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Clay Sanskrit Library
The Ten Princes: Dandin's Dasha-Kumara-Charita. Translated from the Sanskrit
Each of the ten princes has several adventures on his quest to be reunited with the crown-prince. Variegated violence and sorcery figure in their exploits, but love affairs are even more prominent. Commentators have lambasted Dandin's heroes for their antiheroic, apparently random, escapades, while in fact the architecture of his plot reveals an elegant, instructive construction.
What Ten Young Men Did is a coming-of-age novel from the seventh century CE. In combat and in the bedroom, ten individuals juggle virtue and vice on their heroic progress from adolescence to maturity. Dandin's work is autobiographical in two senses: each of the young men narrates their personal experiences, while the author could not have written with such confident realism had he not had many of the same picaresque adventures in his native South India and beyond.
Co-published by New York University Press and the JJC Foundation
For more on this title and other titles in the Clay Sanskrit series, please visit http://www.claysanskritlibrary.org
Origins of the young men --
Favor for the Brahmin --
What Soma·datta did --
What Pushpódbhava did --
What Raja·váhana did --
What Raja·váhana did next --
What Aphára·varman did --
What Upahára·varman did --
What Artha·pala did --
What Prátmati did --
What Mitra·gupta did --
What Víshruta did --
What Víshruta did next --
Finale
240 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 700
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193 people want to read
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i-want-money
January 6, 2018okay then I've already done TWO non=Reviews today from Norweggie Writers that ain't been trans'd into English (and won't never likely be because a) they're too difficult to trans and b) English language litty=culty is juvenile.)
so here's a non=Review from India, of a book housed happily in the Clay Sanskrit Library. The Real Review is provided by the Lovely People at The Complete Review :: HERE ::
http://www.complete-review.com/review...
" Our Assessment:
B : fine stories, if somewhat uneven "
"...an unusual work of Sanskrit literature in that it is written in prose, Daṇḍin's work resembling a novel" [cf Moore's first volume, pp434ff]
"What Ten Young Men Did is also famous for one of the chapters, as its narrator, Mantra·gupta, has a slight problem:
so here's a non=Review from India, of a book housed happily in the Clay Sanskrit Library. The Real Review is provided by the Lovely People at The Complete Review :: HERE ::
http://www.complete-review.com/review...
" Our Assessment:
B : fine stories, if somewhat uneven "
"...an unusual work of Sanskrit literature in that it is written in prose, Daṇḍin's work resembling a novel" [cf Moore's first volume, pp434ff]
"What Ten Young Men Did is also famous for one of the chapters, as its narrator, Mantra·gupta, has a slight problem:
That man half covered his face with his lotus-like hands before beginning his own story. For his ruby lips were in an agony of agitation, perforated with bite marks that his beloved had bestowed in her forceful love-play. Hence he was compelled to speak without using the labial sounds: p, b, and m.Translator Onians gamely and impressively plays along with this lipogrammatic presentation -- right to the chapter's end, where she sighs with relief in her note: "All these labials, at last ! And a hint of self-congratulation on the part of our author ?" (as the text has: "prince Raja·váhana and all their friends applaud Mantra·gupta's skill"). "
August 19, 2025
World Sanskrit Day, 2025:
To pick up Daṇḍin’s Daśakumāracarita on World Sanskrit Day is to let one’s hands close around a living firework of narrative. Few works in Sanskrit sparkle so mischievously, burn so brightly with wit, and glow so warmly with humanity.
The Clay Sanskrit Library edition, under Isabelle Onians’ deft translation, feels like a turquoise jewel box.
Open it, and out rush ten young princes, scattered across the subcontinent, tumbling through forests, courtesans’ houses, hermitages, bandit camps, and palace halls. What they do is what the title promises: they narrate their adventures in turn, each tale adding to a sprawling mosaic of Sanskrit romance. But the deeper truth is that Daṇḍin has created not simply a sequence of stories, but a cosmos of Indian culture, a carnival of types, professions, schemes, and passions.
To read Daśakumāracarita is to walk through the whole texture of a civilization.
The work unfolds in campū style — prose sharpened to a rapid edge, interrupted and ornamented by sudden bursts of verse. The prose drives us forward, nimble and tightly coiled. The verse pauses, turns the gaze, adorns. Sometimes the verse is moral: a reminder of dharma in a moment of danger. Sometimes it is sensuous, lingering on a glance, a smile, or the lilt of a courtesan’s song.
Sometimes it mocks, delivering satire as sharp as a gambler’s throw. The alternation gives the text a rhythm like dance: fast steps, sudden spins, then graceful poses. In this, Daṇḍin achieves something remarkable — the feeling of both epic gravity and picaresque play.
Each of the ten princes is cast adrift into his own adventure. When they reunite, they take turns narrating their ordeals in the first person. This confessional immediacy gives us intimacy. We lean in, as if seated in a circle by lamplight, hearing companions unspool tales of peril, pleasure, and wit. Centuries before Boccaccio’s Decameron or the Arabian Nights, Daṇḍin was exploring the power of narrative layering: stories nested within stories, each self-contained but collectively forming a grand design.
Rājavāhana, the natural leader among the princes, sets the tone. His adventures showcase courage, diplomacy, and an instinct for turning calamity into mastery. When betrayed and left vulnerable in a foreign court, he rallies allies with nothing but eloquence.
Daṇḍin gives him verses of rhetoric that gleam like jewels:
“वाक्पटुत्वं नरपतिसभायां, शौर्यं रणेषु रिपुक्षणे।
एतद्भूषणमेव राज्ञः, न तु केवलं सुवर्णमाला।”
“In the king’s court, eloquence is adornment; in battle, valour is a jewel. These, not mere chains of gold, are the true ornaments of a ruler.”
Rājavāhana’s tale is a rehearsal for sovereignty. We glimpse the balance between idealised dharma and the cunning necessary for survival.
Apahāravarman’s tale plunges us into the world of courtesans, gamblers, and thieves. One night, lured into a courtesan’s chamber, he narrowly escapes a plot to fleece him. Daṇḍin relishes describing this urban nocturne — silk curtains, the faint smell of lamp oil, dice clattering, whispers in the dark.
