra and Sōmēśvara, see Bronner and Ollett 2024.

All I can say is that this is a rare named citation of Udbhaṭa’s poem, and that I know of no such explicit reference to any verse that is not already included in the .

A. K. Warder noted in passing that of the few verses attributed to Udbhaṭa in the anthologies, “one describing Umā,” “is probably from his ” (Warder 1983: 472). Note, however, that the verse is typically cited amidst others that depict Brahma’s over-the-top investment in the beauty of certain young women, and that it, too, does the same, without naming its heroine (see, for example, of Vidyākara v. 455). Thus, while the verse depicts the young woman’s creation as offering a new life to Kāma whom Śiva has burnt, there is nothing to force us to see it as belonging in the narrative of Śiva and Umā’s falling in love, let alone to be from Udbhaṭa’s lost poem on this topic.

In other words, whatever portions that preceded and followed the section preserved in the were, they disappeared without trace.

One unique reference to Udbhaṭa’s poem is in the Telugu of Nanne Cōḍa: “Udbhaṭa composed a / on the theme of Śiva’s play / and pleased the god with this poem, / which is the whole of figuration / with kāvya deep inside” (translation from Narayana Rao and Shulman 2002: 116). A study of the relationship between this Telugu poem and Udbhaṭa’s work is a desideratum, but note that here, too, the reference is only to the illustration of ornaments, that is, presumably the part preserved in the .

This disappearance calls for an explanation, and I come back to this in my conclusions.

What, then, do we find in Udbhaṭa’s verses in the ? To begin with, they are all in the same textbook carrying meter (anuṣṭubh). To A. K. Warder, this suggested that they originally belonged in the same chapter but without that chapter’s closing verses, usually set aside by the introduction of a new meter.

Warder 1983: 469.

Moreover, the text begins in media res, its first word being tadāprabhr̥ti: "from then on," not exactly the most common opening line of a Sanskrit work. The reader is thrown right into the middle of the Śiva-Umā love story, at a point that, we later realize, comes soon after Śiva has burnt the love god Kāma to ashes, thereby causing the lovelorn Umā to begin her penance. Indeed, in Kālidāsa’s intertext, the same phrase, tadāprabhr̥ti, begins a verse that depicts Umā’s love madness following that very traumatic event (here in Hank Heifetz’s translation):

From then on, filled with love, the curls of her hair dusty gray from the sandal paste smeared on her forehead to cool her, she could never find relief even lying on the high mountain ice of her father’s home. KKS 5.55 (here in a flashback, when Umā’s friend narrates this to the sage who is really Śiva in disguise), Heifetz 1985: 76.

In Udbhaṭa’s namesake poem, however, the same phrase marks the depiction not of Umā’s suffering but of Śiva's, as we shall see shortly. I believe that this is not a coincidence, and I would like to draw some initial conclusions from this choice of words. First, that with it, Udbhaṭa wishes to juxtapose his poem with that of his great predecessor. Second, if I am right in my interpretation of the adverbtadāprabhr̥ti as keyed to Kālidāsa’s, it may be that the ’s commentator, Pratīhārēndurāja, was wrong in taking it as meaning “ever since the separation from Satī,” an event that took place much earlier in Śiva’s story.

Pratīhārēndurāja on verse 1 (UKS p. 3): tadāprabhr̥ti satīviyōgād ārabhya. Tilaka, by contrast, rightly identifies this moment as following the burning of Kāma (kāmadahanād ārabhya, p. 4, l. 1; he also has a slightly different reading: tataḥ prabhr̥ti).

If this is correct, and if the section just prior to what we have preserved narrated the burning of Kāma, this may indicate that already Pratīhārēndurāja did not necessarily have access to Udbhaṭa’s complete poem, if one indeed existed, leading him to misidentify the immediate context. This is only a speculation, but it is one worth keeping in mind.

At any rate, with this unheralded opening mid-plot, the first 30 verses, corresponding to the first group of ornaments in Udbhaṭa’s , are dedicated to two primary topics: Śiva’s lonely meditation and the onset of autumn. It is autumn rather than apring that is described here as enticing and, hence, posing a threat to God’s yogic resolve.

Note that in Kālidāsa’s version, the burning of Kāma is preceded by the advent of the spring season, yet out of order (ākālikīm … madhupravr̥ttim; KKS 3.34). The cycle of seasons depicted in Umā’s penance in Kālidāsa’s poem seems to bypass the autumn.

At some point during this description, the poet switches without warning to worries and self-doubts in Śiva’s voice, before turning to the narrator, only to shift back, in the end of the section, to God’s inner thoughts. These carry over to the next section of 16 verses, illustrating the ’s second group of ornaments—note that there is no clear narrative or other boundary between the verses attached to the ’s different sections. Here Śiva eventually focuses on Umā in meditation, realizes that she has become an ascetic, and decides to seek her out in disguise. He finds her in Gaurī Peak (gaurīśikhara), another direct echo of Kālidāsa’s namesake poem.

KKS 5.7; UKS 37.

Umā is the focus of his gaze, inner as well as actual, and the verses continue to alternate between the narrator’s and God’s voice.

The description of ascetic Umā carries over to the 4 verses that are used to illustrate the three ornaments of the ’s short third section. The last of these verses is a depiction of a fawn Umā befriends. This fawn is also the topic of the first verse in the fourth section, consisting of 14 verses, again indicating that the verses have their own flow that is not necessarily dictated by the logic of the manual. Here the focus immediately shifts from Umā to Śiva, whose dramatic emotional reaction to her sight the narrator turns to depict. Śiva has a hard time restraining himself, but once he manages to regain composure, he greets her, heaps praise on her father, Himālaya (with echoes of Kālidāsa’s opening chapter), and identifies her as this mountain’s daughter.

The last two sections, 18 verses each, all continue the speech of God while still in disguise. Śiva tries to talk Umā out of her austerities, which, he says, do not befit her delicate beauty. Somewhere midpoint the fifth section he launches into a long laudation of Viṣṇu, technically a set of relative clauses that keeps the identity of the target of praise at bay, until the main clause is provided, verses later, in the sixth and final section. Here Śiva notes that even Viṣṇu, whom he had praised at length, would have chosen Umā as his consort. With this strange compliment he nears the end of his speech, and the poem, as we have it, ends with a wry recommendation: “Go get yourself a husband.”

A note on the translation method used here and the text that serves as its basis. Since the point of this essay is to examine the poem itself, the translation provided below is continuous, without the definitions that frame the verses in the . Readers who are interested in reading the verses as illustrations of their respective ornaments, are advised to consult my forthcoming, where they are translated side by side with their definitions. I also tried my best to translate the verses as poetry, taking some liberties and avoiding over-literalization. That said, I did my best to capture the figurative effect each verse is meant to illustrate, an attempt that is often prone to failure, especially when it comes to sound effects and wordplays that are language specific. I nonetheless tried to recreate these effects using lexical choices and sounds in the target language. To offset the consequences of these choices, I provide, for each verse, a somewhat lengthy footnote, consisting of the Sanskrit original, an explanation of the figure it serves to illustrate, and, in cases of considerable departures, an explanation of the liberties I took while translating it. This annotation notwithstanding, I strongly recommend reading the translation uninterruptedly, verse after verse, as it is primarily based on such reading that the arguments in the following sections hinge.

As for the text itself, some issues need to be flagged. First, for the sake of convenience, I number the verses consecutively, from 1 to 94, although this exact enumeration is not found in any of the printed edition (in the footnotes, I also provide the verse numbers in the existing editions). Second, there are textual discrepancies in wording and in the sequence of the verses, and these are also noted. Finally, it is not always clear to me that a second version of one and the same verse that is repeated with only very minute changes, to fit another subvariety of the same figure, is in the voice of the author, Udbhaṭa, or of his commentators — the two main ones relied on here are Pratīhārēndurāja (hereafter PIR) and Tilaka (T)—who try to make sure that the text of the poem complies perfectly with the classificatory apparatus of the . In the absence of anything like a critical edition of the text (Banhatti’s edition of the text with PIR’s commentary is based primarily on a single manuscript), I made my own judgment calls, and these, too, are noted as such in the notes.

Here, then, is the translation of the verses in sequence.

Udbhaṭa’s Kumārasambhava: A Translation From then on withdrawn, concealed in the hide of a mammoth elephant, the god whose throat was blackened, and who was charred by the grief of Satī’s demise, killed time.tadāprabhr̥ti niḥsaṅgō nāgakuñjarakrttibhr̥tśitikaṇṭhaḥ kālagalatsatīśōkānalavyathaḥ[PIR 1.*1; T 1.4; T reads tataḥ for tadā]

The ornament is “apparent repetition” (punaruktavadābhāsa), likely Udbhaṭa’s own invention. The idea is that, at first, certain phrases appear redundant, and then, upon further reflection, the reader realizes that the second of each pair has a unique, different meaning or reading (Bronner 2016: 113–114). In this verse, both nāga and kuñjara seem, at first blush, to signify “elephant,” until one realizes that the latter here means “the best of its kind”; and both śitikaṇṭhaḥ and kālagala- seem to signify “black throat,” until one realizes that the latter is really kālagalat-, referring to the gradual passing of the pain of separation by time. I have tried to recreate the effect in English (at the cost of deviating from the literal meaning of the second half), with “mammoth elephant,” “concealed … hide,” and “blackened … charred.”

(1) In a strict crypt on the brow of the world, with only his fiend friends—a wild lot if ever there was one—he whiled away his days.sa dēvō divasān ninyē tasmiñ śailēndrakandarēgariṣṭhagōṣṭhīprathamaiḥ pramathaiḥ paryupāsitaḥ[PIR 1.*2; T 1.5]

The ornament is “enticing alliteration” (chēkānuprāsa), where the effect is based on several pairs of similar sound patterns (as in sa dēvō divasān etc.). Again, I tried to recreate the effect in English with partial success.

