Read Parts 1 and 2

Mricchakatika is a compound word, which can be translated as “(The) Toy Clay Cart.” The title is significant at many levels, which I’ve tried to disperse throughout this entry. Mricchakatika was written by King Sudraka whose date historians place between the 4th and 5th Century. Mricchakatika is a pretty complex plot–complexity mainly in terms of the events, situations, and characterization–that surprisingly, moves at a very quick pace. The several sub plots that pepper the entire play are cleverly but logically interwoven with the “main” plot. I put “main” in quotes because the entire play is crafted around the life of Charudatta, the protagonist while the sub plots feature prominent secondary characters. Therefore, like Yayati, I cannot endeavour to narrate the entire story without making this blog entry appear like an extended dissertation. What I will try to attempt is to examine each character in the hope that I can deliver the essence of the play; it is evident that I shall dissect Karnad’s “interpretation” of the same in Utsav.

Mricchakatika comprises 10 acts and deals with two major motifs: the society during Charudatta’s time, and the political upheavals in his country (region, if you will), Ujjaini. The latter theme fades in comparison to the former because that’s the main thrust of the play. However, scholars opine that the description of Ujjaini’s political conditions in the play–a weak king, his overbearing brother-in-law, a generally impoverished economy and the resultant rebellion waiting to erupt–helped them gather valuable information about Indian history of that period. An interesting tidbit–pardon the digression–can be found when one of the characters says, Karnaata Kalaha, which means Quarrel like the (people of) Karnaata. That’s today’s Karnataka. The expanded form of the word Karnaata is Karneshu atati iti, which means, that which collides with resonates in the ear. The usage Karnaata Kalaha, thus signifies that people of Karnataka in that period were probably infamous for their quarrelsome nature!

Charudatta the protagonist, is a Brahmin who was once a prosperous businessman–engaged in overseas trading–but had fallen on bad times. Charudatta is respected by everybody for his generousness. We can have an idea of his reputation in the incident when Aryaka the rebel, sneaks into Charudatta’s chariot. At the palace gates, the guards don’t do a security check because it was Charudatta’s chariot.

To me, Charudatta epitomises the difference between life and living.

The other chief character is Vasantasena, the renowned prostitute famed for her beauty and noble qualities. In the first act, Shakara, the king’s brother-in-law, who lusts after her, approaches her when she’s strolling in the garden. When he tries to force her, she begins to flee, and manages to escape by hiding in Charudatta’s house. She hands her jewellery to Charudatta for safekeeping. The said jewellery is then stolen by Sharvilaka so he can free his beloved, Madanika who’s employed as Vasantasena’s maid. However, Madanika realizes that the jewels belong to Vasantasena and tells her that Charudatta sent them through Sharvilaka instead of telling her the truth about the robbery. Yet, Vasantasena releases Madanika from her services after she listens to the lovers’ conversation and is moved by it. When Charudatta learns of the theft, his wife gives her necklace so he can compensate for the loss. Maitreya, Charudatta’s close friend and assistant–who also lives with him–agrees to deliver the necklace to Vasantasena.

The dramatist also tells us about an ex-servant of Charudatta, who is a compulsive gambler. When creditors bay for his blood, he hides himself in Vasantasena’s house. Vasantasena on hearing that he was employed with Charudatta, is mightily pleased–another instance of Charudatta’s renowned respect–and pays off his debts. This causes a transformation in the gambler, and he renounces the world to become a Bhikshu, a Buddhist monk.

In the fifth act, love fully blossoms between Charudatta and Vasantasena when she again visits his house on the pretext that she had gambled away the (Charudatta’s wife’s) necklace. In place of the necklace, she offers him her jewellery. The next morning as Vasantasena gets ready to leave, she notices Rohasena–Charudatta’s son–throwing a fit. He doesn’t want the clay cart, which Charudatta’s dasi has brought him; he only wants a gold (toy) cart. Moved, Vasantasena places her jewellery inside the toy cart, and the child is pacified.

The subsequent acts narrate how:

• Vasantasena was tortured and strangulated by Shakara
• She was saved by the bhikshu (the transformed gambler)
• Charudatta was implicated for her murder and the theft of her jewellery
• The rebel Aryaka, overthrew the existing King
• Charudatta was proved innocent and regained his prosperity under the new regime