The shloka he inserts is both sensual and sardonic:
“मधुपानमिव रमणीसंगः, प्रथमं मधुरो भवति।
पश्चात्तु विषसदृशः, यः शठकृतान्तो न जानाति।”
“Like the first sip of wine, it is union with a courtesan — sweet at first, but later as bitter as poison for the man who does not see through trickery.”
The prince, of course, survives by turning trickster himself. Here the satire is sharpest: cities teem with masks, reputation is fragile, and virtue can be a gamble.
Udayavarman wanders into wilderness: robber bands, deceitful merchants, hermitages at the edge of law. In one episode, he is offered shelter by a pious ascetic who turns out to be a jewel smuggler in disguise.
The moment Daṇḍin unmasks him, a verse cuts like a laugh:
“लुब्धेन तपस्विनोपाधिः, धर्मावरणं कृतम्।
मरीचिका जलवत्, मूढो जनः पतति।”
“The greedy man dons the mask of asceticism, cloaking himself in dharma. Like a mirage mistaken for water, the fool falls.”
Udayavarman’s tale shows the forest as both danger and theatre, where appearances shimmer and collapse.
As his name suggests, Bhīmaparākrama charges into combat. His episodes resound with clashing swords, flying arrows, and elephant charges. Yet Daṇḍin slyly undercuts brute valor with irony. After a victory, the prince boasts — only to be humiliated by a courtesan who mocks his scars.
The shloka that follows is almost comic:
“वज्रादपि कठिनानि, कुसुमादपि लघूनि।
नारीणां हृदयानि, दुर्ज्ञेयानि किल।”
“Harder than diamond, lighter than a flower — women’s hearts are, indeed, unfathomable.”
Thus, the warrior learns that force alone is brittle without charm, wit, or humility.
Viṣṇugupta wanders into debates with Brahmins, challenges of dharma, and the treacherous play of intellectual pride. In one scene, he demolishes a sophist with sharp repartee. Daṇḍin inserts a maxim that feels evergreen:
“शब्दैरर्थो न गृह्यते, वादिनो न विजित्य सदा।
स्वभावगुणं न जहाति, स एव सत्पुरुषः।”
“Meanings are not seized by mere words; the quibbler is never truly victorious. Only he who does not abandon his natural virtue is the good man.”
The tale reminds us: learning without integrity collapses into hollow vanity.
Pramati’s narrative is lyrical, drenched in moonlight and secret rendezvous.
A verse captures his surrender to love:
“नवनीतसमं हृदयं प्रियायाः, स्फुटमधुरं स्मितमस्याः।
कथमिव न मे मनो गृहीतम्, सकृदवलोकनसुभगेन।”
“Her heart was soft as butter, her smile bright as nectar—how could my mind not be seized by that single glance, radiant with beauty?”
Daṇḍin lingers here: balconies hung with jasmine, a lover’s trembling hand, the cruelty of dawn partings. It is the Sanskrit romance mode at full glow.
Mitragupta becomes the chronicler of politics. Exiled ministers, whispering courtiers, and double-crossing generals populate his tale.
His verse captures the precariousness of rule:
“राज्यं शशाङ्कसमं, क्षणमपि न तिष्ठति स्थिरम्।
मेघवद्भवति सदा, आगच्छति गच्छति च।”
“Kingship is like the moon — never still for even a moment. Like clouds, it comes and goes.”
His adventures teach that governance is perpetual negotiation, shadowed always by betrayal.
Mantragupta enters the uncanny: sorcerers with powders that change faces, women who vanish into air, and forests haunted by illusory palaces. Here the Sanskrit narrative opens into wonder.
A shloka, chanted like a spell:
“मायायाः शक्तिर्नित्या, जनानां मोहकारिणी।
सत्यं मिथ्या च मिश्रं, लोकव्यवहारे सदा।”
“The power of illusion is eternal, deluding mankind. Truth and falsehood are forever mingled in the world’s commerce.”
Daṇḍin’s brilliance is to let the marvellous seep into the realistic, reminding us that wonder and deception often blur.
Viśruta wanders among tribes, ascetic cults, and robber bands. His narrative feels almost ethnographic, sketching the subcontinent’s edges. He describes rituals of hunters and the stark lives of wandering mendicants.
A verse crystallises his reflection:
“नानाविधानि रूपाणि, लोकस्य चराचरस्य।
एकं तु तत्र दृश्यते, जीवनं यत्ननिबद्धम्।”
“In countless forms move the creatures of the world, yet one thing is always seen: life bound fast to striving.”
It is an almost anthropological meditation, showing Daṇḍin’s eye for diversity.
The cycle closes with Upahāravarman, who stumbles through erotic mishaps and comic misfortunes, yet always wriggles free by turning disaster into story. This is the spirit of narrative itself — laughter as survival, quick wit as weapon.
His verse is wry:
“यः स्वदुःखं हसितेन, अन्येषां कथयति सदा।
स दुःखं न अनुभवति, सुखं लभते निरन्तरम्।”
“He who tells his sorrows with laughter before others feels no sorrow, and gains joy unending.”
It is Daṇḍin’s ars poetica: the storyteller makes life endurable by narrating it.
When the ten princes reunite, their collective strength restores order. But the true reward is not the restoration of power — it is the symphony of tales itself. Each voice, each lens, each adventure broadens the cosmos. Daṇḍin has shown us the whole theatre of human striving.
The genius lies in Daṇḍin’s oscillation between satire and romance. Hypocrites are skewered: greedy ascetics, false Brahmins, and hollow kings. Yet love, valour, and beauty are still celebrated with lyrical sincerity. Cities blaze with jewels and chatter; forests brood with menace. The narrative swings between urbane wit and primal awe. The result is a text never still, always shimmering.
Daśakumāracarita stands with Subandhu’s Vāsavadattā and Bāṇa’s Kādambarī as a pillar of Sanskrit prose romance. Yet Daṇḍin is brisker, lighter, and more playful. If Bāṇa is a labyrinth, Daṇḍin is a festival street, bustling and alive. His influence spreads forward: into vernacular cycles, into the DNA of South Asian storytelling, even into global traditions of framed, episodic narrative.
On World Sanskrit Day, to hold this Clay Sanskrit Library volume — turquoise binding, Sanskrit and English side by side — is to feel continuity. The language breathes, sly and tender, mocking and earnest.