(2) Then, when even shallow plashes brandished shoots, shoal to shore, and, in every direction, sheets of brownish awns shimmered— autumn showed up in a flash.tatra tōyāśayāśēṣavyākōśitakuśēśayācakāśē śālikiṁśārukapiśāśāmukhā śarat[PIR 1.*3; T 1.7]

The ornament here is “alliteration” (anuprāsa), which Udbhaṭa divides according to the various euphonic modes. The verse here falls under the “harsh euphonic mode” (paruṣavr̥tti), which abounds in ś and ṣ sounds, consonant clusters that include r, retroflex consonants, and combinations such as hl, hv, and hy. The example verse is primarily dominated by sh sibilants, as is my translation.

(3) Bands of bees suddenly landed on the blooming bundles, indulging in the dense nectar that inundated in uncommon abundance.sāndrāravindavrndōtthamakarandāmbubindubhiḥsyandibhiḥ sundarasyandaṁ nanditēndindirā kvacit[PIR 1.*4; T 1.9]

The second type of alliteration is based on the “urbane euphonic mode” (upanāgarikavr̥tti), which is replete with duplicated letters or consonant clusters that contain nasals followed by homorganic stops. The original is dominated by the nd cluster, something I tried to replicate in the translation.

(4) What a lovely hullabaloo: long lines of bumblebees playing wiles in the lotus beds. It clanged like the jingling anklets on Lady Blossom’s legs.kēlilōlālimālānāṁ kalaiḥ kōlāhalaiḥ kvacitkurvatī kānanārūḍhaśrīnūpuraravabhramam[PIR 1.*5; T 1.11]

The third and last type of alliteration is based on the “rustic euphonic mode” (grāmyavr̥tti), which is said to abound in the remaining sounds as appropriate. In the Sanskrit the predominant sound is l, which I tried to replicate in the English.

(5) White grass like white grass shone, lakes like lakes, and rivulets stole young hearts just by being rivulets.kāśāḥ kāśā ivōdbhāṁsi sarāṁsīva sarāṁsi cacētāṁsy ācikṣipur yūnāṁ niṁnagā iva niṁnagāḥ[PIR 1.*6; T 1.19; T reads ābhānti for udbhāṁsi]

This is the first example of the so-called “Gujarati alliteration” (lāṭānuprāsa), the exact repetition of stems or words with no change in form or meaning, so long as each instance serves a different purpose. This ornament has five subtypes. Here is illustrated the fourth subtype, where standalone words such as “white grass” (kāśāḥ), “lakes” (sarāṁsi) and “rivulets” (niṁnagāh) get repeated. Note that T gives the verses illustrating “Gujarati alliteration” in a different order that agrees with that of their definition.

(6) Wives whose husbands strayed big time made no angry scene. And husbands, too, if their wives strayed, made no angry scene.striyō mahati bhartrbhya āgasy api na cukrudhuḥbhartārō ’pi sati strībhya āgasy api na cukrudhuḥ[PIR 1.*7; T 1.20]

“Gujarati alliteration” type 5, when the entire metrical unit is repeated.

(7) There were full-blown-lotuses and lotus-baffled-bees. The air was filled with bee-hum and the humdrum of frantic cranes.kvacid utphullakamalā kamalabhrāntaṣaṭpadāṣaṭpadakvāṇamukharā mukharasphārasārasā[PIR 1.*8; T 1.16]

“Gujarati alliteration,” type 1, namely, the repetition of two identical words (kamala, ṣaṭpada, mukhara) while each forms part of a different compound. I partially replicated this in the translation with “lotus” and “hum.”

(8) With filaments unlike the filaments of any other flower, dark blue water lilies unfolded, becoming earrings on the moon that women wear for a face.jitānyapuṣpakiñjalkakiñjalkaśrēṇiśōbhitamlēbhē ’vataṁsatāṁ nārīmukhēnduṣv asitōtpalam[PIR 1.*9; T 1.18]

“Gujarati alliteration,” type 3, where the repeated words form part of a single compound. In the original, the first line (“With filaments unlike the filaments of any other flower”) constitutes a single compound word, something that I did not replicate in the English.

(9) And it was gander-time: white ganders, fervently nesting in lotus-ponds, made the ponds jut out, as it were, with numerous milk teeth.padminīṁ padminīgāḍhaspr̥hayāgatya mānasātantardanturayām āsur haṁsā haṁsakulālayāt[PIR 1*10; T1.17, reads padminīḥ]

“Gujarati alliteration” type 2, when only one of the repeated pair of words is part of a compound and the other stands alone (eg., padminīm vs. padminī-). I replicated this with “gander” and “pond.”

(10) Pouring moonlight-water from moon-jars, the night-maidens gradually sprinkled the sky-garden, whose blossoms are stars.jyōtsnāmbunēndukumbhēna tārākusumaśāritamkramaśō rātrikanyābhir vyōmōdyānam asicyata[PIR 1.*11; T 1.23]

The figure is “identification” (rūpaka) of the “full-set type” (samastavastuviṣaya), wherein every subject (moonlight etc.) is explicitly identified with its standard (water etc.). For a discussion of Udbhaṭa’s groundbreaking understanding of rūpaka, see Bronner 2016: 92–99, 106–110, and Bronner forthcoming.

(11) With regal geese soaring up and down, bearing a white mop of feathers, autumn was fanning the kings of lakes.utpatadbhiḥ patadbhiś ca picchālīvālaśālibhiḥrājahaṁsair avījyanta śaradaiva sarōnr̥pāḥ[PIR 1.*12; T 1.24; reads piñcha for piccha]

This is the second of four types of “identification,” one that is “confined in presence” (ēkadēśavivarti). Here some of the identifications are explicit (e.g., the king is explicitly identified with the lake), but some are only implied (e.g., autumn as the king’s whisk-lady).

(12) Braids of forest deities, sword blades of Love’s special troops, or Death’s iron shackles for forsaken wives—rows of black bees were everywhere.vanāntadēvatāvēṇyaḥ pānthastrīkālaśr̥ṅkhalāḥmārapravīrāsilatā bhr̥ṅgamālāś cakāśirē[PIR 1.*14; T 1.26]

This is “chain identification” (mālārūpaka), the third subtype of rūpaka. Here the same subject (“rows of black bees”) is repeatedly identified with a variety of standards (braids of forest deities etc.).

(13) Then the white clouds illuminating the horizon poured a rain of arrows to redeem the kingdom of heaven.āsāradhārāviśikhair nabhōbhāgaprabhāsibhiḥprasādhyatē sma dhavalair āśārājyaṁ balāhakaiḥ[PIR 1.*14; T 1.27]

This is the last type of “identification,” “confined in capacity” (ēkadeśavr̥tti). This is a somewhat obscure category, and it partly depends on the dual meaning of the verb prasādhyate, which could be taken to have both aesthetic and military connotations. I tried to replicate this ambiguity with “redeemed.” See Bronner 2016: 108–109 and Bronner forthcoming for a discussion.

(14) Autumn liquidated all assets of the kadamba blossoms, as well as the entire store of happiness of women far away from their love.saṁjahāra śaratkālaḥ kadambakusumaśriyaḥprēyōviyōginīnāṁ ca niḥśēṣasukhasampadaḥ[PIR 1.*15; T 1.29]

This is the first of three illustrations of dīpaka, or “illumination,” an ornament based on ellipsis. Here the verb (“liquidated”) appears only once yet construes with two separate objects (“the kadamba blossoms” and “the store of happiness” of separated women). It is found in the beginning, which makes it a case of “beginning illumination” (ādidīpaka).

(15) Life in foreign parts, and the sorry sight of women whose men are away, crushed the hearts of travelers, as did this autumn.vidēśavasatir yātapatikājanadarśanamduḥkhāya kēvalam abhūc charac cāsau pravāsinām[PIR 1.*15; T 1.30]

In this “middle illumination,” the verbal element “crushed the hearts of travelers” (duḥkhāya kēvalam abhūt) is situated in the middle, from where it construes with different entities (“Life in foreign parts,” etc.) in different parts of the verse.

(16) Then, overflowing with radiance and beaming with endless allure, the moon and women’s moon-faces filled every heart with bliss.tadānīṁ sphītalāvaṇyacandrikābharanirbharaḥkāntānanēndur induś ca kasya nānandakō ’bhavat[PIR 1.*17; T 1.31]

In this “end illumination,” filling every heart with bliss, which construes with both moon-faces and the actual moon, is found in the end.

(17) Pure moonlight sparked instant fever and added fuel to the flames of love for the lonely, as if it were cool sandalwood lotion.kṣaṇaṁ kāmajvarōtthityai bhūyaḥ santāpavr̥ddhayēviyōginām abhūc cāndrī candrikā candanaṁ yathā[PIR 1.*18; T 1.39]

This is the first of many verses illustrating “simile” (upamā), here with explicit syntax and the word yathā (“as if it were”).

(18) Dark nympheas like eyes, lotuses like faces—shimmering lakes shone like girls coming of age, and the sheldrakes were like their budding breasts.nētrair ivōtpalaiḥ padmair mukhair iva saraḥśriyaḥtaruṇya iva bhānti sma cakravākaiḥ stanair iva[PIR 1.*19; T 1.40]

“Simile,” explicit syntax, this time using the word “like” (iva). Note that this is what Daṇḍin called “reverse simile” (viparyāsopamā), where the established standards become subjects and vice versa (KĀ 2.17–18). In Udbhaṭa’s purely formal analysis of the simile, the identity of the standard is immaterial, but he does gesture, by way of examples, that such reversals are possible.

(19) Fully open, white at night, filaments busy with bees— the lily pond became the full moon’s equal.prabōdhād dhavalaṁ rātrau kiñjalkālīnaṣaṭpadampūrṇēndubimbapratimam āsīt kumudakānanam[PIR 1.*20; T 1.41, reads: śaśāṅkabimbēna samaṁ babhau]

“Simile,” nonexplicit syntax, using the word “equal” (here pratimā). PIR offers the following reading as an alternative to the second half: akhaṇḍēnēndunā tulyam āsīt kumudakānanam (which he enumerates 1.*29), likely to squeeze out of this example verse an additional linguistic method of expressing the same simile. T’s alternative reading (śaśāṅkabimbapratimam) serves a similar purpose. I ignore both alternatives in my translation.

