BEAUTY UNADORNED
[2] Pingali SŪranna KalāpŪrnodayamu (Hyderabad: Andra Pradesh Sahitya Akademi, 1980), 4.39, 41–78, 82–86, 89–108, 110–32, 136–44.
[Manikandhara, a gandharva musician, narrates the following tale to his beloved Kalabhāsini:]
Once I went to the throne of the goddess of arts
[3] The śāradā-pītha in Kashmir, supposedly established by the great philosopher śankara.
in order to prove myself in poetry. There, in one of the halls, I saw a Brahmin master engrossed in teaching Veda: first he would give the proper tone, to ensure precision in word and syllable; then he would guide the pupils in the tonal accents by dramatic movements of his eyebrows. He also gave them mnemonic devices to help them to distinguish one section from another. If one of them was not concentrating and uttered a wrong note, the teacher would pinch his cheeks in punishment. When I approached him, he said: "Come. Who are you? You shine with an internal brightness." And he asked me about my family and my name. Then he dismissed his class—since the arrival of a guest was reason for a holiday—and offered me hospitality.Soon a student arrived, wearing a belt of muñja grass and a garment yellow with turmeric, draped around his delicate body. His face was alive with intelligence and inner fire. He had an antelope skin, a sacred thread, a brilliant forehead dot and the marks of a servant of Visnu: a ring, a staff, and a thin tuft of hair. He was carrying a book and seemed
― 224 ―rather agitated. The teacher looked at him and said, "Why are you so late?" He answered: "There's a good reason. You must not have heard. I'll tell you. I went at your command to the flower garden where śālīna was sitting in a pergola while his wife, Sugātri, was rubbing his feet, held in her lap. They were conversing happily. He saw me and smiled: ‘Has your teacher sent you for the book? I have kept it here for you’ He pointed to a branch above his head. ‘You can take it; just sit with us for a while’ And he showed me a seat in the shade of a young mango tree. Then he put his hands on his wife's shoulders and said to her, ‘Have you been drinking the juice of lasting life, my dear, or have you found some magical potions? You become more beautiful and youthful day by day. They say women age faster than men, so what is it that constantly enhances your vitality?’ She smiled a little and said, ‘I don't really know. Probably it's because you are so much in love that you always see in me such youth and beauty.’ śālīna replied, ‘No, I'm not imagining things. If you don't know, I'll tell you. I am the reason.’ He bent her head close to his mouth and whispered something, with a smile, in her ear. She made a face, surprised. Looking into his eyes, she said, ‘When I asked that goddess earlier for something, she said yes. How is she going to keep her word? Listen, I'll tell you what I asked for.’ And she brought her lips close to his ear and whispered something. Suddenly, śālīna was furious. He rushed off in a huff, with his wife racing after him, and jumped into the lake deep as a hundred palm trees. She cried, ‘What is there for me to do except to follow his footsteps? I won't leave him even if he has left me!’ And she took a running jump into the lake, at the very same spot. You probably didn't hear of this because the place is far from here. All the villagers have been dredging the lake with nets, with no success. They've only now given up. I went back to get the book from the place śālīna had shown me."The teacher was overcome with grief and amazement. "Alas," he said, "that happy couple has suffered an undeserved fate. That lake is famous for its depth. No one who falls into it can survive. Who can escape their karma?" I then asked him, in his sadness, "Who are these two people, Sugātri and śālīna? You have praised them as noble; tell me their story." He replied, "This book tells their story. It's good luck to hear it—especially now that we no longer have the good fortune to be able to see them." He picked up the book that his student had brought, touched it to his head and to his eyes, then gave it back to the boy and asked him to read it. Here is what he read:
Once there was a Brahmin girl called Sugātri, daughter of a priest who served the goddess of learning, established on her throne in the middle
― 225 ―of the Kashmir land. Her husband, śālīna,[4] The names of this couple are significant. Sugātri "Pretty Body"; śālīna "=Shy."
lived with his in-laws. Sugātri's girlfriends decorated her sumptuously on her nuptial night and sent her to her husband, while they waited outside. But he was so startled by all her jewels that he hesitated to touch her. She waited for some time and left.Her girlfriends told her mother. They wondered: "This is unheard of on this earth. What could be the reason? What a fun young fellow you've got! Anyway, tonight is lost; tomorrow he'll show us his wild ways." They laughed, and the mother said: "Quiet, you silly girls! He'll hear you. Shy people sometimes give up everything if they suspect they are being ridiculed."
So she sent her daughter to the son-in-law for two or three more days. But he treated her in exactly the same way as the first night. The young bride went and came for nothing. Her girlfriends, with the mother's permission, said to her: "It doesn't look like you're acting as husband and wife. Both of you are clearly experts. What can we say?
If the man knows what to do, it's right for the woman to be shy. If, however, the man is a moron, and the woman is also timid, what's the point of being married? Listen. You're no longer a little girl. You can't just sit around waiting, just because he doesn't talk to you. Men are lucky, but a woman cannot keep her pride too long. You should serve him on your own initiative; eventually, his heart will melt. You shouldn't have come back just because he hasn't called you lovingly right away. Offer him betel nut with camphor, and a folded leaf.