Daṇḍin’s famous maxim still rings:
“वाक्संस्कारः कृत्स्नं लोकं जयति।”
“Refined speech conquers the whole world.”
And so it does. In these tales, speech saves lives, binds companions, mocks pretenders, seduces lovers, and restores kingdoms. The ten princes are not just wanderers but avatars of the human condition: erring, desiring, scheming, falling, narrating, and rising. Their speech is their survival; their story, their destiny.
To celebrate them today is to celebrate Sanskrit itself — not frozen in ritual solemnity, but quicksilver, mischievous, and profound.
A language alive in laughter, peril, and tenderness. A festival of words.
To pick up Daṇḍin’s Daśakumāracarita on World Sanskrit Day is to let one’s hands close around a living firework of narrative. Few works in Sanskrit sparkle so mischievously, burn so brightly with wit, and glow so warmly with humanity.
The Clay Sanskrit Library edition, under Isabelle Onians’ deft translation, feels like a turquoise jewel box.
Open it, and out rush ten young princes, scattered across the subcontinent, tumbling through forests, courtesans’ houses, hermitages, bandit camps, and palace halls. What they do is what the title promises: they narrate their adventures in turn, each tale adding to a sprawling mosaic of Sanskrit romance. But the deeper truth is that Daṇḍin has created not simply a sequence of stories, but a cosmos of Indian culture, a carnival of types, professions, schemes, and passions.
To read Daśakumāracarita is to walk through the whole texture of a civilization.
The work unfolds in campū style — prose sharpened to a rapid edge, interrupted and ornamented by sudden bursts of verse. The prose drives us forward, nimble and tightly coiled. The verse pauses, turns the gaze, adorns. Sometimes the verse is moral: a reminder of dharma in a moment of danger. Sometimes it is sensuous, lingering on a glance, a smile, or the lilt of a courtesan’s song.
Sometimes it mocks, delivering satire as sharp as a gambler’s throw. The alternation gives the text a rhythm like dance: fast steps, sudden spins, then graceful poses. In this, Daṇḍin achieves something remarkable — the feeling of both epic gravity and picaresque play.
Each of the ten princes is cast adrift into his own adventure. When they reunite, they take turns narrating their ordeals in the first person. This confessional immediacy gives us intimacy. We lean in, as if seated in a circle by lamplight, hearing companions unspool tales of peril, pleasure, and wit. Centuries before Boccaccio’s Decameron or the Arabian Nights, Daṇḍin was exploring the power of narrative layering: stories nested within stories, each self-contained but collectively forming a grand design.
Rājavāhana, the natural leader among the princes, sets the tone. His adventures showcase courage, diplomacy, and an instinct for turning calamity into mastery. When betrayed and left vulnerable in a foreign court, he rallies allies with nothing but eloquence.
Daṇḍin gives him verses of rhetoric that gleam like jewels:
“वाक्पटुत्वं नरपतिसभायां, शौर्यं रणेषु रिपुक्षणे।
एतद्भूषणमेव राज्ञः, न तु केवलं सुवर्णमाला।”
“In the king’s court, eloquence is adornment; in battle, valour is a jewel. These, not mere chains of gold, are the true ornaments of a ruler.”
Rājavāhana’s tale is a rehearsal for sovereignty. We glimpse the balance between idealised dharma and the cunning necessary for survival.
Apahāravarman’s tale plunges us into the world of courtesans, gamblers, and thieves. One night, lured into a courtesan’s chamber, he narrowly escapes a plot to fleece him. Daṇḍin relishes describing this urban nocturne — silk curtains, the faint smell of lamp oil, dice clattering, whispers in the dark.
The shloka he inserts is both sensual and sardonic:
“मधुपानमिव रमणीसंगः, प्रथमं मधुरो भवति।
पश्चात्तु विषसदृशः, यः शठकृतान्तो न जानाति।”
“Like the first sip of wine, it is union with a courtesan — sweet at first, but later as bitter as poison for the man who does not see through trickery.”
The prince, of course, survives by turning trickster himself. Here the satire is sharpest: cities teem with masks, reputation is fragile, and virtue can be a gamble.
Udayavarman wanders into wilderness: robber bands, deceitful merchants, hermitages at the edge of law. In one episode, he is offered shelter by a pious ascetic who turns out to be a jewel smuggler in disguise.
The moment Daṇḍin unmasks him, a verse cuts like a laugh:
“लुब्धेन तपस्विनोपाधिः, धर्मावरणं कृतम्।
मरीचिका जलवत्, मूढो जनः पतति।”
“The greedy man dons the mask of asceticism, cloaking himself in dharma. Like a mirage mistaken for water, the fool falls.”
Udayavarman’s tale shows the forest as both danger and theatre, where appearances shimmer and collapse.
As his name suggests, Bhīmaparākrama charges into combat. His episodes resound with clashing swords, flying arrows, and elephant charges. Yet Daṇḍin slyly undercuts brute valor with irony. After a victory, the prince boasts — only to be humiliated by a courtesan who mocks his scars.
The shloka that follows is almost comic:
“वज्रादपि कठिनानि, कुसुमादपि लघूनि।
नारीणां हृदयानि, दुर्ज्ञेयानि किल।”
“Harder than diamond, lighter than a flower — women’s hearts are, indeed, unfathomable.”
Thus, the warrior learns that force alone is brittle without charm, wit, or humility.
Viṣṇugupta wanders into debates with Brahmins, challenges of dharma, and the treacherous play of intellectual pride. In one scene, he demolishes a sophist with sharp repartee. Daṇḍin inserts a maxim that feels evergreen:
“शब्दैरर्थो न गृह्यते, वादिनो न विजित्य सदा।
स्वभावगुणं न जहाति, स एव सत्पुरुषः।”
“Meanings are not seized by mere words; the quibbler is never truly victorious. Only he who does not abandon his natural virtue is the good man.”
The tale reminds us: learning without integrity collapses into hollow vanity.
Pramati’s narrative is lyrical, drenched in moonlight and secret rendezvous.
A verse captures his surrender to love:
“नवनीतसमं हृदयं प्रियायाः, स्फुटमधुरं स्मितमस्याः।
कथमिव न मे मनो गृहीतम्, सकृदवलोकनसुभगेन।”
“Her heart was soft as butter, her smile bright as nectar—how could my mind not be seized by that single glance, radiant with beauty?”
