Shudraka

Very little is known about the life, date and the very identity of Shudraka, the author of the play Mricchakatika. But it is certain that he was a king, learned and victorious. Mricchakatika is one of the best dramas in Sanskrit literature. Nowhere else in the hundreds of Sanskrit dramas do we find such variety, and such drawing of character, as in this drama of Shudraka, and nowhere else, in the drama at least, is there such humor. The large number of characters and the variety in such characters, the pathos, the plot, the brisk action and the rapid movement of the story, the natural sequence in the appearance of events, the tense situations, the brilliant dialogues, the profusion of popular sayings, the presentation of human emotions–all these factors together have made the drama truly interesting.

The story of the drama is about a merchant of Ujjayini. This merchant, the hero of this drama was a learned Brahmin engaged in intellectual and cultural pursuits. He was married and had a son, and he was living a life of opulence, honoured by all the citizens. But by ill luck he lost all his wealth owing to ship-wrecks. The heroine came from a community in which the women led a life of freedom and allowed their charms and their bodies to be enjoyed by those who could pay for them. She was also immensely rich and lived the same life of opulence. But she was devoted to the hero whom she met at a festival and with whom she fell in love; the love was mutual. There was the king's brother-in-law who was looking for a chance to have his carnal cravings satisfied through an association with her, and she stoutly rejected all his approaches; he had his jealousy for the merchant who was the object of her love. The drama starts with the heroine in the street walking towards home in the evening, chased by this brother-in-law of the king. At a later stage, they met again in a garden and when he found that she would not bend, he strangled her and threw her on the ground, thinking that she was dead. But she was not actually dead, and a Buddhist monk took care of her. At that time, since the heroine was missing, the king's brother-in-law accused the hero for having murdered the heroine to get at her jewels; in the court all evidences supported the accusation, the visit of the heroine to the house of the hero, the confidential companion of the hero having been found in possession of the jewels, the visit of the heroine to the garden to meet the hero as admitted by the heroine's mother, and so on. The hero was condemned to death; but at the last stage before the actual execution, the heroine appeared on the scene brought there by the Buddhist monk, and the whole situation cleared. The hero recommended pardon for his enemy who had tried to bring death on himself.

Along with this story there are many other episodes intertwined with the main plot of the drama. The number of characters appearing on the stage is really large and each one of them has individuality, with a place and a function in the development of the plot. Each one of them acts in his place and fulfils his function. It is difficult to speak of a classification of the characters into major and minor, except in a very technical way. Kings and their relatives, merchants, officials, cart-men, simple citizens with their humble avocations like shampooing, burglary, gambling, a monk, and all, come together forming a sort of "Socialistic State." There is no class division and no caste division. All are important in that State created in the drama.

It is good literature, good poetry and good drama. There is plot, there is characterization. There is feeling, there are reverses, and there is triumph and joy. There is variety in characters, in situations and in events. All that makes a drama great is here.

Here we provide from the third act of the play, a beautiful monologue of a thief by the name Sharvilka.

Sharvilka
I made an entrance for my body’s round
By force of art and arms, a path to deeds!
I skinned my sides by crawling on the ground,
Like a snake that sloughs the skin no longer sound;
And now I go where my profession leads.

[He gazes at the sky. Joyfully.] See! The blessèd moon is setting.

For well I know,

My trade would fain from watchmen’s eyes be shrouded;
Valiant, I force the dwelling of another.
But see, the stars in deepest dark are clouded,
And the night shields me like a careful mother.

I made a breach in the orchard wall and entered. And now I must force my way into the inner court as well.

Yes, let men call it vulgar, if they will,
The trade that thrives while sleeps the sleepyhead;
Yes, knavery, not bravery, call it still,
To overreach confiding folk a-bed.
Far better blame and hissing, fairly won,
Than the pay of genuflecting underlings;
This antique path was trod by Drona’s son,
Who slew the sleeping, unsuspecting kings.

But where shall I make the breach?

Where is the spot which falling drops decayed?
For each betraying sound is deadened there.
No yawning breach should in the walls be made,
So treatises on robbery declare.
Where does the palace crumble? Where the place
That niter-eaten bricks false soundness wear?
Where shall I ’scape the sight of woman’s face?
Fulfilment of my wishes waits me there.

[He feels the wall.] Here is a spot weakened by constant sun and sprinkling and eaten by saltpeter rot. And here is a pile of dirt thrown up by a mouse. Now heaven be praised! My venture prospers. This is the first sign of success for Skanda’s sons. Now first of all, how shall I make the breach? The blessèd Bearer of the Golden Lance has prescribed four varieties of breach, thus: if the bricks are baked, pull them out; if they are unbaked, cut them; if they are made of earth, wet them; if they are made of wood, split them. Here we have baked bricks; ergo, pull out the bricks.

Now what shall be the shape I give the breach?
A “lotus,” “cistern,” “crescent moon,” or “sun”?
“Oblong,” or “cross,” or “bulging pot”? for each
The treatises permit. Which one? which one?
And where shall I display my sovereign skill,
That in the morning men may wonder still?

In this wall of baked bricks, the “bulging pot” would be effective. I will make that.

At other walls that I have pierced by night,
And at my less successful ventures too,
The crowd of neighbors gazed by morning light,
Assigning praise or blame, as was my due.

Praise to the boon-conferring god, to Skanda of immortal youth! Praise to him, the Bearer of the Golden Lance, the Brahman’s god, the pious! Praise to him, the Child of the Sun! Praise to him, the teacher of magic, whose first pupil I am! For he found pleasure in me and gave me magic ointment,

With which so I anointed be,
No watchman’s eye my form shall see;
And edgèd sword that falls on me
From cruel wounds shall leave me free.

[He anoints himself.] Alas, I have forgotten my measuring line. [Reflecting.] Aha! This sacred cord shall be my measuring line. Yes, the sacred cord is a great blessing to a Brahman, especially to one like me. For, you see,

With this he measures, ere he pierce a wall,
And picks the lock, when jewels are at stake.
It serves as key to bolted door and hall,
As tourniquet for bite of worm and snake.

The measuring is done. I begin my task. [He does so, then takes a look.] My breach lacks but a single brick. Alas, I am bitten by a snake. [He binds his finger with the sacred cord, and manifests the workings of poison.] I have applied the remedy, and now I am restored. [He continues his work, then gazes.] Ah, there burns a candle. See!

Though jealous darkness hems it round,
The golden-yellow candle from its place
Shines through the breach upon the ground,
Like a streak of gold upon the touchstone’s face.

[He returns to his work.] The breach is finished. Good! I enter. But no, I will not enter yet. I will shove a dummy in. [He does so.] Ah, no one is there. Praise be to Skanda! [He enters and looks about.] See! Two men asleep. Come, for my own protection I will open the door. But the house is old and the door squeaks. I must look for water. Now where might water be? [He looks about, finds water, and sprinkles the door. Anxiously.] I hope it will not fall upon the floor and make a noise. Come, this is the way. [He puts his back against the door and opens it cautiously.] Good! So much for that. Now I must discover whether these two are feigning sleep, or whether they are asleep in the fullest meaning of the term. [He tries to terrify them, and notes the effect.] Yes, they must be asleep in the fullest meaning of the term. For see!

Their breath first calmly rises, ere it sink;
Its regularity all fear defies.
Unmoving in their socket-holes, the eyes
Are tightly closed, and never seem to wink.
The limbs relaxed, at ease the bodies lie,
I see their feet beyond the bedstead peep,
The lighted candle vexes not the eye;
It would, if they were only feigning sleep.