12 Vijjaka’s Poetry
Sanskrit
Karnataka, India, c. 730s-740s
Vijjaka’s Poetry: From Steve Adisasmito-Smith[1]
Who is Vijjaka? A poetic persona—a name, a style, a voice—that emerges in these poems. Little is known about her as an actual person: there are a few oral and written traditions and the poems themselves. She confidently names herself in poem #2: “Vijjaka” means “knowledgeable” or “witty woman” in Prakrit. (Many later male editors use the Sanskrit version of her name, Vidya, instead, but it is better to respect her self-identification.) From her use of Sanskrit, knowledgeable allusions, and social cues in the poems, she belongs to the courtly upper-class. Vijjaka writes elegant Sanskrit, enjoys wordplay, and is quite sure of her poetic powers.
More can be deduced by linking internal evidence in the poems to historical events. Tradition places her in the Karnataka kingdom in South India. She calls herself a “true Southerner” (poem #4) and likely references her “dark” complexion, common in the region, in poem #2. In the same poem, she refers to another South Indian poet, Dandin, as an established authority figure; his work is dated to c. 680 – 720 CE. Other poems make the Badami Chalukya Dynasty of Karnataka her most likely home. Poem #6 (not included here) lists wars of conquest that correspond to those waged by the Chalukya king, King Vikramaditya II (r. 733-744), and poem #7 may contain a veiled reference to his son, Kirtivarman II (see the note on that poem). Another later poet seems to be memorializing her as “Karnataka’s Sarasvati” (goddess of learning and poetry) two centuries later. All of the above makes c. 730 – 750 CE a likely period for her work. However, it is unlikely that she was a queen of Karnataka, as has been claimed. Poem #1 states that she was “loved by the King of Karnataka”, which could refer to a queen, but could also be claimed by a mother, daughter, concubine, courtesan, or a court poet acknowledging a patron’s attention. Several poems (like #9 below) do seem to address a patron—not needed by a queen. Moreover, poem #4 mentions her frequenting markets and taverns—common for a courtesan, but unlikely for a royal woman constrained by the court’s rules of conduct. Courtesans, on the other hand, performed in those venues, as well as at court, and some courtesans became royal concubines.
Whatever her exact social position, Vijjaka’s attitudes leave a strong impression in the poems. In an era when male authorities increasingly taught that women should adhere to Dharma (social morality) and remain in seclusion in their homes, under their husbands’ power, Vijjaka rejoices in playing and moving freely in nature, escaping or not even considering moral constraints, and enjoying a natural freedom of sexuality, desire, and pleasure (Kama). Her poems envision women of different classes or ethnicities meeting lovers and engaging in affairs, in the country fields or down by the river with its lush, screening plants. Other poems observe nature closely, evoking moments of aesthetic awakening and the height of violent passions during Monsoon, the season of heavy rains and stormy love.
Below is a sampling of 12 of the 38 poems by Vijjaka that made it into classical Indian anthologies. I have arranged the poems topically, with titles added to draw attention to recurring motifs. The original poems in Sanskrit are tightly structured. Each is a single couplet or quatrain adhering precisely to one meter across all lines, with pauses (yati) deliberately placed within each line. To give English readers a sense of the artistic form, yet to allow the poems to breathe, I have tried to keep the integrity of lines and their relative lengths, but I transformed pauses within lines into inset line breaks. (So the original couplets usually become 4-line poems, and the quatrains become 8-line poems.) A further consideration leads me to gesture towards the tightly controlled form of the original: not only does it convey the structures of feeling and expression created by the poem, it is also tempting to read this artistic decision iconically. Just as Vijjaka found her agency and expression despite tight social constrictions, she was able to find her artistic voice despite employing tightly controlled poetic forms. The achievement of freedom and power within constraints that seek to limit and control the woman and artist, it seems to me, is worth celebrating.
Vijjaka’s Poetry in Translation
Translations by Steve Adisasmito-Smith[2]; published with permission of Niken Adisasmito-Smith:
Praising the Poet and Her Patrons
2.
Ignorant of me, witty Vijjaka,
dark petal of a cerulean lotus,
Stuck-up Dandin vainly proclaimed Sarasvati,
flowing goddess of words, all white.
4.
What’s all the news in everyone else’s
house? Why can’t I stay
silent? A talker by nature—
a real Southerner—
in home after home, in crossroad
markets, in taverns—
“She rambles like a crazy woman.” Sir,
prize that reputation.
7.
God-king, your son, Fame,
was born of your sword’s curve in battle.
Wind scatters dust clouds
and mounds of tattered cloth.
Jackals sing stridently
and rows of headless ghouls dance.
Foes achieve instant liberation
from their unfortunate bond to existence.