Daṇḍin lingers here: balconies hung with jasmine, a lover’s trembling hand, the cruelty of dawn partings. It is the Sanskrit romance mode at full glow.
Mitragupta becomes the chronicler of politics. Exiled ministers, whispering courtiers, and double-crossing generals populate his tale.
His verse captures the precariousness of rule:
“राज्यं शशाङ्कसमं, क्षणमपि न तिष्ठति स्थिरम्।
मेघवद्भवति सदा, आगच्छति गच्छति च।”
“Kingship is like the moon — never still for even a moment. Like clouds, it comes and goes.”
His adventures teach that governance is perpetual negotiation, shadowed always by betrayal.
Mantragupta enters the uncanny: sorcerers with powders that change faces, women who vanish into air, and forests haunted by illusory palaces. Here the Sanskrit narrative opens into wonder.
A shloka, chanted like a spell:
“मायायाः शक्तिर्नित्या, जनानां मोहकारिणी।
सत्यं मिथ्या च मिश्रं, लोकव्यवहारे सदा।”
“The power of illusion is eternal, deluding mankind. Truth and falsehood are forever mingled in the world’s commerce.”
Daṇḍin’s brilliance is to let the marvellous seep into the realistic, reminding us that wonder and deception often blur.
Viśruta wanders among tribes, ascetic cults, and robber bands. His narrative feels almost ethnographic, sketching the subcontinent’s edges. He describes rituals of hunters and the stark lives of wandering mendicants.
A verse crystallises his reflection:
“नानाविधानि रूपाणि, लोकस्य चराचरस्य।
एकं तु तत्र दृश्यते, जीवनं यत्ननिबद्धम्।”
“In countless forms move the creatures of the world, yet one thing is always seen: life bound fast to striving.”
It is an almost anthropological meditation, showing Daṇḍin’s eye for diversity.
The cycle closes with Upahāravarman, who stumbles through erotic mishaps and comic misfortunes, yet always wriggles free by turning disaster into story. This is the spirit of narrative itself — laughter as survival, quick wit as weapon.
His verse is wry:
“यः स्वदुःखं हसितेन, अन्येषां कथयति सदा।
स दुःखं न अनुभवति, सुखं लभते निरन्तरम्।”
“He who tells his sorrows with laughter before others feels no sorrow, and gains joy unending.”
It is Daṇḍin’s ars poetica: the storyteller makes life endurable by narrating it.
When the ten princes reunite, their collective strength restores order. But the true reward is not the restoration of power — it is the symphony of tales itself. Each voice, each lens, each adventure broadens the cosmos. Daṇḍin has shown us the whole theatre of human striving.
The genius lies in Daṇḍin’s oscillation between satire and romance. Hypocrites are skewered: greedy ascetics, false Brahmins, and hollow kings. Yet love, valour, and beauty are still celebrated with lyrical sincerity. Cities blaze with jewels and chatter; forests brood with menace. The narrative swings between urbane wit and primal awe. The result is a text never still, always shimmering.
Daśakumāracarita stands with Subandhu’s Vāsavadattā and Bāṇa’s Kādambarī as a pillar of Sanskrit prose romance. Yet Daṇḍin is brisker, lighter, and more playful. If Bāṇa is a labyrinth, Daṇḍin is a festival street, bustling and alive. His influence spreads forward: into vernacular cycles, into the DNA of South Asian storytelling, even into global traditions of framed, episodic narrative.
On World Sanskrit Day, to hold this Clay Sanskrit Library volume — turquoise binding, Sanskrit and English side by side — is to feel continuity. The language breathes, sly and tender, mocking and earnest.
Daṇḍin’s famous maxim still rings:
“वाक्संस्कारः कृत्स्नं लोकं जयति।”
“Refined speech conquers the whole world.”
And so it does. In these tales, speech saves lives, binds companions, mocks pretenders, seduces lovers, and restores kingdoms. The ten princes are not just wanderers but avatars of the human condition: erring, desiring, scheming, falling, narrating, and rising. Their speech is their survival; their story, their destiny.
To celebrate them today is to celebrate Sanskrit itself — not frozen in ritual solemnity, but quicksilver, mischievous, and profound.
A language alive in laughter, peril, and tenderness. A festival of words.
June 4, 2024
Introduction:
"Though Dandin has long been noted for style, it is the Dasa's substance, with its rich variety of characters and situations, which is of greater interest today. Dandin's psychological insights and powers of characterization are not confined to the major figures in his story, the ten princes led by Rajavahana and the latter's father, the exiled king. He also vivifies the minor personages: the hermit and the merchant, and the dancing girl who seduces them; the old minister cast aside by the young king; the love- struck police chief and the nurse turned procuress; and many others. His lively accounts of situations include assassinations and executions; dance festivals and roval assemblies; springtime romances and naval battles; the domesticity of the kitchen and the horrors of famine. He takes the reader into palaces and prisons, hermitages and harems, pleasure parks and fearful forests. He describes at length the training of a courtesan, the education of a prince, and the taxing daily schedule of a king. In equal detail he explains how to cook a dish of rice and the tools for burgling a house. The Dasa also has fantastic episodes with supernatural beings; at the same time it is an absorbing social document."
"It can also be argued that Dandin is a realist rather than a moralist, and presents life as it is. His characters also include noble rulers and loyal ministers, loving mothers and devoted friends; and wicked deeds are interspersed with spontaneous acts of generosity and courage. More important, perhaps, is the fact that the Dasa is not a didactic work but meant, above all, to entertain. Its portrayals are basically light-hearted; they are touched with irony even in passages of intensity. The whole work is pervaded by the humour of the wild deeds of the princes.' The issue of its amorality also needs to be seen in this perspective."
TALES OF THE TEN PRINCES:
"On the advice of the ministers the wise Vasumati spoke to him tenderly:
'Majesty, you are the most excellent among all kings in prowess and valour, yet you live today in the middle of the Vindhya forest. This shows that power with all its splendour is only like a bubble of water. It comes and goes like a flash of lightning. It is necessary to remember that everything is in the hands of fate. In the past too there were innumerable kings like Harischandra and Ramachandra, whose magnificence equalled that of the king of heaven. They suffered many sorrows due to the quirks of fate, but eventually ruled over their kingdoms for a long time. Your Majesty will do likewise. So spend some time in prayer and patience till present problems melt away.'"