(20) “Will she somehow present herself— her perfect face to my thirsty eyes— emerging miraculously, rain-like from cloudless skies?api sā sumukhī tiṣṭhēd dr̥ṣṭēḥ pathi kathañcanaaprārthitōpasampannā patitānabhravr̥ṣṭivat[PIR 1.*22; T 1.43; the following verse precedes this one in T’s edition]

This verse continues the manifold analysis of simile, here using the nominal suffix vat (“-like”), and having the actual semblance implied.

(21) Is she, too, aching boundlessly me-like, another victim of the sudden savagery of Love?”kiṁ syur utkalikā madvat tasyā api nirargalāḥakāṇḍōḍḍāmarānaṅgahatakēna samarpitāḥ[PIR 1.*23; T 1.42]

This is an illustration of a simile where the actual semblance is explicit, based again on the nominal suffix vat.

(22) Thus, when the air was filled with the gripping cries of geese, the tiger god of all gods, hair tangled in knots, remorsefully set his thoughts on Gaurī, with her moon-hue-face, lily-petal-eyes, and the gold of a lotus cup.iti kālē kalōllāpikādambakulasaṅkulētridaśādhīśaśārdūlaḥ paścāttāpēna dhūrjaṭiḥtāṁ śaśicchāyavadanāṁ nīlōtpaladalēkṣaṇāmsarōjakarṇikāgaurīṁ gaurīṁ prati manō dadhau[PIR 1.24-25; T 44-45]

This illustrates cases of simile which are concise, in the sense that various elements are elided thanks to the use of compounds. There is a play on the word gaurī (both the color in question and the goddess’s personal name).

(23–24) He had it made, rich with power unbound, yet he was vagabonding. The garden that offers all one could wish for was hell all around.sa duḥsthīyan kr̥tārthō ’pi niḥśēṣaiśvaryasampadānikāmakamanīyē ’pi narakīyati kānanē[PIR 1.*26, T 46]

The similes in this verse likewise illustrate the elision of the word such as “like."” Here this is done thanks to the denominative kyac suffix, an effect which I tried to replicate in my translations (“vagabonding,” “was hell”).

(25) Without her the world was a-pyring, and right before his gazing eyes the mighty light of perfect knowledge began to firefly.kr̥śānavaj jagat tasya paśyatas tāṁ priyāṁ vinākhadyōtāyitum ārabdhaṁ tattvajñānamahāmahaḥ[PIR 1.*27; T 1.47]

The similes in this verse likewise illustrate various elisions based on the kvip and kyaṅ denominative suffixes. I tried to recreate the effect with “a-pyring” and “began to firefly.”

(26) Scorching the heart of everyone, the flames of Love scorched his, which was drawn to Umā by the pull of her penance.tasyētaramanōdāham adahat prajvalanmanaḥumāṁ prati tapaḥśaktyākr̥ṣṭabuddhēḥ smarānalaḥ[PIR 1.*28; T 1.48]

In this simile, a ṇamul ending (dāham) implies the word “like.” As Pratīhārēndurāja notes [p. 26, l. 16]: “Here the heart of everyone else, in the sense of ordinary people, is the standard of comparison, and Śiva’s heart, the subject. Being scorched is the shared attribute.”

(27) Love, whose limbs he set ablaze, mustered courage, touched him nonetheless. He kept thinking the thought of every ordinary man: sa dagdhavigrahēṇāpi vīryamātrasthitātmanāspr̥ṣṭaḥ kāmēna sāmānyaprāṇicintam acintayat[PIR 1.*29; T 1.49]

In this simile, a ṇamul ending referringto an agent (cintam) suggests the word “like.”

(28) “When I, all but a pariah, burned Love to ashes and disappeared, did she, consumed by peerless anguish, die of grief, then and there? caṇḍālakalpē kandarpaṁ pluṣṭvā mayi tirōhitēsaṁjātātulanairāśyā kiṁ sā śōkān mr̥tā bhavēt[PIR 1.*30; T 1.50]

Simile based on the suffix, here translated as “all but.”

(29) Such riches of character and beauty are rare in this world. How many nights in a year have a perfect full moon?viralās tādr̥śō lōkē śīlasaundaryasampadaḥniśāḥ kiyatyō varṣē ’pi yāsv induḥ pūrṇamaṇḍalaḥ[PIR 1.*31; T 1.53]

This last example of simile is based on parallelism (prativastūpamā). This is probably still Śiva speaking in his own voice about the beauty and character of Umā.

(30) O the power of Love! Even Rudra is in such a state… But enough of that! Can one take the measure of the ocean by a bucket?”ahō smarasya māhātmyaṁ yad rudrē ’pi daśēdr̥śīiyad āstāṁ samudrāmbhaḥ kumbhair mānē tu kē vayam[PIR 2.*1; T 2.4]

This is the first of two illustrations of “dismissal” (ākṣēpa). In this variety, the dismissal is future oriented.

(31) Such worry led Him to further worries without end. A wonder! But wait: Isn't musing on love endless like time itself? iti cintayatas tasya citraṁ cintāvadhir na yatkva vā kāmavikalpānām antaḥ kālasya cēkṣitaḥ[PIR 2.*2; T 2.5]

This “dismissal” is oriented towards what was already stated.

(32) After all, there’s nothing a guy won't do, when hell-bent on a mission. Even the God of the Mighty Bow, became a schoolboy.tan nāsti yan na kurutē lōkō hy atyantakāryikaḥēṣa śarvō ’pi bhagavān baṭūbhūya sma vartatē[PIR 2.*3; T 2.8]

This is the first example of the ornament “citing another case” (arthāntaranyāsa). In this variety, the corroborating sentence (the general statement about “"a guy” doing whatever it takes) appears before the corroborated (Śiva’s taking on the guise of a schoolboy), and there is use of the particle hi (“after all”). T reads lōkē for lōkaḥ.

(33) To see into a woman’s heart, one must go undercover. Thus the God of Tangled Dreadlocks set out in a schoolboy’s body.pracchannā śasyatē vr̥ttiḥ strīṇāṁ bhāvaparīkṣaṇēpratasthē dhūrjaṭir atas tanuṁ svīkr̥tya bāṭavīm[PIR 2.*4; T 2.9]

The second example of “citing another case,” corroboration again first, but no use of the particle hi.

(34) He then began to meditate, fixing himself on Himself. The eye, after all, may err, but not the inner eye.harō ’tha dhyānam ātasthau saṁsthāpyātmānam ātmanāvisaṁvadēd dhi pratyakṣaṁ nirdhyātaṁ dhyānatō na tu[PIR 2.*5; T 2.10]

“Citing another case,” corroboration statement later, use of the particle hi.

(35) He saw Umā inflicting on Herself the harshest torture. To win an inconceivable match, a girl has no other option.apaśyac cātikaṣṭāni tapyamānāṁ tapāṁsy umāmasambhāvyapatīcchānāṁ kanyānāṁ kāparā gatiḥ[PIR 1.*6; T 2.11]

“Citing another case,” corroboration later, no hi.

(36) He came to Gaurī Peak and saw Umā: an ascetic, all skin and bones, shaming the sliver left over when Rāhu gobbled down the moon.sa gaurīśikharaṁ gatvā dadarśōmāṁ tapaḥkr̥śāmrāhupītaprabhasyēndōr jayantīṁ dūratas tanum[PIR 2.*7; T 2.13]

The figure is “distinction” (vyatireka), and in this case, the cause for the subject’s outdoing its standard is implied.

(37) The lackluster day lotus at night, and the moon, lusterless by day— her face disgraced both with a sheen that shone nonstop.padmaṁ ca niśi niḥśrīkaṁ divā candraṁ ca niṣprabhamsphuracchāyēna satataṁ mukhēnādhaḥ prakurvatīm[PIR 2.*8; T 2.14]

The second illustration of “distinction”; this time the cause (“with a sheen that shone nonstop”) is explicit.

(38) Dried leaves, water, and wind were her sole diet in this harsh ordeal, and yet, she bore not a trace of pride as your typical sadhu would.śīrṇaparṇāmbuvātāśakaṣṭē ’pi tapasi sthitāmsamudvahantīṁ nāpūrvaṁ garvam anyatapasvivat[PIR 2.*9; T 16]

“Distinction” based on dissimilarity. Compare KKS 5.28.

(39) The winter month, “Penance,” is known for its austere allure. She put its fame to shame with an unabated penance.yā śaiśirī śrīs tapasā māsēnaikēna viśrutātapasā tāṁ sudīrghēṇa dūrād vidadhatīm adhaḥ[PIR 2.*10; T 2.16]

“Distinction” based on “embrace” (ślēṣa), in this case the double meaning of the word tapas as a name of a month and the word for penance. Compare to KKS 5.28.

(40) Her lean limbs all gold— no Kashmir saffron rubbed. Her sealed lips red— no rouge applied.aṅgalēkhām akāśmīrasamālambhanapiñjarāmanalaktakatāmrābhām ōṣṭhamudrāṁ ca bibhratīm[PIR 2.*11; T 2.20]

The ornament is “evocation” (vibhāvanā), where the result is manifest despite the absence of its normal cause.

(41) Bright bud teeth, tender hand twigs, slender, standing in the wild, her matted locks a swarm of bees.dantaprabhāsumanasaṁ pāṇipallavaśōbhinīmtanvīṁ vanagatāṁ līnajaṭāṣaṭcaraṇāvalim[PIR 2.*12; T 2.22]

The ornament is “condensed speech” (samāsokti). The verse is meant to imply her resemblance to a forest creeper. According to T, the bees cling to the matted locks, rather than being identified with it.

(42) Though grown gaunt, she no doubt looked no less shapely, her innate beauty flashing forth from the radiance of her ordeal.tapastējaḥsphuritayā nijalāvaṇyasampadākr̥śām apy akr̥śām eva dr̥śyamānām asaṁśayam[PIR 2.*13; T 2.26]

This is the first illustration of “intensification” (atiśayōkti), here in the type of identity given difference. With this verse ends a string of verses (38-43) that depict Umā as the object of Śiva’s gaze.