[5] The offering of betel is a frequent euphemism for sexual contact.
You must be a fool. It just isn't right that you waste your youth, so ripe for pleasure, on an empty bed. Women need the joys of a husband when they're young; what good are they when youth is gone?"She listened and said, a bit coy, "You're killing me with all these words. I can't bear to hear them." But that night she tried out their advice—with no results. She thought: "If I do anything more, he'll probably leave me for good. It's no use. At least I have a living husband, and a marriage thread." She went on decorating herself fully, each day, to bring good luck to her husband,
[6] A wife adorns herself as an auspicious guarantee of her husband's longevity.
and she begged her mother not to humiliate him. The mother held her tongue for many days, waiting patiently. One day she said, "I've never seen such a good-for-nothing. If I say anything against him, you defend him. Are you about to give birth to a male child who could take care of my property? We've seen his ways. It's like giving― 226 ―a loan with a barren cow for collateral. But if I throw him out, you will be distressed. At least we could send him to take care of the flower garden." So she called him respectfully and put him to work, taking care to instruct him and to discipline him in the necessary skills.śālīna was happy because this work was a service to the goddess śārada, so he performed it with concentration. He tended the lovely flowers, heavy with honey, pollen, and masses of drunken bees. He watered at the proper times, making channels for every plant; he turned over the earth and carried baskets of manure in his own hands without any hesitation; he grafted plants together, gently bending their tender branches; he prepared seedbeds and planted grafts—all with mounting excitement. He would skillfully cut the flowers and weave them into garlands and bouquets in many inventive ways, to be offered to the goddess of arts.
Now Sugātri, out of a sense of duty as a wedded wife, and unable to watch from afar the hard work her husband was doing at her mother's behest, wanted to go there and help him—but she was too shy to do so. One day when śālīna had gone off to the garden, lightning streaked through the skies, striking everywhere; there was thunder, and a terrifying downpour of rain. From the moment the clouds appeared and the first drops smashed into the earth, Sugātri was afraid her husband would be soaked. She addressed him in her mind: "How will you survive this torrential rain, beloved husband? How did you get stuck with this miserable work in the garden?" She scanned the skies over and over and prayed to her family goddess, Sarasvati: "O śārada, our compassionate mother, please watch over my husband. I have no support except for you. If I have done anything good in this body, or in some previous bodies—some vow, or act of meditation, or donation—may its merit save my husband from the calamity of this rain. Let me bear the effects of whatever evil he has done that has brought this upon him."
Not content with that, and indifferent to the heavy rain, she left the house in desperation, without her mother's knowledge. Because of her loyalty to her husband, the rain did not affect her; the flooding water gave way before her, opening a dry path. She reached the garden where her husband was and watched him from a distance. She saw that he was safe, untroubled by the winds or rain, protected by the goddess in response to her prayer. "Mother Sarasvati, you have shown your concern for us," she thought, overjoyed. She returned home, and no-one knew that she had gone there. In her shyness, she went on just as before. People were amazed that the flower garden was undamaged by the storm.
Shy Sugātri patiently suffered as her husband toiled. Finally she conquered her bashfulness and, her heart full of love for her husband, paying no more heed to her mother's words, she went, dressed as usual, to the garden. At first he would not let her work with him, but she was insistent:
― 227 ―she put her jewels away in a corner and tied her sari around her waist. She started digging with a shovel, her breasts swaying up and down, her full buttocks shaking as she walked briskly back and forth. She fed water to the plants through muddy channels, and mud splashed onto her smooth cheeks. She carried bundles that burdened her tiny waist and made it tremble. Sweating a little, her hair dancing, graceful, she performed each task before he could. And as she worked, the God of Desire, noticing her quivering buttocks and breasts and hair, let loose his arrows at her husband, as if in target practice.
śālīna could not fend off those arrows. "You crazy woman," he said, "you just won't stop, even if I ask you. You're so far removed from gardening." With the edge of his upper cloth, he wiped the beads of sweat from her cheeks. But the sweat kept pouring out, through Desire's tricky power. Looking at her glistening cheeks, he said, "You couldn't bear to watch me toil, and now you've exhausted yourself with this work." Hungrily he embraced her neck, and hugged her. Then he carried her to a soft bed of flowers and made love to her with joyful passion.
Afterward, he held her even tighter, his desire still growing. She said, "All this is quite new. Shouldn't we go home?" Gently she made him let go. Putting on the jewels she had hidden, she walked toward home, her heart full of her husband's ways. After that lovemaking, she was pleasantly tired, like a fresh flower exposed to the springtime sun. Loved by her husband, Sugātri reached home. Her girlfriends could tell at a glance that her wish had been fulfilled; they teased her, and her mother was also pleased. That night her girlfriends eagerly adorned her even more than normally and sent her to her husband in the bedroom.