"The king marvelled greatly at the absence of good luck which had affected all his friends at the same time."
""Such loveliness could certainly not have been the result of deliberate design when the Creator made womankind,' thought Rajavahana, as he gazed upon her with wonder and delight. 'If that lotus-born god was such an expert, why could he not create other maidens of equal beauty?'"
"Thus did the princess and the prince come to know about each other's previous births and identities. Recalling more incidents to each other, their hearts were filled with love."
"If a client has been accepted out of friendship, but the fee cannot be realized, the courtesan's only resort is the ruler or the law-court. But the daughter should be kept faithful to a client in love with her; his remaining wealth can be extracted in the shape of gifts: those given in the normal course, or on special occasions, or as tokens of love. Money from clients can also be obtained by a variety of other stratagems."
"The courtesan should only attract the client; she should not fall in love with him. Even if she falls in love, she should not disobey her mother or grandmother. This is the condition. But this girl has infringed her own duties ordained by the gods. She has spent a whole month at her own expense, in dalliance with an unknown young Brahmin whose only wealth is his beauty. She has rejected and annoyed numerous suitors with plenty of money. And she is ruining her family in the process."
"Observing his infatuation, she once said with a smile when they were alone: "People are fools to consider artha and kāma on the same level as dharma.... The impermissible conduct of the gods in such cases did not detract from dharma because of the power of their wisdom. Passion cannot soil the mind purified by dharma just as dust cannot besmirch the sky. That is why I believe that artha and kama cannot equal even a hundredth part of dharma.'
'The sage was aroused. "You minx!" he cried, "you are right! In those who have seen the absolute, dharma cannot be impeded by sensual indulgence."
"Kama concerns the special and delightful contact between man and woman when the minds of both are focused on the senses. Its methods are all that is pleasing and beautiful. Its fruit, born of mutual embraces, is a palpable and self-evident pleasure which nothing can surpass. It gives infinite joy, increases self- confidence, and is ever sweet to remember. Highly placed people endure great discomforts and give vast sums, engage in bitter fights and undertake fearful journeys across the sea, just for this pleasure."
"'It was either her wiles or his folly, or even fate, but on hearing her words the sage abandoned his penances and fell for her completely. She took the fool in a covered carriage through the highway to the city where she installed him in her own house. It was announced that a festival of love would take place on the following day.
"On the morrow the sage Marichi was taken to the place of the festival through the city's prosperous main boulevard. Bathed and perfumed, he wore a fine floral garland and had already begun to assume rakish manners. He could not bear to be parted from the courtesan even for a moment. His interest in his former mode of life had disappeared completely."
"On arrival in the city I learnt from local gossip that it was full of rich and miserly people. Demonstrating the transitoriness of wealth could restore them to a more natural condition. So I decided to follow the precepts of Karnisuta, and enter the profession of crime."
""Why this rashness?" he asked. "Poverty," I replied, "which is the sibling of humiliation." "Son, you are a fool," he said with compassion, "there is no greater sin than suicide. Good people help themselves by effort, and not by self-destruction. There are many ways of earning money, but not one of repairing a severed neck to restore life. What will you get from this?""
"It is a characteristic of madness and inebriation that they impel one to actions, even wrong ones, to which one is accustomed. I was so drunk that I declared to Raga Manjari: In just one night I can remove the entire wealth of this city and fill your house with it.' Then, ignoring all the supplications and adjurations of my agitated wife, I rushed out, sword in hand, like an elephant in rut which has suddenly broken its chains."
"On the other hand no one here knows me or who I am. Even my parents are unaware of me, what to say of the others. So I will need to find ways for achieving my purpose."
"I spent the night in a corner of that monastery on a bed of straw. 'This problem cannot be solved without some stratagem,' I thought to myself, and women are the breeding place for stratagems. So I must learn what goes on in the inner apartments from this old nurse and spread my net through her.' While I was thinking thus, night rolled back, shaken by the sun's swift stallions as they rose from the sea; and the sun itself appeared, still cool from its sojourn in the ocean's womb."
"'Go to her with perfumes and garlands from me,' I told Pushkarika. 'Engender in her a dislike for her husband by playing upon their dissimilarities and his defects. Make her feel regretful by telling her about Vasavadatta and others who had worthy husbands. Find out with suitable efforts about the king's secret love-life with his other women, and incite her fury by revealing it to her.'"
"The pains I have suffered in this world have overshadowed my fears of the next," the queen added. "The pain of being forced to live with an obnoxious person is intolerable for women whose hearts are like quivers full of Kama's arrows."
"Meanwhile, the sun turned red, as if bloodied by its fall from the mountain peaks of eventide. Descending into the western ocean, it went out like a piece of burning coal dipped into water. And, like the swirling smoke, darkness spread in the sky. The moon, that eminent luminary who coveted the spouse of his guru, arose as if to guide me to my rendezvous with another's wife."
"How will I live? What is this, O my heart? You decide to do what should not be done, and when that proves impossible, you get so convulsed? O lord Kama, how have I offended you that you burn me thus and not incinerate me once for all?'"
"Her soft eyes widened with pleasure as we made love. After she was satisfied, I noticed that they had reddened, and the gaze had turned sidelong. A faint line of perspiration moistened her brow, and she moaned incessantly with a sweet sound. Her limbs, now bearing the red marks left by my love bites and scratches, were inert. I also relaxed my mental and bodily concentration to match her condition. We separated at that moment, experiencing for sometime the afterglow of the act of love and a deep mutual confidence as if we had long known each other. I then gave vent to a long, hot sigh and, looking at her a little timidly and shyly stretching my arms, gave her a hug not too firm and a kiss less than emphatic."
"As I was circumambulating the temple, I saw a man of gigantic proportions girding on his belt with immense arms like beams of iron. His eyes were red and swollen with tears.
"This is a hardened man,' I told myself, 'yet his dull eyes reveal a certain distress. From his ways he seems reckless and uncaring, even for his own life; he will certainly get into some trouble and also create problems for his dear ones. Let me ask if I can help him in any way.' Going up to him, I then said: 'Sir, your actions indicate that you are a man of courage. I would like to know the cause of your sorrow if it is not a secret.'"