(43) God then thought: “Amazing! The splendor born of self-restraint has turned her into another person, no longer a girl.acintayac ca bhagavān ahō nu ramaṇīyatātapasāsyāḥ kr̥tānyatvaṁ kaumārād yēna lakṣyate[PIR 2.*14; T 2.27]

The second type of “intensification,” defined as difference given identity.

(44) If a streak of moonlight fell right into an open day lotus, this rosary of pearls in her palm would find an equal.patēd yadi śaśidyōtacchaṭā padmē vikāśinimuktāphalākṣamālāyāḥ karē 'syāḥ syāt tadōpamā[PIR 2.*15; T 2.28]

The third type of “intensification” in Udbhaṭa’s scheme involves a hypothetical, imagined entity.

(45) I could swear her eyes shot sideways only later. Yes, the God of Love must have hit me first with a barrage of arrows.manyē ca nipatanty asyāḥ kaṭākṣā dikṣu pr̥ṣṭhataḥprāyēṇāgre tu gacchanti smarabāṇaparamparāḥ[PIR 2.*16; T 2.29]

Udbhaṭa understands the last type of “intensification” as a case where the effect (falling in love) precedes its cause (eye contact with the flirtatious love interest).

(46) With her arms, gait, face, she patently defeats the stalk, gander, lotus— outshining all lotus ponds.mr̥ṇālahaṁsapadmāni bāhucaṅkramaṇānanaiḥnirjayantyānayā vyaktaṁ nalinyaḥ sakalā jitāḥ[PIR 3.*1; T 3.3]

The ornament is “respective enumeration” (yathāsaṅkhya). T reads tarjayantyā for nirjayantyā.

(47) She whispers her prayers, eyes steadily drinking in the rays of the sun. A dark tan mark like I’m not sure this entirely works in English. You are right, but "like" has to be there, as Udbhaṭa insists... landed on her face mistaking it for the moon.asyāḥ sadārkabimbasthadr̥ṣṭipītātapair japaiḥśyāmikāṅkēna patitaṁ mukhē candrabhramād iva[PIR 3.*2; T 3.6]

This is “seeing as” (utprēkṣā) type 1. Udbhaṭa says, in his definition, that words such as “like” can express “seeing as.” Yet in both of his examples use only the word “like” (iva) itself. To indicate this, I chose to translate iva as “like” in this example. Note the closeness of this verse to KKS 5.21, also involving a “seeing as” of the śyāmikā (“dark tan mark”) on Umā’s face.

(48) Oh dear, what has become of her cheeks? Both have wasted away as if from losing sight of each other.kapōlaphalakāv asyāḥ kaṣṭaṁ bhūtvā tathāvidhauapaśyantāv ivānyōnyam īdr̥kṣāṁ kṣāmatāṁ gatau[PIR 3.*3; T 3.7]

This is Udbhaṭa’s second illustration of “seeing as.”

(49) One moment pulling away, another turning back, halfway, prodding her with the tip of its horn— a fawn with great affection fills her with yearning.kṣaṇaṁ naṁṣṭvārdhavalitaḥ śr̥ṅgēṇāgrē kṣaṇaṁ nudanlōlīkarōti praṇayād imām ēṣa mr̥gārbhakaḥ[PIR 3.*4; T 3.9]

This is Udbhaṭa’s example of “factual statement” (svabhāvōkti). I take the root naś/naṁś in its sense of running away. T’s explanation (ruditvā) makes little sense in this context. The illustration of the third group of ornaments ends here, but the depiction of the fawn carries over to the next verse, with which the fourth group begins.

(50) With yearning not different from love for a son, Umā drew him to her chest, immersing herself in soothing speech.”iyaṁ ca sutavāllabhyān nirviśeṣā spr̥hāvatīullāpayitum ārabdhā kr̥tvēmaṁ krōḍa ātmanaḥ[PIR 4.*1; T 4.3]

The ornament is “endearing” (prēyasvat). Compare to KKS 5.15 (similar theme-wise, but not in the actual wording).

(51) When Śiva thus conceived of Pārvatī, virtue by virtue, His passion, fed by no few visions, grew strong.iti bhāvayatas tasya samastān pārvatīguṇānsambhr̥tānalpasaṅkalpaḥ kandarpaḥ prabalō ’bhavat[PIR 4.*2; T 4.6]

This is the first of three verses illustrating the ornament “flavored” (rasavat). The rasa is, of course, the erotic. Here it is evoked by its proper term and that for its underlying stable emotion (sthāyibhāva), namely, “passion,” and by the mention of Pārvatī “thus conceived … virtue by virtue,” as the “foundational factor” (ālambanavibhāva).

(52) Although His body was covered with sweat, His hair was standing on end resembling the mass of filaments on the pistil of the kadamba bud.svidyatāpi sa gātrēṇa babhāra pulakōtkaramkadambakalikākōśakēsaraprakarōpamam[PIR 4.*3; T 4.7]

In this second illustration of “flavored,” the emphasis is on Śiva’s sweat and hair standing on end as accompanying bodily states of the erotic rasa.

(53) One moment pregnant with longing, another, frozen with worry, a third, languid with delight—His eyes were the ornament of His face.kṣaṇam autsukyagarbhiṇyā cintāniścalayā kṣaṇamkṣaṇaṁ pramōdālasayā dr̥śā ’syāsyam abhūṣyata[PIR 4.*4; T 4.8]

In this third and last illustration of “flavored,” the emphasis is on Śiva’s secondary emotions of longing, worry, and delight that help evoke the erotic rasa and on the acting registers of Śiva ’s eye movements.

(54) The more His passion grew, the closer He drew to grabbing the Daughter of the Mountain by force, forgetting all about the proper path.tathā kāmō ’sya vavr̥dhē yathā himagirēḥ sutāmsaṅgrahītuṁ pravavr̥tē haṭhēnāpāsya satpatham[PIR 4.*5; T 4.10]

This is Udbhaṭa's ’s illustration of the ornament “prideful” (ūrjasvin), more on which in the following section.

(55) He had the wives of Demon Gaja wear their hair disheveled, cry, bruise their breasts with their fists, lose their bangles.yēna lambālakaḥ sāśraḥ karaghātāruṇastanaḥakāri bhagnavalayō gajāsuravadhūjanaḥ[PIR 4.*6; T 4.12]

This is Udbhaṭa’s illustration for “roundabout speech” (paryāyōkta), where the effect (the lament of the demon’s wives) suggests its cause (his death at Śiva’s hands). Note that this verse alone illustrates the ornament in question, and the next one, which is syntactically part of the same sentence, has no illustrative purpose (I discuss this fact below).

(56) Yet this god too is now tormented by someone He Himself has burnt to ashes. Offer homage to him, Bearer of the Fish Banner, whose power cannot be restrained.sō ’pi yēna kr̥taḥ pluṣṭadēhēnāpy ēvam ākulaḥnamō ’stv avāryavīryāya tasmai makarakētavē[PIR 4.*7; T 4.13, where the reading is apāravīryāya and kusumadhavanē]

The “Bearer of the Fish Banner” is Kāma, the god of love.

(57) The passionate gaze, flirtatious eyes, whirling brows, enchanted expression, hair standing on end, beading sweat, limbs burning with the fever of love— The God of Mountains laid it all to rest, approached the Daughter of the Mountain, said “Greetings.”atha kāntāṁ dr̥śaṁ dr̥ṣṭyā vibhramāṁś ca bhramaṁ bhruvōḥprasannaṁ mukharāgaṁ ca rōmāñcaṁ svēdasaṅkulamsmarajvarapradīptāni sarvāṅgāni samādadhatupāsarpad girisutāṁ giriśaḥ svastipūrvakam[PIR 4.*8-9; T 4.15-16]

Like Pollock (2016: 347n150), I read dr̥ṣṭyā vibhramāṁś ca and rōmāñcaṁ with Tilaka, instead of dr̥ṣṭvā vibhramāc ca and rōmāñca- with PIR. This is Udbhaṭa’s illustration of “coterminous” (samāhita), which he understands, very uniquely, as the termination of rasa (“lay it all to rest”).

(58–59) He said: “He has pearls, born of wild boars, bamboos, elephants— ornaments tribal beauties would die for.uvāca ca yataḥ krōḍē vēṇukuñjarajanmabhiḥmuktāphalair alaṅkāraḥ śabarīṇām apīcchayā[PIR 4.*10; T 4.18]

This is the first of five verses that illustrate the ornament “magnificent” (udātta): first based on riches (likely the four first verses) and then on deeds. Pollock, following the commentators, reads krōḍē[a-] in the sense of wild boars, one of the eight traditional sources of pearls along with bamboos and elephants (Pollock 2016: 347n153). The word might also mean “breast” or “lap,” either with reference to the women or the mountain.

(60) He is home to Intoxicating Scents, a ridge whose heads— plush sapphires, rubies, lapis— scrape the sky.puṣṭyēndranīlavaiḍūryapadmarāgamayair viyatśirōbhir ullikhad yatra śikharaṁ gandhamādanam[PIR 4.*11; T 4.19]

“Magnificent riches” (udātta), second example. T reads yasya for yatra.

(61) The ground near his northern slopes is solid gold, and a mighty mound of emerald takes shelter at his foot.uttarōpatyakā yasya pradhānasvarṇabhūmayaḥmahān marakatōrvīdhraḥ pādōpāntaṁ ca saṁśritaḥ[PIR 4.*12; T 4.20]

“Magnificent riches” (udātta), third example.

(62) When Earth dived down on doomsday, he didn’t fall along. Hell no: his true dimensions were fully exposed.babhūva yasya pātālapātinyāṁ saṅkṣayē kṣitaupatanaṁ na tayā sārdham āyāmas tu prakaṭy abhūt[PIR 4.*13; T 4.21]

The commentators classify this verse as the fourth example of “magnificence” based on riches, although like the following one, it could also be based on deeds.

(63) And when Viṣṇu, the Primordial Boar, battered him broad-shouldered, blow after blow, he stood still. He is Himālaya. You must be his daughter.tasyādikrōḍapīnāṁsanigharṣē ’pi punaḥ punaḥniṣkampasya sthitavatō himādrēr bhavatī sutā[PIR 4.*14; T 4.22]

“Magnificent deeds” (udātta).