What interests us in this play is the characterisation. A person whom I consider my guru, once told that Charudatta’s character is the perfect symbol for Sattva. By itself, Sattva does nothing. It however, motivates all forces of nature to act for the good of the world. In other words, it supports, uplifts, and transforms. Thus, the very mention of Charudatta’s name saved the gambler, and caused him to pursue higher goals, which in turn saved Vasantasena’s life. Charudatta finds humour even in his miserable condition: it is not hard to imagine the plight of one used to a life of luxury suddenly reduced to penury. Another instance is when Charudatta sees a poor man save a child from a rogue elephant. While other onlookers merely cheer his bravery, Charudatta naturally takes off his uttariya and gives it to him as a token of appreciation; this act of generosity despite his poverty. He appreciates Sharvilaka’s (the thief) ingenuity in carving a hole in the wall of Charudatta’s house. He knows he has lost the jewels entrusted to his safekeeping, but doesn’t grieve. In a way, it echoes the classic Bhagavad Gita verse, sukha dukhe samo krutva laabhaalabhou jayaajayou (Pain and Pleasure, Loss and gain are the same to the Englightened). At another level, it shows that he lives only in the present: he neither craves for the better times he used to live in nor hopes for better days ahead. His large-heartedness, although taken to the extreme, comes to the fore when in the final act, he asks the (new) king to pardon Shakara.

Karnad however, has singularly eroticised the whole of Mricchakatika. He neither captures the essence of Charudatta’s character nor Vasantasena’s nobility. Worse, he has reduced Charudatta’s wife, Dhutadevi to a nagging, complaining housewife who runs to her mother’s house on the slightest pretext. In the original, Dhutadevi, as noted above, stands by Charudatta “for better or worse”; she hands him her necklace–a wedding gift from her mother–so his honour is saved. For Karnad, the relationship between Charudatta and Vasantasena is one of pure lust. He can easily justify this because even in the original, Vasantasena is a prostitute. I needn’t have to elaborate that prostitutes in the days of yore in India weren’t looked down upon. They in many instances, were excellent counsellors to the king and were extremely knowledgeable in several branches of learning. However, for Karnad, Vasantasena is only a voluptous courtesan. This is where Karnad fails. As a prostitute who sells her body for money, what motivates her to fall in love with Charudatta, a destitute householder? This is never explained in the film. When you watch the elaborate love-making scene at Charudatta’s house, you only conclude that it is merely an outcome of mutual lust. In later scenes in the movie, love “somehow” develops. Are we to think that lust is the progenitor of love? But that’s how Utsav puts it across.

Mricchakatika’s Vasantasena falls in love with Charudatta’s sattva guna. He reciprocates this love as he recognizes her worth as a person, not her profession.

However, her depiction as a prostitute in Karnad’s concoted sense provides him the perfect opportunity to show Rekha’s back in all its nude glory. Not to mention a pretty lengthy–but melodious–song sequence with Shekar Suman and Rekha cozying up in a bath tub. Nowhere in Mricchakatika is even a trace of physical description of love. The love between Vasantasena and Charudatta is conveyed to the reader/audience via situations, which more than adequately nuance it. Karnad’s perversity is evident when he brings in Vatsyayana, the author of Kamasutra. He is shown as a peeping tom, not the venerable sage he really was. The end of Kamasutra, as Vatsyayana visualized it, was the attainment of Moksha. But Karnad doesn’t bother with such trivialities; it dilutes his soft-porn movie with… well, should I say it? “old fashioned,” “puritan,” “regressive” and the rest. A character, which is not present in the original is obscenely introduced in the movie. But not without justification. Vatsyayana’s character is required in Utsav if Karnad has to vindicate the various pornographic scenes in the movie. Thus, the scene where Neena Gupta (?) tries to copulate with her lover against a pole is noted with diligence by Vatsyayana; so also various other sexual activities that occur in Vasantasena’s house, a grotesqueness that solely is a product of Karnad’s convoluted mind.

Not only does Karnad corrupt the entire play, he has nought dwelt upon the significance of the title: toy clay cart. Rohasena who probably was used to playing with expensive (gold) toys earlier, doesn’t understand why he cannot play with them any longer. Vasantasena’s small act of recompense is a sign of her goodwill, and the harbinger of hope that she aspires to bring to Charudatta’s wretched condition. At another level, the cart itself is symbolic of Life as in “the journey called life,” or as a Kannada lyric goes, “life is a cart/chariot/vehicle;” that we need to emphasize on the journey, not on the vehicle whether it be made of mud or wood or clay or gold. When you encounter potholes or craters on the road, how does it matter whether you travel in an Accent or Mondeo or in a cart made of mud or gold?

Karnad’s characters are hideous. But they don’t matter to him for he knows the kinds of reviews he’ll get by reviewers who’re equally depraved and/or ill/mis-informed as he probably is. Here’s one for your reading pleasure.

..turning one of the most beloved of classical plays, the ca. 5th century “Little Clay Cart” (ascribed to Shudraka) into a contemporary spectacle with A-list stars and music by major filmi composers. Lavish sets and costumes, jewelry and hairstyles, all inspired by classical paintings and sculptures, evoke the glories of the Gupta age, while saucy dialog in contemporary (if properly Sanskritized) Hindi recreates the playwright’s satirical vision of the demimondaine world of the city of Ujjayini.