"On my saying that I felt for him as if he were my own child, the Yaksha king observed: "This poor girl speaks the truth," and narrated at length the story of the boy's origins.
What I learnt was this. You indeed are Saunaka as well as Sudraka, who are no different from Kama Pala. Bandhumati, Vinayavati and Kantimati are the same person. Vedimati, AryadasT and Soma Devi are also one. Hansävali, Surasena and Sulochana are identical, and so are Nandini, Rangapataka and Indrasena. The cowherd's girl, whom you took to wife in front of the sacred fire when you were Saunaka, was later Aryadasi and is Taravali today. This child you had sired from me when you were Südraka and I was Aryadasi. He was lovingly nourished by Vinayavati, and had now been born to Käntimati."
"Tears of joy filled my eyes as I listened to her and, with many comforting words, I embraced my love of previous lives again and again. Then, in a great mansion materialized by her magic powers, I enjoyed, day and night, the pleasures which are difficult to obtain on this earth."
"'Well,' I concluded, 'she is certainly not a goddess. She is asleep, like a lily gently caressed by the moon's rays. There is a line of perspiration on her temple, like the nectar drops which flow and spot the ripe, pale mango fruit when it is plucked from the stem. The cosmetic pomade on her breasts has been discoloured by the irresistible flush of youth. Both her garments are dishevelled by use. So, she is only human.'"
"Aware of his humiliation as the merchant-sailors bound him tightly in my own chains, while they greeted me with loud cheers, I said to the prince: 'My dear, do you see now the turns which luck can take?'"
"'What a lovely hillside,' I thought, 'this valley full of fragrant resins is even more charming. The cool water of the mountain stream, glittering like peacock feathers with drops of lotus nectar, and this expanse of forest full of trees and creepers with many coloured flowers is delightful.' Looking avidly at these sights, I soon reached the top of the mountain without realizing it."
"There is a city called Kanchi in the Dravidian country. Once upon a time there lived in it a rich merchant's son named Sakti Kumara who was a multi-millionaire himself. When he was in his eighteenth year, he began to consider: "There is no happiness without a wife for certain, moreover without one who is congenial. So how should I set about finding a spouse with the necessary qualities?' Not discerning these in matrimonial matches suggested by others, he disguised himself as a soothsayer who makes divinations by interpreting bodily marks, and took to wandering with a measure of unhusked rice tied in the end of his garment."
"Once Kalaha-Kantaka saw a portrait carried by a visiting artist. The sight alone of the woman depicted in it aroused desire in his heart. 'Sir,' he said to the artist, 'this portrait seems full of contradictions. Such a figure is rare for a woman of good family. Yet the modest demeanour shows respectable lineage. The face looks fresh and the body inexperienced, but the glance is full of maturity. The hair is not worn in a single braid, nor are there other signs to indicate that her lord has gone away. The nail marks are moreover on the right side. So it must be the wife of some old and less than virile merchant, suffering from the absence of the pleasures she deserves, whom you have so expertly and faithfully portraved.'"
""The ways of fate are strange,' said King Rajavahana, 'but your prowess at the right time was tremendous.'"
"Kama drew his bowstring to the ear and struck me without mercy in the heart. The princess' glances bound me in a chain of iron. Fixing my gaze on the slave, I said: 'Kama will destroy me if I do not do what this round-hipped maiden says.'"
"The priests and suchlike arrive in the eighth watch of the night. 'A bad dream was seen tonight,' they say, 'the planets are ill-positioned. The omens are inauspicious. A pacification must be carried out. All the implements for the sacrifice must be made of gold. This will make the ritual efficacious. These Brahmins are virtually like the god Brahma. The ritual of pacification performed by them will be extremely beneficial. They are versed in the sacrifice and full of energy. But they are stricken with poverty, have many children, and have not received any gifts to this day. Presents to them will yield long life and paradise thereafter, and dispel all adversities.' Arranging numerous donations in this way, the priests themselves enjoy their proceeds in secret."
"It is possible that future calamities may bring our king back to his senses. The discomforts of misfortune sometimes give occasion for regret. But even that may not induce him towards proper conduct. Well, so be it. A disaster is bound to occur."
""Gambling too has merits. The renunciation of quantities of wealth, as if it is no more than straw, gives an incomparable liberality of the temperament. The uncertainty of gain or loss makes the heart impervious to joy or sorrow. The capacity increases for wrath, the prime fount of valour.
The observation of exceedingly subtle legerdemain with dice and sleights of hand provides an infinite sharpness to the intellect. Concentration on one subject assures an exceptional single-mindedness. Delight increases in daring, the companion of enterprise. Competition with the strong-minded makes for self-confidence, indomitability and magnanimity."
"The enjoyment of excellent women, on its part, brings to fruition the pursuit of both virtue and wealth," Chandra Palita would add. "It enhances man's self-esteem. It skills him in judging emotions, promotes proficiency in all the arts, and prompts effort unafflicted by greed. The readiness of mind and speech are improved by the constant devising of new expedients: to make a new conquest; to safeguard it, once made; to enjoy it, once secured; to savour its pleasures and to propitiate angry mistresses. The body is kept trim and well-dressed, leading to respect in society. Friends become
dearer, and servants more attentive. One speaks with a smile, radiates authority and acts with courtesy. The procreation of children further provides benefits in both this and the next world.
"As for drinking, it is efficacious in the cure of all kinds of illness. Sufficient potation of wine preserves much desired youth. It elevates the ego, enabling all sorrows to be disregarded. It kindles passion and stimulates the capacity for sexual enjoyment. Erasing the memory of past offences, it clears the mind of the pricks of guilt. Trust is increased by innocent, uninhibited talk. Happiness is intensified by the absence of envy. Sound and other sensory perceptions are enhanced. The inclination to drink in company encourages hospitality. The limbs acquire unparalleled charm and peerless grace. The fighting spirit grows and fear and distress disappear. Similarly, harshness in speech, cruelty in punishment and impropriety in financial affairs are helpful, depending on the occasion. A king given to quietism like a hermit cannot defeat his enemies or maintain the state."