(64) Moreover, you yourself glow with the reddish hue of the morning sun: with light fingers that shine like shoots you grant the fruit of awakening.svayaṁ ca pallavātāmrabhāsvatkaravirājinīprabhātasandhyēvāsvāpaphalalubdhēhitapradā[PIR 4.*15; T 4.25]

This is the first of three verses illustrating bitextual “embrace” (ślēṣa). In Sanskrit, the “embrace” in the second half works as follows: Umā grants the wish of those who desire the fruit that is impossible to obtain, i.e., liberation (a-su-āpa-phala-lubdha-īhita-pradā); but segmented differently, the sun is that which gives good advice, or a boon to a person who does not desire the fruit of sleep (a-svāpa-phala-lubdhē hitapradā). I tried to very partially allude to this with “the fruit of awakening.” In the first half, kara may mean either hand or ray, and bhāsvat, either shining or the sun. I tried to replicate this pun with “light fingers.”

(65) Your face is friend to the moon, your hair sapphire, your glamour perfect nay-care, [read: nacre] and your toes, ruby. You’re the gem of the triple world.indukāntamukhī snigdhamahānīlaśirōruhāmuktāśrīs trijagadratnaṁ padmarāgāṅghripallavā[PIR 4.*16; T 4.26]

“Embrace” (ślēṣa). in Sanksrit means “friend to the moon” (in the sense of resembling it) and, hence, also the moonstone. may refer to the shine of a pearl, but read as muktā-aśrī, to something devoid of anything not shining or beautiful (I tried to replicate this with nacre/nay-care). The rest of the puns depend on whether the precious stones are taken to modify Umā’s body parts or to be identified with them.

(66) Though no one comes to pick a quarrel, [read: coral] you're the tree of heaven on earth. Your looks are rupture [read: rapture] to one’s eyes, yet your beauty swells and constantly flows.apārijātavārtāpi nandanaśrīrbhuvisthitāabindusundarī nityaṁ galallāvaṇyabindukā[PIR 4.*17; T 4.27]

Third illustration of “embrace” (ślēṣa). Here is how the original works: apārijātavārtā may mean either that the heaven is bereft of the Pārijāta (a coral wish-granting tree that, according to legend, grows in heaven), or someone who has no enemies left. I tried to replicate this with coral/quarrel. means containing not even a drop of beauty, or, if we read ab-indu-sundarī: beautify like the moon reflected in water. may mean either the riches of Indra’s heaven or beauty that delights. At first blush, the verse creates a contradiction: the riches of heaven are without its wish-granting tree, are found on earth, and with not even a drop of beauty. To resolve this antithesis, a second reading is supplied, referring to Umā, who is indeed on earth, delights with her beauty, and has no enemies. I tried to replicate this antithesis in the translation, though, of course, with limited success.

(67) This surely is not asceticism. In truth, it is the deadliest poison, especially for ladies such as yourself, tender like a sliver of the moon.ētad dhi na tapaḥ satyam idaṁ hālāhalaṁ viṣamviśēṣataḥ śaśikalākōmalānāṁ bhavādr̥śām[PIR 5.*1; T 5.4]

The ornament is “denial” (apahnuti).

(68) Birth in a prosperous home, dazzling beauty and enchanting youth, yet no happiness. Who would fail to be amazed?maharddhini gr̥hē janma rūpaṁ smarasuhr̥dvayaḥtathāpi na sukhaprāptiḥ kasya citrīyatē na dhīḥ[PIR 5.*2; T 5.7]

This is the first instance of “exceptionality” (viśēṣōkti), where the effect does not materialize despite the presence of its causes. Here the cause for this failure is not mentioned.

(69) Seeing you behave so recklessly, my tongue, though typically quick, fell silent.itthaṁ visaṁṣṭhulaṁ dr̥ṣṭvā tāvakīnaṁ vicēṣṭitamnōdēti kimapi praṣṭuṁ satvarasyāpi mē vacaḥ[PIR 5.*3; T. 5.8]

“Exceptionality” (viśēṣōkti). Tilaka reads “my mind” (manas) instead of “speech” (vacas), translated as “tongue.” Here the explanation is displayed (“seeing you behave so recklessly”).

(70) Still, what can I do? My amazement has me speak: the shape of your body and the severity of your penance are worlds apart.yad vā māṁ kiṁ karōmy ēṣa vācālayati vismayaḥbhavatyāḥ kvāyam ākāraḥ kvēdaṁ tapasi pāṭavam[PIR 5.*4; T 5.10]

The ornament, based on the incongruity between her delicate body and her severe penance, is “antithesis” (virodha); later theorists would label such instances viṣama.

(71) Can anyone observe your fragile limbs without realizing at once how sturdy are jasmine sprigs, moon slivers, and banana shoots?tvadaṅgamārdavaṁ draṣṭuḥ kasya cittē na bhāsatēmālatīśaśabhr̥llēkhākadalīnāṁ kaṭhōratā[PIR 5.*5; T 5.12. T reads dr̥ṣṭvā for draṣṭuḥ]

This is “the yoke of equivalence” (tulyayogitā), and here, unlike in the following example, the standards (jasmine sprigs etc.) are not pertinent to the context.

(72) Yoga gear, matted locks, tree-skin, deer-hide— can you please explain how these suit your limbs?yōgapaṭṭō jaṭājālaṁ tāravī tvaṅmr̥gājinamucitāni tavāṅgasya yady amūni tad ucyatām[PIR 5.*6; T 5.13]

In this second instance of “the yoke of equivalence,” the standards are pertinent to the situation.

(73) They decay then and there with no one to enjoy them, lush fruits, flowers, and all— the riches of forests beyond man’s reach.yānti svadēhēṣu jarām asamprāptōpabhōktr̥kāḥphalapuṣparddhibhājō ’pi durgadēśavanaśriyaḥ[PIR 5.*7; T 5.15]

This is “praise of the irrelevant” (aprastutapraśaṁsā): the speaker depicts the fate of fruit unpicked in the forest, while the real intention is Pārvatī herself.

(74) Damn this beauty of yours that has no equal! For nowhere in the triple world will you find a match.dhig ananyōpamām ētāṁ tāvakīṁ rūpasampadamtrailōkyē ’py anurūpō yad varas tava na labhyatē[PIR 5.*8; T 5.17]

This is “praise in disguise” (vyājastuti), where the literal damning of Umā’s beauty ends up being a compliment (albeit a somewhat left-handed one).

(75) A lady without a suitable husband, beautiful though she may be, forever bears the gloom of a moonless night.vinōcitēna patyā ca rūpavaty api kāminīvidhuvandhyavibhāvaryāḥ prabibharti viśōbhatām[PIR 5.*9; T 5.19]

The ornament is “illustration” (nidarśanā).

(76) You want the moon for a husband. But suppose you can’t get that. Somewhere out there, I’m sure, there’s a husband you can learn to respect.yady apy atyantam ucitō varēndus tē na labhyatētathāpi vacmi kutrāpi kriyatām ādarō varē[PIR 5.*10; T 5.21]

T reads ādarō ’parē. This is Udbhaṭa’s first type of “fusion” (saṅkara), based on a “doubt” (sandēha) as to which ornament out of several captures the reader’s attention.

(77) If you stand like this to pursue a spouse, this useless pursuit makes no sense. Your beauty is such that every young man is a humble slave at your feet.itthaṁ sthitir varārthā cēn mā kr̥thā vyartham arthitāmrūpēṇa tē yuvā sarvaḥ pādabaddhō hi kiṅkaraḥ[PIR 5.*11; T 5.23]

“Fusion” of both sound and sense ornaments.

(78) Enough. Stay put. You delight like a lotus in a painting, with bright colors and beautiful ears, just by being seen.maivam ēvāstha sacchāyavarṇikācārukarṇikāambhōjinīva citrasthā dr̥ṣṭimātrasukhapradā[PIR 5.*12; T 5.24]

“Fusion,” of two ornaments, “simile” and “embrace,” in one portion of the sentence. The “ears” of the lotus are its central seed pods, and Umā has a pair of beautiful ears. The first part could also mean “Don't just sit there!” But I translated it the way I did based on the notion that she delights “like a lotus in a painting,” that is, by simply being idle.

(79) This hunter, Love, though you, like Śiva, had him disembodied, never lets go of your body out of audacity, I presume.harēṇēva smaravyādhas tvayānaṅgīkr̥tō ’pi santvadvapuḥ kṣaṇam apy ēṣa dhārṣṭyād iva na muñcati[PIR 5.*13; T 5.26]

“Fusion,” mutual dependency between ornaments. It is hard to recreate the pun on anaṅgīkr̥taḥ (not embraced, rendered bodiless). Recall that the speaker, Śiva, is disguised. He refers to himself as if he were a different person.

(80) He whose discus is equal to his hand, and whose hand to the discus in swiftly plucking, flower-like, the heads of his enemies in battle, śirāṁsi paṅkajānīva vēgōtpātayatō dviṣāmājau karōpamaṁ cakraṁ yasya cakrōpamaḥ karaḥ[PIR 5.*14; T 5.28]

T reads vēgāt pātayatō. This is “comparison with the standard of comparison” (upameyopamā), where the subject and the standard are compared with each other in succession. The speaker, Śiva in disguise, has now begun a long depiction of Viṣṇu in a series or relative clauses. Viṣṇu’s identity as the subject of this praise will only be revealed in verse 90 below.

(81) and whose servant, Mr. Discus, fulfilled the wishes of the gods, together with Death, in the battle that bode ill for Demon Tāraka,dyujanō mr̥tyunā sārdhaṁ yasyājau tārakāmayēcakrē cakrābhidhānēna praiṣyēṇāptamanōrathaḥ[PIR 5.*15; T 5.30]

T reads prēṣya-. The ornament is “concurrence” (sahōkti), in this case, of two actions in one.