Demimondaine= A woman whose sexual promiscuity places her outside respectable society. Synonymns=tart, woman of the street, street girl, etc

To this reviewer, lavish sets, costumes, and saucy dialogue make Utsav a noteworthy movie. Oh! and he’s equally impressed by Karnad’s “satirical vision,” which in reality is the perversity I spoke about in great length. And Vasantasena’s world is supposedly “demimondaine” in this ill-informed reviewer’s opinion. Which is truly opposite of what is depicted in the play. I reiterate, Vasantasena was a woman of noble qualities. The kind of freedom she had is illustrated by the simple incident of Shakara. Being more powerful than the king, he has to physically force a supposedly-demimondaine woman to succumb to his lust. If she was indeed the cheap tart this reviewer–and Karnad–makes her to be, she’d have complied with his entreaties in return for fabulous wealth. When he fails in this, he strangles her. Vasantasena, the street whore in this reviewer’s perception, seeks Charudatta’s love on her own accord. The reason? His famed qualities. His impoverishment hardly matters to her, a woman who is supposed to sleep with anybody in return for money. She recognizes loftiness when she sees it: she sets her maid free for the sole reason that she loves Sharvilaka, a learned person fallen on hard times. But this reviewer only discerns the Rekha of Utsav. He also calls Vatsyayana a “pompous monk.” Which is correct because he draws this conclusion based on the repulsive caricature Karnad makes of the sage.

Its Rabelaisian cast of characters - the voluptuous and talented courtesan, witty cat burglar, pompous monk, wild-eyed revolutionary… and thus bring to life their urbane world of fleshly delights.

Further,

Karnad adds the clever touch of placing Vatsyayana, brahman author of the famous treatise on erotics, Kamasutra, in the midst of the brothel where much of the action unfolds. As played by Amjad Khan (the Gabbar Singh of SHOLAY), Vatsyayana is a portly pedant, a proto-social scientist who has taken a personal vow of celibacy, the better to detachedly study the sexual habits of human animals. He lectures the attentive prostitutes on how his planned treatise will immortalize their brief careers, and frets over not being able to get beyond the number 28 in his catalog of sexual postures, gushing (intellectually speaking) when an eager disciple hauls him upstairs to witness, through a transom, Number 29 in flagrante delicti - a scene that skewers, in one poke, both the pomposity and voyeurism of academic scholarship.

What people who have studied Mricchakatika properly will despise, turns into a “clever touch” (sic) in the hands of Karnad. The second line in bold is grossly incorrect. Utsav has intentionally placed most of the action in Vasantasena’s house (brothel is too crude a word) to serve its pornographic purposes. The action in the original takes place at numerous locations: Charudatta’s house, in a street, in a temple, at the palace’s gates, in Vasantasena’s house (of course), in a secluded garden, in a cemetery, and inside the palace itself. Generally speaking, all these locations carry equal time, in a play of ten acts. The lecturing and voyeurism are purely figments of Karnad’s dreadful imagination. In the reviewer’s hands, Kamasutra becomes “academic scholarship.” But the reviewer just can’t stop.

…when she departs for her brothel, she leaves her fortune in erotic jewelry (a garment-like set of gem-encrusted golden chains)…

I cannot comment whether Karnad meant the jewellery to represent eroticism or no, but this reviewer fancies them as such. But then, this is exactly the kind of gushing praise he probably knew he’d receive for turning a Classic into a monstrosity. Again, this is the kind of review based on which Westerners form (incorrect) opinions of early India for they don’t have access to, and/or the will to read and understand the original or at least some excellent translations of the original. If a braindead reviewer calls Utsav as Girish Karnad’s “satirical vision” of Mricchakatika, so it must be. As a result, people who watch Utsav will tend to think that Mricchakatika must probably be the same, Vatsyayana’s character included. How many will really bother to find out what really is in the play? Those who have the time and patience, please Google for the terms “Girish Karnad Utsav” or any combination of these terms. Read each review/material from the links the search results give you and do tell me if you find one review, which actually compares the original with Karnad’s Frankenstein.

Read the following excerpt. (From the synopsis given to this movie here.)

A film notable for its highly charged love scenes and popular songs.

Which is actually true because nothing else is noteworthy apart from these in what was Karnad’s first (and probably the last) experiment at pornography. The deplorable part is that he had to film his smut by defacing a true classic.

And I forgot to mention: Man kyon behka and Saanj dhale figure in my list of favourite songs.

In the next part, I’ll try to deal with perhaps Karnad’s greatest perversion till date: Agni Mattu Male.