"All governance,' I considered, 'depend on three factors: counsel. authority and energy. When they complement each other these factors ensure progress in the affairs of state. By counsel and consultation alone can proper decisions be made about the state's objectives. To pursue them requires authority and their accomplishment depends on energetic efforts. The tree of statesmanship, if it is to benefit the leader, must have as its root the five elements of counsel; the two aspects of authority as its trunk; and the four categories of effort as its branches. It should also have the seventy-two attributes as its leaves, the six qualities as the buds, and power and achievement as the flowers and the fruit. Even then this tree needs many supports and cannot be cultivated without assistance."
"Though Dandin has long been noted for style, it is the Dasa's substance, with its rich variety of characters and situations, which is of greater interest today. Dandin's psychological insights and powers of characterization are not confined to the major figures in his story, the ten princes led by Rajavahana and the latter's father, the exiled king. He also vivifies the minor personages: the hermit and the merchant, and the dancing girl who seduces them; the old minister cast aside by the young king; the love- struck police chief and the nurse turned procuress; and many others. His lively accounts of situations include assassinations and executions; dance festivals and roval assemblies; springtime romances and naval battles; the domesticity of the kitchen and the horrors of famine. He takes the reader into palaces and prisons, hermitages and harems, pleasure parks and fearful forests. He describes at length the training of a courtesan, the education of a prince, and the taxing daily schedule of a king. In equal detail he explains how to cook a dish of rice and the tools for burgling a house. The Dasa also has fantastic episodes with supernatural beings; at the same time it is an absorbing social document."
"It can also be argued that Dandin is a realist rather than a moralist, and presents life as it is. His characters also include noble rulers and loyal ministers, loving mothers and devoted friends; and wicked deeds are interspersed with spontaneous acts of generosity and courage. More important, perhaps, is the fact that the Dasa is not a didactic work but meant, above all, to entertain. Its portrayals are basically light-hearted; they are touched with irony even in passages of intensity. The whole work is pervaded by the humour of the wild deeds of the princes.' The issue of its amorality also needs to be seen in this perspective."
TALES OF THE TEN PRINCES:
"On the advice of the ministers the wise Vasumati spoke to him tenderly:
'Majesty, you are the most excellent among all kings in prowess and valour, yet you live today in the middle of the Vindhya forest. This shows that power with all its splendour is only like a bubble of water. It comes and goes like a flash of lightning. It is necessary to remember that everything is in the hands of fate. In the past too there were innumerable kings like Harischandra and Ramachandra, whose magnificence equalled that of the king of heaven. They suffered many sorrows due to the quirks of fate, but eventually ruled over their kingdoms for a long time. Your Majesty will do likewise. So spend some time in prayer and patience till present problems melt away.'"
"The king marvelled greatly at the absence of good luck which had affected all his friends at the same time."
""Such loveliness could certainly not have been the result of deliberate design when the Creator made womankind,' thought Rajavahana, as he gazed upon her with wonder and delight. 'If that lotus-born god was such an expert, why could he not create other maidens of equal beauty?'"
"Thus did the princess and the prince come to know about each other's previous births and identities. Recalling more incidents to each other, their hearts were filled with love."
"If a client has been accepted out of friendship, but the fee cannot be realized, the courtesan's only resort is the ruler or the law-court. But the daughter should be kept faithful to a client in love with her; his remaining wealth can be extracted in the shape of gifts: those given in the normal course, or on special occasions, or as tokens of love. Money from clients can also be obtained by a variety of other stratagems."
"The courtesan should only attract the client; she should not fall in love with him. Even if she falls in love, she should not disobey her mother or grandmother. This is the condition. But this girl has infringed her own duties ordained by the gods. She has spent a whole month at her own expense, in dalliance with an unknown young Brahmin whose only wealth is his beauty. She has rejected and annoyed numerous suitors with plenty of money. And she is ruining her family in the process."
"Observing his infatuation, she once said with a smile when they were alone: "People are fools to consider artha and kāma on the same level as dharma.... The impermissible conduct of the gods in such cases did not detract from dharma because of the power of their wisdom. Passion cannot soil the mind purified by dharma just as dust cannot besmirch the sky. That is why I believe that artha and kama cannot equal even a hundredth part of dharma.'
'The sage was aroused. "You minx!" he cried, "you are right! In those who have seen the absolute, dharma cannot be impeded by sensual indulgence."
"Kama concerns the special and delightful contact between man and woman when the minds of both are focused on the senses. Its methods are all that is pleasing and beautiful. Its fruit, born of mutual embraces, is a palpable and self-evident pleasure which nothing can surpass. It gives infinite joy, increases self- confidence, and is ever sweet to remember. Highly placed people endure great discomforts and give vast sums, engage in bitter fights and undertake fearful journeys across the sea, just for this pleasure."
"'It was either her wiles or his folly, or even fate, but on hearing her words the sage abandoned his penances and fell for her completely. She took the fool in a covered carriage through the highway to the city where she installed him in her own house. It was announced that a festival of love would take place on the following day.
"On the morrow the sage Marichi was taken to the place of the festival through the city's prosperous main boulevard. Bathed and perfumed, he wore a fine floral garland and had already begun to assume rakish manners. He could not bear to be parted from the courtesan even for a moment. His interest in his former mode of life had disappeared completely."
"On arrival in the city I learnt from local gossip that it was full of rich and miserly people. Demonstrating the transitoriness of wealth could restore them to a more natural condition. So I decided to follow the precepts of Karnisuta, and enter the profession of crime."
""Why this rashness?" he asked. "Poverty," I replied, "which is the sibling of humiliation." "Son, you are a fool," he said with compassion, "there is no greater sin than suicide. Good people help themselves by effort, and not by self-destruction. There are many ways of earning money, but not one of repairing a severed neck to restore life. What will you get from this?""
"It is a characteristic of madness and inebriation that they impel one to actions, even wrong ones, to which one is accustomed. I was so drunk that I declared to Raga Manjari: In just one night I can remove the entire wealth of this city and fill your house with it.' Then, ignoring all the supplications and adjurations of my agitated wife, I rushed out, sword in hand, like an elephant in rut which has suddenly broken its chains."
"On the other hand no one here knows me or who I am. Even my parents are unaware of me, what to say of the others. So I will need to find ways for achieving my purpose."
