life of every class and occupation, is framed, it is true, in an atmosphere of magic and superstition, of omens, auspices and enchantments; but is not less convincing on that account to anyone who has looked below the surface in India and Ceylon even today. It has its barbarous aspects, too, like every State yet known to us in the Old World or the New; certainly not more barbarous than those in the Roman state with which it seems certain that the kingdoms of south India were in constant contact for the interchange of commodities. It is indeed credibly reported that Roman merchants procured Greek and Roman maidens for the harems of Indian kings. The tragic episode of the anklet, round which this poem circles, or rather inordinately hovers, is almost submerged in the prodigious detail, like the theme in some over-elaborate counterpoint or the almost unseen, pious leit-motif in some vast mediaeval tapestry. Then, suddenly, the leisurely tempo changes to one of desperate urgency; we are sucked into a whirlpool of passion and avengement. The great city goes up in flames as the outraged heroine tears off her left breast and hurls it into the streets, becoming in a blazing moment the redoubtable magic goddess Pattini, worshipped in Buddhist Ceylon as well. Here is the story, in briefest outline. In the sea-port city of Puhar, capital of the Cola kingdom, lived a blissfully married boy and girl, the children of two merchant princes. One day Kovalan, sauntering through the streets, was accosted by a hunchback woman and persuaded to buy for a fabulous price the garland of leaves which the king had just bestowed on the courtesan Madavi in reward for her perfect dancing. The price of the garland is the price of Madavi's love; immediately Kovalan forgets his bride Kannaki and all his former life, and spends rapturous days and nights with Madavi in mutual adoration, celebrating the festival of Indra on the sea-shore with every refinement of love and music and dancing in the midst of a ravishing landscape. There is a beautiful description of the First Freshes of the Kaveri, a festival of which the relics still survive in a kind of religious picnic on the river bank, with invocations to the river and thanksgiving for its perpetual flow; old books, cadjan leaves and sometimes rare manuscripts are floated by children down the stream. (Illiterate parents must find this great fun too.) But in the interchange of songs between Madavi and Kovalan, after many days of rapture there is a rift. Regrets about a faithless lover2 in one ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 2 As this is a stock theme of the songs, it would be hard for Madavi to avoid it altogether; perhaps she kept it outside at first and was by now getting a little careless. of course, if she was improvising the words there could be no excuse. |