(82) and who gave his bare chest to the enemies of the gods, and gained, by slaying Hiraṇyākṣa and the others, fame and glory in battle,urō datvāmarārīṇāṁ yēna yuddhēṣv agr̥hyatahiraṇyākṣavadhādyēṣu yaśaḥ sākaṁ jayaśriyā[PIR 5.*16; T 5.32]

The ornament is “reciprocity” (parivr̥tti), where some action is figuratively portrayed as an act of give and take (“gave his bare chest … gained fame and glory”). For PIR, this is a barter of equal elements (chest and fame, he says, are equals).

(83) and who filled the milky ocean with precious stones, that fell from the crest of Mount Mandara, which Snake Vāsuki spun forcefully, to get the Kaustubha gem in return,nētrōragavalabhrāmyanmandarādriśiraścyutaiḥratnair āpūrya dugdhābdhiṁ yaḥ samādatta kaustubham[PIR 5.*17; T 5.33]

The second illustration of “reciprocity” where the thing sacrificed (precious stones) is inferior to that won (the Kaustubha gem).

(84) and who, when Bali reigned to the ends of Earth and was set to gain the sky through ritual, gave safety to the residents of heaven by taking on smallness,yō balau vyāptabhūsīmni makhēna dyāṁ jigīṣatiabhayaṁ svargasadmabhyō datvā jagrāha kharvatām[PIR 5.*18; T 5.34]

In this third illustration of “reciprocity,” the thing given (safety) is far superior to that gained (smallness, by becoming Vāmana, the dwarf).

(85) ‘There, in His hand: Could that be a mass of white fame born from tearing every demon’s heart? But how has it turned into a solid lump?hastē kim asya niḥśēṣadaityahr̥ddalanōdbhavaḥyaśaḥsañcaya ēṣa syāt piṇḍībhāvō ’sya kiṁ kr̥taḥ[PIR 6.* 1; T 6.3]

This is the first illustration of the ornament “in doubt” (sasandēha).

(86) Is it a goose, then, drawn to the lotus growing from His navel? But it moves not!’ That’s how the innocent take in His conch with confusion.nābhipadmaspr̥hāyātaḥ kiṁ haṁso naiṣa cañcalaḥiti yasyābhitaḥ śaṅkham aśaṅkiṣṭārjavō janaḥ[PIR 6.*2; T 6.4]

“In doubt” continued.

(87) ‘A black cloud atop Mount Meru? Smoke from the fire of doomsday?’ This Dark One on the radiant King of Birds has one confused.nīlābdaḥ kim ayaṁ mērau dhūmō ’tha pralayānalēiti yaḥ śaṅkyatē śyāmaḥ pakṣīndrē ’rkatviṣi sthitaḥ[PIR 6.*3; T 6.6]

A second case of “in doubt” that leads to the suggestion of another ornament, in this case, a pair of similes.

(88) His speech is like His speech, His spotless deeds like His very own deeds, and His beauty entices the eyes of the world just like His beauty.yasya vāṇī svavāṇīva svakriyēva kriyāmalārūpaṁ svam iva rūpaṁ ca lōkalōcanalōbhanam[PIR 6.*4; T 6]

“Inimitability” (ananvaya).

(89) Yes, I’ve been talking about Viṣṇu. Even He, as the moon to moonlight at dawn, would any day ditch his very own Lakṣmī, that endless rain of immortality, for you.tvatkr̥tē sō ’pi vaikuṇṭhaḥ śaśīvōṣasi candrikāmapy adhārāṁ sudhāvr̥ṣṭiṁ manyē tyajati tāṁ śriyam[PIR 6.*5; T 6.10]

“Mixture” (saṁsr̥ṣṭi) of independent ornaments, in this case of “simile,” “identification,” and host of other figures.

(90) So enough, lotus-eyed girl, find some lucky boy, then go home and enjoy your youth with him.tad uttiṣṭhātidhanyēna kēnāpi kamalēkṣaṇēvarēṇa saha tāruṇyaṁ nirviśantī gr̥hē vasa[PIR 6.*6; T 6.11]

Another illustration of “mixture.”

(91) You give pain, pleasure: eyes untouched by kohl, yet the sheen of many ornaments vividly visible on your every limb.karōṣi pīḍāṁ prītiṁ ca nirañjanavilōcanāmūrtyānayā samudvīkṣya nānābharaṇaśōbhayā[PIR 6.*7; T 6.13]

This is Udbhaṭa’s illustration of “integrity” (bhāvika), where objects of the past or future (in this case Umā’s jewels and ornaments) are visible as if they were there, in front of one’s eyes.

(92) The tan, all around a bit darker, betrays the spots where ornaments were borne and breaks my heart.chāyēyaṁ tava śēṣāṅgakāntēḥ kiñcid anujjvalāvibhūṣāghaṭanādēśān darśayantī dunōti mām[PIR 6.*8; T 6.15, reads vibhūṣāghaṭanōddeśān]

This is an illustration of the “inferential sign of poetry” (kāvyahetu), which is here the scope for poetic inference by the speaker. Compare to KKS 5.48.

(93) Why keep on heaping up words? Go get yourself a husband. Do great rivers stay put before finding the ocean?”kiṁ cātra bahunōktēna vraja bhartāram āpnuhiudanvantam anāsādya mahānadyaḥ kim āsatē[PIR 6.*9; T 6.17, reads vātra]

The ornament here is the “analogy of poetry” (kāvyadr̥ṣṭānta), which again applies a tool from logic to poetry, in this case the analogy. Compare to KKS 5.49.

(94)

Analysis

On the face of it, Udbhaṭa’s , at least as we have it, is just a slightly adapted version of Kālidāsa’s famous namesake. The characters are the same, so is the basic narrative, and the choice of language and imagery ring unmistakably familiar. In several cases, Udbhaṭa even employs the same ornaments as in the parallel passage from the source poem.

One example are the verses based on "distinction" (vyatireka). Compare UKS 37–40 to KKS 5.27–29.

But the impression that Udbhaṭa’s is a faithful adaptation that merely retools Kālidāsa’s classic for the pedagogical purposes of introducing the ornaments is false, and intentionally so.

Consider, first, the dramatic shift in focus. As Gary Tubb has shown, in Kālidāsa’s work “Pārvatī is the principal protagonist”: her union with Śiva is “a process of spiritual maturing brought about … through her own efforts.” Thus, “the whole narrative focus of the poem is on the events of her life.”

Tubb 1984: 229, 231, 225.

Indeed, in Kālidāsa’s rendering, Śiva is “out of the frame” from the moment he burns Kāma to the moment he wanders, disguised as an ascetic, into Pārvatī’s penance grove; the narrative focus is entirely on Pārvatī (and her parents). In Udbhaṭa’s poem, by contrast, Śiva is the unquestionable hero. True, if what we have is just a portion of a larger work, it is dangerous to generalize from it to whatever was lost. But it is significant that it is precisely in the section where, in Kālidāsa’s work, Umā is in the spotlight (through her performance of tapas and by withstanding God’s test), Udbhaṭa’s Śiva is the sole subject. Of the 94 verses, 28 depict Śiva, 13 are his words to himself, 18 are dedicated to the autumn as he experiences it, and the remaining 34 consist of his speech to Umā while he is disguised. Umā does not utter a single word in these verses, and she is described only as seen by him.

Thus, the key scene of Umā’s decision to perform tapas after taking permission from her parents and the loving description of her tapas by the narrator (KKS 5.1-29) have no parallel in Udbhaṭa’s poem as we have it.

This is not just a matter of who is at the center of the narrative. For Kālidāsa, Umā is the emotional focus of the poem and the locus of the primary rasas of heroism (in hertapas) and love. She, perhaps, represents us readers: as a subject enduring immense difficulty before uniting with her beloved, and as a human obtaining union with the divine. Kālidāsa’s Śiva, by contrast, is more aloof, and for the most part, calm, restrained, meditative, and withdrawn: the locus of the rasa of peace (śāntarasa).

As Tubb notes (1984: 229): “The commentators on the come close to recognizing this status of Pārvatī’s when they connect the description of her austerities with the heroic mood (vīra-rasa) while associating Śiva’s own austerities with the mood of peace (śānta-rasa).”

Even when he momentarily loses his complete calm, we have very little access to his feelings and thoughts.

KKS 3.69 tells of the unrest of his senses (indriyakṣōbha) while meditating and of his success in restraining of them; 3.70–71, of his anger (manyu, krōdha) in response to Kāma’s attack; and 3.67 that his steadiness was slightly disturbed (kiñcitpariluptadhairya) when facing Umā.

Likewise, in the last and eighth chapter, depicting the newlyweds' honeymoon, it is Umā’s emotions that primarily interest the poet.

The opposite is true of Udbhaṭa’s version of the same events. To begin with, here Śiva is the unmistakable nāyaka of Sanskrit love poetry. He falls in love with Umā even before he comes to know about her tapas, feels remorse for burning Kāma (there is nothing of the sort in Kālidāsa’s version), and like all lovers, is totally uncertain as to whether Umā feels as he does (“Is she, too, aching boundlessly / me-like, another victim / of the sudden savagery / of Love?” UKS 22). More important, if for Kālidāsa Śiva is the paragon of self-restraint, Udbhaṭa’s Śiva is the poster child of emotional excess. Udbhaṭa makes sure that readers familiar with Kālidāsa’s classic—a group that is presumably synonymous with all educated readers—will notice this twist by his redeployment of imagery and language. For instance, whereas Kālidāsa’s Śiva is said to have seen “the highest light, also known as the highest self” (paramātmasañjñaṁ dr̥ṣṭvā param jyōtir, KKS 3.58),

For a discussion of this passage in Kālidāsa, see Handelman and Shulman 1997: 167.

for Udbhaṭa’s Śiva, "the mighty light of perfect knowledge / began to firefly" (khadyōtāyitum ārabdhaṁ tattvajñānamahāmahaḥ, UKS 26).

The most visible example of Śiva as an emotional wreck is in the section dedicated to the rasa ornaments. Udbhaṭa dramatically retheorized these devices: of the original categories only the name remained, and they now represented the evolution of emotional flavors as understood in dramaturgy (or at least in Udbhaṭa’s version thereof), from basic emotions (prēyasvat, his name for prēyas), to fully evolved rasas (rasavat), then to rasas whose production was hampered by a socially inappropriate excess of emotions (ūrjasvin), and finally, the cessation of emotion (samāhita).