9.
I left my path, seeing you as a tree
arching from the earth,
its top bowing down with fruit, offering
good shade, spreading peace.
Yet when your hollow core gets disturbed
a hidden viper bursts out,
its mouth spewing fierce, burning poison—
right then, you’re generous indeed.
Sketches of Women Loving
14.
After making love up on a platform
in a cucumber field, her thin body
squeezed, tiny hairs thrilling,
fused in her lover’s limbs
both arms clasped in sheer
delight around his neck,
to ward off howling jackals, this hick
girl uses her foot now and then
to make a tinkling racket, swinging
a shell necklace, hanging
on a vine from the fence top
to jangle into the night.
18.
Hey, neighbor woman, will you keep an eye on our house
a moment?
The child’s father finds the water of this well
lacks taste.
So, alone, I’m going to that choice spot by the river,
behind trees.
They may scratch my breasts, those dense reeds with their
hard stems.
21.
As girls we chase boys; as tender teens,
young singles; even bent with age,
we want men full and ripe. That is our
protected family custom.
But now you plan to pass your entire life
with only this one husband?
Daughter, our clan’s reputation has never
been stained by a good woman.
26.
Unbending her,
pulling her hair back to lift her face,
he kisses his
prized love, resorting to force.
She merges with
her inner mantra: “I am for me”.
This soft prayer
of the firm woman triumphs.
Waters Flow: Monsoons, Blooms and Rivers
30.
Whose mind doesn’t thrill at a forest,
when dusky shadows climb trees,
trembling, as storm-clouds pile up,
like kids getting their clothes dirty?
31.
The filament inside the flame-flower bud shines, rivals
the moon’s fine crescent,
like Desire’s drawn bow, concealed in a red case,
sealed with lacquer.
32.
The monsoon rain-bow shines
like a young woman’s heart:
not standing still, passion-colored,
no string attached, ever-flexed, hard to reach.
33.
Bent over, pouring dark, smoke black clouds.
All directions dark, dense.
Long grasses rub together. In the black earth,
new shoots sprout up.
Rapt lovers delight: now’s the time
to come together.
Those who don’t join in this moment
shelter death.
FURTHER samplings and alternate translations of her best poems:
103.
Ignorant of me, Vijjaka,
dark petal of a cerulean lotus,
Dandin idly proclaimed Flow,
goddess of words, all white.
996.
What’s all the news in everyone else’s
house? Why can’t I stay
silent? Talkative by nature,
a true Southerner,
in home after home, in the crossroad
markets, in a pub–
“She rambles like a crazy woman.” Lord,
that’s my cherished reputation.
102.
God-king, your son, Fame,
was born of your sword’s curve in battle.
Wind scatters dust clouds
and mounds of tattered cloth.
Jackals sing stridently
and rows of headless bodies dance.
Foes achieved instant liberation
from their unfortunate bond to existence.
106.
As girls we crave boys, as teens, young men; even old, we lust
for those special seniors. That is our family tradition.
But you plan to spend your whole life with only one husband?
Never, daughter, has our family had a reputation—for restraint.
105.
Hey, neighbor woman, will you keep an eye on our house
a moment?
The child’s father finds the water of our well
tasteless.
So, alone, I’m going to that choice spot by the river, behind
the trees’ cover.
They may scratch my breasts, those dense reeds with their
hard stems.
117.
Unbending her,
grabbing her hair to lift her face,
he kisses his
prime love, resorting to force.
She merges with
her inner mantra: “I am for me”.
This soft prayer
of the firm woman triumphs.
120.
Stop acting pointlessly
because it’s unreal.
My will is adamantine.
If your aim is to hope for
the shattered resolve
of a great person in adversity:
under numb Fate,
parts of nature do vanish
when the Age ends,
yet the lines of mountains
and depths of oceans
never shrink.
121.
A song for pounding rice from its husk:
her breasts pulse with each thrust
of the pestle; her bangles jangle.
She lets slip a moan.
108.
After making love up on a platform
in a cucumber field, her thin body
squeezed, tiny hairs thrilling,
fused in her lover’s limbs
both arms clasped in sheer
delight around his neck,
to ward off howling jackals, this hick
girl uses her foot now and then
to make a tinkling racket, swinging
a shell necklace, hanging
on a vine from the fence top
to jangle into the night.
124.
Bodies dyed auburn by pollen
of waking red lotuses,
The sweet honey-lords are singing
among waterpots and houses.
And there! the sun’s shining blooms
on fresh Life-Bond trees,
its disc kisses Rising Mountain
which covers its glow.
126.
The monsoon rain-bow shines
like a young woman’s heart:
not standing still, passionately colored,
no string attached, ever-bending, hard to reach.