Her tremulous waist, wearied by effort; her slightly soiled, thin sari slipping over her buttocks; the necklace rippling over her swinging breasts, tightly tied in the top of her sari; the dot of turmeric and musk on her forehead, smudged by sweat; her huge bun of hair, trembling at every move—all these combined in a single image as she ran ahead of him to perform the various tasks in the garden, and that image stuck in his mind. So now, at night, he did not even look at her splendid ointments, ornaments, and dress. As usual, he sat distracted. His wife waited for quite some time, wondering sadly what she had done wrong. She thought of leaving, but then she thought: "If I go, who is there for me? I'll wait here. What will be will be." She stayed by the door. After a long time, she gathered herself up and approached him. "You must be very tired after all that work. Shall I go? Would you like to sleep?" she whispered, wafting fragrance, in his ear.
Still distracted, he asked: "What do you want from me?" She answered with a languorous lilt in her voice, "What do women usually want from a husband?" Then, patiently: "My lord, forget all the rest. I'm happy that
― 228 ―you took enough interest to ask. How can I blame you? It's dawn already, and you haven't even asked me to rub your feet, or to come near you. You didn't even open your eyes enough to look at me with a little love. Today in the garden, my good fortune must have ripened fully. It's only after finding your love in that way that I have spoken to you so openly. I know this is not the way a good wife should talk."In her heart, she was feeling the pain of increasing desire. She thought a little and said, "Even a rock is better than your heart. You'll never do anything by yourself." She gently touched his foot. Pressing it, she sat on the edge of the bed and placed it on her thighs, soft as golden silk. Then she pressed it against her breasts, brought it near her eyes, and touched it tightly to her cheek in evidence of her love. He remained lost in thought. She wondered what was going on. In agitation, she said: "Perhaps you're in love with some other woman and can't take your mind off her. So bring her here. Or, if she'll listen to me, send me and I will bring her. I will serve her just as I serve you, as a slave. Believe me. Why all these knots? It's enough if you are fulfilled. You can sell me off if you want. Tell me what's worrying you."
All the while she was massaging his foot. He had no idea at all what was happening. He was obsessed with that first vision of her beauty, the disheveled form, the quick movements as she was working, the gentleness and comfort of her affection, her ways of making love. So the night passed, as she tirelessly pressed his feet in true devotion, without another word.
The next day she went, like the day before, to work in the garden. Once again she found her husband's love, and she realized: "He cares only for this sort of beauty, but not for ornaments." From then on she went there every day, worked in the garden, and made her husband happy with lovemaking as he pleased.
Eventually her mother came to know about all this. She spoke in private to her daughter: "My dear, your were born with the blessings of the goddess of arts. The goddess came to me in a dream and promised that our whole family would become pure through your acts—as if she knew you very well. My husband, your father, has gone away to another land. I am counting on your children to take care of me in my old age; that's why I keep waiting for you to have sons. But one thing is bothering me. Listen to me. People say that making love at the wrong time produces sons without good qualities. At the beginning, for some strange reason, he didn't want you, and I spoke to him in anger. But we have our old servants to work in the garden, don't we? Why should your husband work there? Why should you? You are young in age, but old in wisdom. You know what's right and what's wrong."
Sugātri broke into a gentle smile. "Whatever my husband likes is right,
― 229 ―and what he doesn't like is wrong. That's my natural way of thinking. I won't change it. To me, the husband is God, text, and teacher. I will follow his commands, without considering any other rights or wrongs. I'm not refraining from anything just because it is forbidden, nor doing anything just because it is prescribed. I will do what he wants, without any hesitation, and reject whatever he rejects."When she said this, the goddess of arts herself appeared, full of praise for her loyalty to her husband. She held her with a motherly embrace, looked at the mother, and said: "Don't try to fix this fine woman's ways. With her strong love, she has washed away not only her own sins but also those of both families. From now on, her story will be my very favorite. I myself will publicize it in the world."
The Brahmin boy finished reading and tied up the book.
[7] The book is obviously in manuscript form, with covers on either end bound with string.
The teacher looked at me and said, "It's a good story. The goddess of arts must have immeasurable love for Sugātri and śālīna. She came to me in my dream and told me to read this book every morning. That same night she also gave this book to all the literate people in the town. Everyone has been talking about this in amazement. Just yesterday I myself went to that garden to see the happy couple. They received me with honor—but I forgot the book there. Today, early in the morning, I wanted to read it and remembered. I sent this boy to bring it, and now this bad news has come." I left him there, grieving for this couple in many ways.
[The narrator, Manikandhara, will shortly learn what the young couple had whispered to one another. śālīna informed his wife that he had asked the goddess to stop her from getting pregnant, in order to keep her young forever. Sugātri, on the other hand, had asked that her husband should have a son through their lovemaking. These contradictory boons, both granted by the goddess, drove the two lovers to their suicidal jump. Both, however, survive, and both boons come true when Sugātri becomes a man, śālīna becomes a woman, and in this transformed state they mate and produce a son—KalāpŪrna, the hero of this work.