Bronner 2016: 129–136.

That Śiva is the subject chosen to exemplify most of this entire arc is highly consequential (note that for the first ornament, “endearing” or prēyasvat, Udbhaṭa depicts Umā’s fondness for a fawn, but for the more fervent feelings, he turns to Śiva). His passion towards Umā is intense to begin with, which makes it a rasa, and most significantly, it is Śiva who illustrates the unacceptable, violent emotional excess that violates rasa, unthinkable of Kālidāsa’s Śiva: “The more His passion grew, the closer He drew / to grabbing the Daughter of the Mountain / by force, forgetting all about / the proper path” (UKS 55). Thus, it is He who is forced to abort the process of rasa altogether in the end (samāhita, UKS 56).

The focus on Śiva’s succumbing to his emotions is visible not just in Udbhaṭa’s illustration of the rasa ornaments. Consider the ornament “roundabout speech” (paryāyōkta), which following Bhāmaha’s order, is stuck in the middle of a tight group of affectual figures. Udbhaṭa dedicates two verses to illustrating this ornament rather than one. This in itself is not unusual in Udbhaṭa’s poem; there are several ornaments that get a more elaborate illustration, even in the absence of explicit mention of subtypes. What is highly unusual, however, indeed unique in the entire poem, is that only the first of the two verses illustrates the ornament in question, and the second is pedagogically redundant:

Verse 23 also does not illustrate an ornament, but it supplies the seeing subject (Śiva), and hence sets the stage for the set of similes he sees in Umā in verse 24.

He had the wives of Demon Gaja wear their hair disheveled, cry, bruise their breasts with their fists, lose their bangles. (56) Yet this god, too, is now tormented by someone He Himself has burnt to ashes. Offer homage to him, Bearer of the Fish Banner, whose power cannot be restrained. (57)

The first of the two verses (56) depicts Śiva’s triumph over Gaja in a roundabout way: instead of stating that he killed this demon, the poet dwells on the effect this act had on Gaja’s newly widowed wives. This is par for the course for what becomes, after Udbhaṭa, the classical understanding of this ornament. But the verse is not a complete sentence: it is a relative clause, and the expectation is that the next verse will reveal and extol its yet-unmentioned subject. Instead, verse 57 names this triumphant god only to subject him (in yet another relative construction) to a superior power, the Bearer of the Fish Banner (Love). As noted, there is no ornament in this verse, and it thus has no purpose as an illustration. Rather, Udbhaṭa literally goes out of his programmatic way to establish the fact that Kāma is superior to Śiva. The pair of verses, after all, culminate in the demand to offer homage not to Śiva, the hero of the relative clause that illustrates “roundabout speech” (paryāyōkta), but to Kāma, who defeats him in the main and technically unnecessary sentence.

This is not the only passage in the poem that is meant to establish Śiva’s complete surrender to Love. Consider the following variety of “dismissal” (ākṣēpa), here likely in Śiva’s own voice (albeit in the third person):

The following verse identifies this as Śiva’s thought.

O the power of Love! Even Rudra is in such a state… But enough of that! Can one take the measure of the ocean by a bucket? (31)

The first half of the verse posits as striking the fact that Śiva is under Love’s power. But the second half, as standard in this ornament, dismisses the first. There is nothing at all striking or unusual in this half-finished thought (its being incomplete makes this a dismissal of the unsaid). The second half of the verse corroborates this dismissal by resorting to an implied comparison of Love’s power to that of the infinite ocean. In Kālidāsa’s poem, Śiva’s mind is compared to an ocean whose steadiness is only slightly diminished with the moonrise of Umā’s face (haras tu kiñcitpariluptadhairyaś candrōdayārambha ivāmburāśiḥ; KKS 3.67). The choice of imagery must be meaningful: not only is it Love who is cast as the ocean, rather than Śiva, but the latter, by implication, is a mere bucket-full in comparison.

I am grateful to Sheldon Pollock for a conversation on this verse.

Once we train our eyes to see it, the belittling of Śiva is all over Udbhaṭa’s poem. The god who in Kālidāsa’s work completely blocked his breath and controlled his senses (antaścarāṇāṁ marutāṁ nirōdhāt, jitēndriyē śūlini: KKS 3.48, 3.57), now has his body “covered with sweat, / His hair was standing on end” (UKS 43). He is “vagabonding” (UKS 25), his mind and limbs are scorched by Love, and he behaves just like any ordinary guy (UKS 27–28). He is, moreover, totally unaware of Umā’s fate and whereabouts (KKS 29) and is forced to turn to meditation to find these out, because even His eye “may err” (but not the inner eye; KKS 35). Finally, note the pair of verses that repeat the image of Śiva turning into a schoolboy (KKS 33–34), even if for the purpose of disguising himself.

In Kālidāsa’s poem, the disguised Brahmin, while a youth, is depicted far more impressively (KKS 5.30).

Our poet is clearly invested in portraying Śiva as small and powerless, certainly against a far-superior Kāma.

Finally, consider the concluding long section in which, as in Kālidāsa’s poem, Śiva approaches Umā in disguise. ’s There the stranger who enters the ascetic grove, a glowing young Brahmin of eloquent speech (pragalbhavāg jvalann iva brahmamayēna tējasā; KKS 5.30), begins with what we may describe as “ascetic shoptalk” (KKS 5.33–35), flattering words for Umā (KKS 5.36–39), and questions about the purpose of her penance, which he depicts as incommensurate with her delicate beautiful body (KKS 5.40–50). Then he suggests that her goal is winning a husband and asks who he may be. In response, he learns from her friend that Umā seeks Śiva, something she briefly corroborates (KKS 5.52–64). At this point, the young Brahmin lambasts her plans: Śiva has snakes swirling on the hand she wishes to hold, he wears a grizzly elephant skin, his matted hair is scattered with ashes, as is his chest, his mount is a decrepit old bull, the moon on his crest is a mere sliver, a third eye distorts his face, and his ancestry is unknown; thus, she is advised to forget all about him, who is like an impaling stake in the cremation ground, and seek a more traditional husband, likened to a Vedic sacrificial post (KKS 5.65–73). When Umā withstands this verbal test and counters his criticism in no uncertain terms, the speaker finally reveals himself to her as Śiva and promises to be her slave (KKS 5.75–86).

The parallel passage in Udbhaṭa’s poem is markedly different. Most significantly, the disguised god, an ascetic boy, avoids any mention of Śiva, thus allotting no airtime to the sort of self-criticism that, in Kālidāsa’s work, is nothing but praise with a smile. Instead, after expressing admiration for Himālaya, Umā’s father, he launches into a eulogy of Viṣṇu (UKS 81–90).

Note that in Kālidāsa’s intertext Himālaya is compared with Viṣṇu (KKS 6.67).

This laudatory speech ends with a surprising twist:

Yes, I’ve been talking about Viṣṇu. Even He, as the moon to moonlight at dawn, would any day ditch his very own Lakṣmī, that endless rain of immortality, for you.

On the one hand, this is a compliment to Umā: she is more attractive than even the radiant Lakṣmī. On the other, it is a dig at the subject of the apparent extolment, Viṣṇu, who turns out to be a fool who would give up his most precious treasure (“that endless rain of immortality”) and a serial betrayer (“as the moon to moonlight at dawn”). Moreover, the compliment to Umā, already inherently left-handed (“Damn this beauty of yours / that has no equal! / For nowhere in the triple world / will you find a match”

KKS 75. Narayana Daso Banhatti, comments on this verse with disapproval: “This is not a very good example of vyājastuti” he says, for Umā’s beauty “is really censurable if it hinders her union with a fit husband … and this kind of meaning indicating the reality of nindā [blame] lingers in our mind when we read the verse” (KKS p. 129 of the annotation). For more left-handed compliments of Udbhaṭa’s Śiva consider, for example, verses 69 (“Birth in a prosperous home, / dazzling beauty and enchanting youth, yet no happiness”) and 74 (“They decay then and there…”). For cases of outright criticism, see for instance verse 70 (“Seeing you behave/ so recklessly…”).

), culminates in a cruel recommendation that she move on: “Go get yourself a husband” (94).

Thus, the poem consistently belittles its main hero, Śiva, includes a barb against the other main god, Viṣṇu, and concludes on the hero’s sardonic and poignant address to his beloved. Furthermore, it ends before Śiva drops His guise and announces Himself her slave. Of course, we know this must be coming. But Udbhaṭa consciously ended his illustration of ornaments—the poem at least as it is included in his —on this sour note. This cannot have been an accident. But what does it all mean?

Concluding Thoughts

One explanation is that this has to do with the possible identity of Udbhaṭa as a Cārvāka materialist. According to this line of thought, he may have composed his to counter the theology of his Śaiva colleagues and promote his own doctrine. After all, a materialist will score a doctrinal point by making the gods appear far less transcendent and subject to the same this-worldly powers that govern ordinary human beings. This might explain why in Udbhaṭa’s version, there is a constant belittling of Śiva and Viṣṇu. It might also account for the fact that in his poem, it is not Umā’s penance, of which Śiva is initially unaware, that attracts God to her, but a far more mundane and total succumbing to love. Recall that one of the recovered sūtras in Br̥haspati’s foundational text is “Desire (kāma, i.e., the fulfilment of desire) is the only aim of life.”

Franco 2018: 635. As Franco notes, there is a variant quotation: “desire and wealth [artha] are the only aims of life.”

This is a theory certainly worth considering. But I think there exists another explanation. I see in Udbhaṭa’s verses less a calculated undermining of Śaiva theology than a poetic subversion of Kālidāsa’s classic, though perhaps with the added benefit of provoking its religious tenets. By the ninth century, Kālidāsa’s already enjoyed a canonical status likely unparalleled by that of any other Sanskrit literary work. Consider, in this context, Ānandavardhana (), written in Kashmir only a generation or two after Udbhaṭa: in the final chapter of the work, where Ānandavardhana discusses innovation (the ability of poetry to make something infinitely new), he demonstrates this with three verses dedicated to the same topic (Umā’s beauty), all from one work, Kālidāsa’s ; no other poem is given such an honor in his treatise.

p. 539. By the same token, Kālidāsa’s comes under attack for its depiction of Śiva and Umā’s honeymoon in chapter eight, and although Ānandavardhana notes that this flaw of impropriety is concealed by Kālidāsa’s skill, it is clear that this was perceived as a problem perhaps already before Udbhaṭa’s time. It thus might be that Udbhaṭa found the idea of outdoing Kālidāsa in this domain appealing. I am grateful to Lawrence McCrea for suggesting this point to me.