- [Murala River]
Your bottom, sandy,
dense shadows dangling
from curvy edges,
cool wind-breaths
lay bare a spot
of tinkling water-beads:
she, free of restraint,
loves ceaselessly,
gives, refreshes, changes.
Do tell, Murala,
who clothed you in
screening reeds and trees?
110.
The air swirls with clouds, new pools fill the earth; in every direction
garlands of lightning flash.
The sky gushes showers, Tellicherry blooms limn the woods, pent-up
mountain streams flood.
Rainy Season, slayer of hope, show me why such an uproar
was falsely made
to kill a poor little woman, depressed, bereft,
unhinged—alone.
125.
Let loose, vigorous rain rumbles, heavy clouds
bearing fresh downpours.
Blow, pollen-polluted winds!
let those peacocks dance.
Beholding my ruined body, plunged in sorrow-drenched
clouds, unhinged by a lover,
Lightning Devi! You, too, burst forth, merciless,
though a woman like me?
- [Once this pond…]
Stirred up washing the rut-smeared cheeks
of drunk heavenly elephants,
its pure surges pushed breast-high waves,
to the limits of the sky.
Its waters seemed set for an entire Age.
In time, though, its luck reversed.
Dwindled, its waters now become muddy
from one crane strutting.
808.
Those heart-friends, playing country brides,
witnesses of Radha’s secrets,
they were a comfort, dear, garland-decked on the banks of
Kalinda’s royal river-daughter.
Remembering the bed of cuttings clipped and spread about
—cut off now—
I know the blue, glittering blossoms
have dried up.
Notes on Vijjaka’s poems:
- 2. In quick succession, Vijjika names and indirectly praises herself, critiques Dandin, an earlier poet and self-proclaimed authority, and implicitly parallels herself to Sarasvati, goddess of learning, language, song and poetry. Dandin had praised Sarasvati in traditional terms, invoking Her iconic color, “all white”, as a sign of purity. Vijjaka subtly contrasts the male poet’s, “ignoran[ce]” with her own name, which means “witty”. (Vijjaka shares an etymological root with English “wit”. “Dandin” means “Rod/Staff/Stick-holding-man”: a figure of authority and punishment. I have added adjectives express these connotations.) Vijjaka elegantly contradicts Dandin’s judgement and parallels her own dark beauty and heavenly nature with the divine light of Sarasvati (“Flow”). In referring to herself as a “dark petal”, Vijjaka could also be alluding to her South Indian origins, where a dark skin tone is more common and implicitly chiding Dandin, another Southerner, for not valuing their mutual regional identity.
- A rambling poem. It begins with a general question, shifts to self-questioning, and then details her movements. The following quote reports someone else’s judgement of her. The final line turns that attempted gender-shaming into a positive self-evaluation.
- Kings are often called gods and Fame is the result, or “son”, of their deeds. Beyond that, this line may be a veiled reference to a particular Karnataka prince, Kirtivarman (“Protector of Fame”). The subsequent lines depict the aftermath of a battle. In the final line, Vijjaka takes a conventional Hindu idea, achieving moksha, or “liberation” from worldly life, and turns it into gallows humor for the battlefield.
- Refreshing expectations for a tree (fruit, shade, peace) contrast a painful reality. The shift in the middle of the poem is sudden and alarming. The tree’s core proves hollow; it is easily “disturbed” or “shaken” (calat), and hides a hidden menace, which darts out. The hidden vyala or predator turns out to be a snake, as the reference to poison makes clear: the same term is often applied to dangerous kings or princes. The poem ends with another abrupt shift: she calls her patron(“bhavan”), rich “dhanyas” at that moment “tadanim”. I can only read the last phrase as ironic, so I’ve rendered it as a sarcastic comment on the patron’s vicious core, revealed under distress: “right then, sir, you’re so rich.”
- Love is an absorbing experience, even for a simple country girl. Vijjaka clearly belongs to court and city, but she is aware that desire, sex and love arise everywhere. This young country woman in the field is supposed to be guarding the cucumber crop from raiding jackals. (Jackals evidently relish a refreshing gerkin.) That is why she is up on the platform. Instead of keeping her watch, though—like the young woman of the Hebrew Song of Songs—she has met her man and made love on the guard platform. She maintains a token semblance of her duty with a clever jury-rigged approach, making noise by ringing the shells with one foot. The poem displays remarkable enjambment which completely fits the entangled limbs and mutual delight of the lovers.
- A superb, sly display of dhvani or indirect suggestion. Ostensibly, the speaker is a wife doing her duty by fetching fresh water from the river. The “neighbor woman” is enlisted as a co-conspirator (what is she keeping an eye on?), the “well” is symbolic, and the reference to her husband as “the child’s father” is significant in its distance. The speaker posits being “alone” as a heroic burden, but she has picked a precise spot that is screened from view. She has even worked out an excuse for physical marks on her body from her excursion. (Nail marks on a woman’s breasts were signs of passionate lovemaking.)
- 21. Classical Indian societies maintained a restrictive moral code, especially for women. The words translated as “family’s protected custom” (kula-rakshaa samucitaa) and the reference to “clan” reputation, concerned about a “stain ona good woman” (gotra…satii-laancchanam), evoke that code. Vijjaka turns that idea into a family joke, the “stain of a good woman” on their reputation for sleeping around. (It is hard to conceive of Vijjaka as a member of the royal family expressing these views in public. The subjects would reasonably consider them her own personal views and it would have implications for succession.)
- This poem balances the external, rough force of the man in the first half with the inner resistance of the woman in the second. Grabbing the hair can be either a sign of intense passion or an insult. Calling her his “most loved” or “prizedlove” indicates that he has someone else in his life. Her mantra or prayer is unusual: “mama hum”. The focusing syllable, hum, is used in many Hindu prayers, but it is usually directed to God. In this case, she directs it to herself, apparently relying on her own power.
- 30. In India, monsoon, the rainy season, is associated with love, sex, fertility, growth and rebirth in nature (associations linked to spring in other regions). When the monsoon rains are heavy, few people venture outside; most stay inside for hours or days at a time. Married couples make love indoors, and those having affairs often sneak outside, since no one else is around, to make love in the rain. This poem thrills with anticipation for the coming monsoon. The final simile imagines young play and getting dirty.
- 31. intense focused imagery with an obscure meaning, a heightened moment of perception, inspired by Kama or Desire, the God of Sexual Love. Though Kama is not named in the poem, the flower and the bow allude to him. The bright filament inside the flower suggests both the refinement and vibrant power of desire. The Kimshuka flower is bright orange or red and does resemble, in its outline, the curve of a bent bow. Though a bow is usually only drawn when taken out of its case, Vijjaka has reversed this ordinary expectation to suggest the potency of suppressed desire.
- A tightly strung comparison of a young woman with another natural wonder and divine weapon: the rainbow. The monsoon provides a context for an actual rainbow and evokes passion. (One word, raga, means both passion and color.) Originally, the rainbow was see as the Storm-God’s weapon in the sky. (The inserted hyphen in “rain-bow” tries to make that sense clearer.) The final three phrases thus allude to a bow in archery: “no string attached” describes the rain-bow in the sky and clearly could apply to the young woman, “ever-flexed” suggests a bow ready to fire, and it is “hard to reach” because a competent archer could hold off enemies from a distance.
- Many of the poems attributed to Vijjaka dwell on dark imagery; this poem piles it on. As a time of fertility, monsoon opposes the force of death. Those not making love are not fully present, not truly alive.
FURTHER READINGS:
For alternative translations of Vijjaka’s poetry, see the appendix of Kathryn Marie Sloane Geddes’s thesis “Voices from the Margins: Aesthetics, Subjectivity, and Classical Sanskrit Women Poets” here: https://open.library.ubc.ca/soa/cIRcle/collections/ubctheses/24/items/1.0371862
For further information on our translator, Dr. Steve Adisasmito-Smith, see here:
For a video featuring Dr. Steve Adisasmito-Smith’s presentation on “Humanities and the World: An Evolving Hope,” the keynote address for CSU Fresno’s 2018 Students of English Studies Association (SESA) symposium: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2q4i7iiodM
[1] A note from Averie Basch:
In my second year of undergraduate studies, I took a class taught by Dr. Steve Adisasmito-Smith, known to his students as “Dr. Steve” or even just “Steve.” An expert in Sanskrit literature and language, Steve was teaching medieval world literature and world literature classes for the English Department at California State University, Fresno, where I earned my bachelor’s degree. In these classes, I was first introduced to notable selections of world literature, including the Tale of Genji, the Recognition of Shakuntala, and the poems of Vijjaka. Steve quickly became one of my favorite professors and a valuable mentor as I transitioned into pursing graduate school. Just two years after I graduated with my BA and began my Master’s degree, I received some heartbreaking news: Steve had drowned in Hawaii while trying to rescue his children from the currents. Though Steve himself is no longer here, his work is.
Most of his translations remain unpublished, but Dr. Niken Adisasmito-Smith, Steve’s beloved wife, has given us permission to use his works in this OER book. What follows is Steve’s own introduction to Vijjaka’s poetry and his own translations.
[2] These poems are numbered according to Steve’s organization and may not align with other systems.