To compose an eponymous poem retelling the same narrative as Kālidāsa’s required considerable chutzpah. To do so by lifting language and images from the parent poem only to present a far less flattering version of the falling in love of the couple who are, “as the opening verse of the reminds us, the parents of us all,” is poetic patricide on steroids.

The quote is from Tubb 2014: 73.

Note, moreover, that the portrayal of Śiva as succumbing to Kāma is not unheard of in Purāṇic sources. “In several texts, Śiva is said to faint with lust, to be full of desire, or to be tortured by Kāma […] Śiva himself muses upon the phenomenon of his excitement: ‘How can I lust to make love to Pārvatī when she has not performed a vow of tapas? And how is it that I wish to rape her? How can I have been excited by desire when I do not wish it now? For some reason I seem to be attracted to this young girl and to wish to unite with her.’”

O’Flaherty 1973: 145. The text translated here is from the 44.110–112:

yōnijāṅ girijāṅ kālīn tapōvratavivarjitāmkathaṁ saṅgamakāmō ’han dhartum icchāmi vai haṭhāttapōvratapavitrāṅgīn tapaścaraṇasatkr̥tāmsvayam ēva grahīṣyāmi satīn dakṣāyaṇīm ivakatham iva kr̥takāmō ’hamanicchann iva sāmpratamkēnāpi cākr̥ṣṭa ivacikīrṣuḥ saṅgamōdbhavam

For an overview of the story in the Purāṇas with an emphasis on Kāma, see Benton 2006: 39–63.

The likely postdates both Kālidāsa and Udbhaṭa, but I think it is safe to say that versions of the story in which Śiva is overcome by Kāma’s influence and arrows were known to both authors, and these were not written by Cārvākas.

See, for instance, the versions of and discussed in O’Flaherty 1973: 149.

There are likewise versions in which Śiva is self-controlled or simply pretends to be excited.

O’Flaherty 1973: 147; Handelman and Shulman 1997: 57.

Regardless of one’s understanding of Śiva—as a god who oscillates between complete asceticism and wild erotic urges, as presented by Wendy Doniger (O’Flaherty 1973), or as a Yogi whose tapas or meditative “internalization is always erotic,” as seen by Don Handelman and David Shulman (1997)—it is clear that contemporary texts offered a spectrum of characterizations of Śiva as either in control or being controlled.

The quote is from Handelman and Shulman 1997: 164. For this duality, see also Benton 2006: 47.

In his , Kālidāsa chose to portray Śiva as calm, self-possessed, and entirely superior to Kāma. It is not his burning of the love god that proves this (indeed, it seems to prove the opposite, as others have noted).

O’Flaherty 1973: 148–151; Handelman and Shulman 1997: 169.

Rather, as Gary Tubb has shown, the overall structure of the poem in two parallel halves, one featuring Kāma’s attempt to get the couple together as a failure, and the other presenting Umā’s successful winning of Śiva’s hand through her tapas, drives this point home.

Tubb 1984: 222, 2014: 73.

But in his telling, Udbhaṭa deliberately belittles Śiva, and goes out of his way to portray him as inferior to Kāma, all while presenting his poem as another.

Rather than reduce this move to Udbhaṭa’s materialist identity, then, I wish to suggest that it fits well with his overall intellectual profile as a grammarian, philosopher, and literary theorist. In his former hat, he has been portrayed as “someone who felt almost completely free from the traditional interpreters of Pāṇini’s grammar […] He split rules where this suited him, and gave forced interpretations where this helped him to obtain the results that he wanted. In a way he behaved in the same way as Patañjali had behaved many centuries earlier, but he did so at a time when many other grammarians had opted to recognize Patañjali as an authority.” Indeed, if for Jayanta Bhaṭṭa, “Pāṇini’s grammar contains the words of God himself […] if only interpreted in accordance with Patañjali’s and Bhartṛhari’s comments,” Udbhaṭa “did not abide by these rules.”

Bronkhorst 2008: 293–294.

Likewise, also “within the Cārvāka movement, [Udbhaṭa] was a bit of a rogue (dhūrta)” as portrayed by Jayanta Bhaṭṭa’s commentator Cakradhara.

Ibid. 296. Franco (2018: 638) takes this to mean “cunning/fraudulent,” also referring to Udbhaṭa. For more on his highly innovative approach, see Solomon 1977–1978.

For example, he turned on its head the common interpretation ofbhūtēbhyaś caitanyam: “Earlier Cārvākas had interpreted this to mean ‘Consciousness out of the elements,’ taking the word bhūtebhyaḥ to be an ablative.” But “Udbhaṭa preferred to read the sūtra from the foundational Cārvāka text as containing a dative, ‘Consciousness for the elements,’ which profoundly changed a fundamental tenet of the system.”

Bronkhorst 2008.

Something similar happens in Udbhaṭa’s output as a literary theorist. Consider the , the treatise which his serves to illustrate. Here Udbhaṭa presents pretty much the same set of ornaments as Bhāhama, defines them by redeploying the language of his predecessor, and even reuses Bhāmaha’s title as part of his (note that the name could read as the of [Bhāmaha's] ). Yet Udbhaṭa departs from Bhāmaha’s views time and again, especially in key points such as the work’s beginning and end, and in fact uses his predecessor’s legacy to present a radically new theory of figuration. Thus, Udbhaṭa’s use of Bhāmaha is opportunistic, and he frequently proves his master wrong: new ornaments are coined while many of Bhāmaha’s are dramatically changed or unceremoniously cancelled; categories that Bhāmaha explicitly and vehemently rejected get promptly reinstated; and there are also occasional nods to Bhāmaha’s nemesis, Daṇḍin. Moreover, as noted by his commentators, Udbhaṭa often calls attention to many of his own altercations with Bhāmaha.

For an example of cancelled categories, see “twinning” (yamaka), the second on Bhāmaha’s list, and which Udbhaṭa simply removes (likely to be subsumed by punaruktavadābhāsa, now the first ornament on his list despite not being there in Bhāmaha; see Bronner 2016: 113–114). For an example of a newly coined ornament see his discussion of "fusion" (saṅkara) added. For a case where Udbhaṭa accepts an ornament that Bhāmaha rejects, see the case of kāvyahētu (in Udbhaṭa, whereas Bhāmaha famously rejected hētu). For more on the contrarian mode of Udbhaṭa’s presentation of ornaments when compared to Bhāmaha, See Bronner forthcoming.

In short, while enshrining Bhāmaha as the founder of the tradition and pretending merely to provide the gist of his work, Udbhaṭa uses his predecessor’s text as a springboard for a radical beginning that is entirely his. Moreover, he seems to enjoy, here as elsewhere, the persona of an academic mischief-maker with a wink to his good scout guise. I believe that what he does to Pāṇini and Patañjali in grammar, Br̥haspati and his traditional commentators in Cārvāka land, and Bhāmaha in literary theory, he does to Kālidāsa, the grand patriarch of Sanskrit poetry, and presumably with the same deliberate method and sense of satisfaction.

I realize that this, too, is perhaps not a full explanation regarding the conception of Udbhaṭa’s poem, about which so much is still unknown: Were there other sections to this work? Where does it begin and how does it end? Did the additional sections, if they existed, illustrate other aspects of linguistic and literary theory in the manner of ()? Many of these key questions remain unanswerable for now. But I believe that the above analysis helps to account for the poem’s reception. If there was, indeed, a longer by Udbhaṭa, from which the extended passage preserved in the is an excerpt, it quickly disappeared with hardly a trace. Not a single verse from it is ever quoted as such, and not a single manuscript is known to have survived, this while all the other known works by Udbhaṭa were still current in Kashmir and beyond and were being cited by prominent thinkers in the centuries after his death.

Indeed, when considering the commentarial practices of Pratīhārēndurāja and Tilaka, the two readers who engaged with Udbhaṭa’s verses as part of their commentary on his , a striking picture emerges. The commentators decidedly ignore the contents of all illustration verses. Sure, they occasionally gloss certain words that seem in need of explication, but they do the bare minimum in that domain and instead explain the verses merely as illustrations of the figures in question. Yet they never explain the poetry as poetry or comment upon Udbhaṭa’s subversive portrayal of his protagonist. So, to give just one random example, when Udbhaṭa says that “[Śiva's] mighty light of perfect knowledge / began to firefly,” Pratīhārēndurāja glosses the word “firefly,” explains the denominative grammatical formation in question, runs through the different elements of the simile as provided here (the “mighty light” is the subject of comparison, the light produced by a firefly, the standard, and so on), and explains how this illustration fits Udbhaṭa’s complex scheme of simile subtypes. But he completely avoids the implications of this belittling comparison, certainly against the background of Kālidāsa’s intertext.

Pratīhārēndurāja p. 25. Tilaka does exactly the same (p. 18).

This is his policy throughout: he offers no observation regarding any of the individual verses and has nothing whatsoever to say about the overall picture they portray or, indeed, about the larger poem, of which he is presumably aware.

Pratīhārēndurāja is not alone. Udbhaṭa’s remained an important reference point for later poetic theory, and thus the illustration verses preserved in it could not be entirely ignored. But as far as I can tell, the verses were dealt with strictly as illustrations of their figurative categories and nothing more, and as noted at the outset, this practice is continuous even today in studies and editions of Udbhaṭa’s legacy. Udbhaṭa has succeeded, by virtue of including these verses in his , to ensure the survival of 94 verses on the theme of Śiva’s falling in love, with their subversion of Kālidāsa and an upside-down version of God. But the flip side of his success was the weird status that his poetry has gained, somewhat akin to the deadly poison that Śiva prominently stores in his throat from the beginning of time: neither spit, nor swallow.