"I spent the night in a corner of that monastery on a bed of straw. 'This problem cannot be solved without some stratagem,' I thought to myself, and women are the breeding place for stratagems. So I must learn what goes on in the inner apartments from this old nurse and spread my net through her.' While I was thinking thus, night rolled back, shaken by the sun's swift stallions as they rose from the sea; and the sun itself appeared, still cool from its sojourn in the ocean's womb."
"'Go to her with perfumes and garlands from me,' I told Pushkarika. 'Engender in her a dislike for her husband by playing upon their dissimilarities and his defects. Make her feel regretful by telling her about Vasavadatta and others who had worthy husbands. Find out with suitable efforts about the king's secret love-life with his other women, and incite her fury by revealing it to her.'"
"The pains I have suffered in this world have overshadowed my fears of the next," the queen added. "The pain of being forced to live with an obnoxious person is intolerable for women whose hearts are like quivers full of Kama's arrows."
"Meanwhile, the sun turned red, as if bloodied by its fall from the mountain peaks of eventide. Descending into the western ocean, it went out like a piece of burning coal dipped into water. And, like the swirling smoke, darkness spread in the sky. The moon, that eminent luminary who coveted the spouse of his guru, arose as if to guide me to my rendezvous with another's wife."
"How will I live? What is this, O my heart? You decide to do what should not be done, and when that proves impossible, you get so convulsed? O lord Kama, how have I offended you that you burn me thus and not incinerate me once for all?'"
"Her soft eyes widened with pleasure as we made love. After she was satisfied, I noticed that they had reddened, and the gaze had turned sidelong. A faint line of perspiration moistened her brow, and she moaned incessantly with a sweet sound. Her limbs, now bearing the red marks left by my love bites and scratches, were inert. I also relaxed my mental and bodily concentration to match her condition. We separated at that moment, experiencing for sometime the afterglow of the act of love and a deep mutual confidence as if we had long known each other. I then gave vent to a long, hot sigh and, looking at her a little timidly and shyly stretching my arms, gave her a hug not too firm and a kiss less than emphatic."
"As I was circumambulating the temple, I saw a man of gigantic proportions girding on his belt with immense arms like beams of iron. His eyes were red and swollen with tears.
"This is a hardened man,' I told myself, 'yet his dull eyes reveal a certain distress. From his ways he seems reckless and uncaring, even for his own life; he will certainly get into some trouble and also create problems for his dear ones. Let me ask if I can help him in any way.' Going up to him, I then said: 'Sir, your actions indicate that you are a man of courage. I would like to know the cause of your sorrow if it is not a secret.'"
"On my saying that I felt for him as if he were my own child, the Yaksha king observed: "This poor girl speaks the truth," and narrated at length the story of the boy's origins.
What I learnt was this. You indeed are Saunaka as well as Sudraka, who are no different from Kama Pala. Bandhumati, Vinayavati and Kantimati are the same person. Vedimati, AryadasT and Soma Devi are also one. Hansävali, Surasena and Sulochana are identical, and so are Nandini, Rangapataka and Indrasena. The cowherd's girl, whom you took to wife in front of the sacred fire when you were Saunaka, was later Aryadasi and is Taravali today. This child you had sired from me when you were Südraka and I was Aryadasi. He was lovingly nourished by Vinayavati, and had now been born to Käntimati."
"Tears of joy filled my eyes as I listened to her and, with many comforting words, I embraced my love of previous lives again and again. Then, in a great mansion materialized by her magic powers, I enjoyed, day and night, the pleasures which are difficult to obtain on this earth."
"'Well,' I concluded, 'she is certainly not a goddess. She is asleep, like a lily gently caressed by the moon's rays. There is a line of perspiration on her temple, like the nectar drops which flow and spot the ripe, pale mango fruit when it is plucked from the stem. The cosmetic pomade on her breasts has been discoloured by the irresistible flush of youth. Both her garments are dishevelled by use. So, she is only human.'"
"Aware of his humiliation as the merchant-sailors bound him tightly in my own chains, while they greeted me with loud cheers, I said to the prince: 'My dear, do you see now the turns which luck can take?'"
"'What a lovely hillside,' I thought, 'this valley full of fragrant resins is even more charming. The cool water of the mountain stream, glittering like peacock feathers with drops of lotus nectar, and this expanse of forest full of trees and creepers with many coloured flowers is delightful.' Looking avidly at these sights, I soon reached the top of the mountain without realizing it."
"There is a city called Kanchi in the Dravidian country. Once upon a time there lived in it a rich merchant's son named Sakti Kumara who was a multi-millionaire himself. When he was in his eighteenth year, he began to consider: "There is no happiness without a wife for certain, moreover without one who is congenial. So how should I set about finding a spouse with the necessary qualities?' Not discerning these in matrimonial matches suggested by others, he disguised himself as a soothsayer who makes divinations by interpreting bodily marks, and took to wandering with a measure of unhusked rice tied in the end of his garment."
"Once Kalaha-Kantaka saw a portrait carried by a visiting artist. The sight alone of the woman depicted in it aroused desire in his heart. 'Sir,' he said to the artist, 'this portrait seems full of contradictions. Such a figure is rare for a woman of good family. Yet the modest demeanour shows respectable lineage. The face looks fresh and the body inexperienced, but the glance is full of maturity. The hair is not worn in a single braid, nor are there other signs to indicate that her lord has gone away. The nail marks are moreover on the right side. So it must be the wife of some old and less than virile merchant, suffering from the absence of the pleasures she deserves, whom you have so expertly and faithfully portraved.'"
""The ways of fate are strange,' said King Rajavahana, 'but your prowess at the right time was tremendous.'"
"Kama drew his bowstring to the ear and struck me without mercy in the heart. The princess' glances bound me in a chain of iron. Fixing my gaze on the slave, I said: 'Kama will destroy me if I do not do what this round-hipped maiden says.'"
"The priests and suchlike arrive in the eighth watch of the night. 'A bad dream was seen tonight,' they say, 'the planets are ill-positioned. The omens are inauspicious. A pacification must be carried out. All the implements for the sacrifice must be made of gold. This will make the ritual efficacious. These Brahmins are virtually like the god Brahma. The ritual of pacification performed by them will be extremely beneficial. They are versed in the sacrifice and full of energy. But they are stricken with poverty, have many children, and have not received any gifts to this day. Presents to them will yield long life and paradise thereafter, and dispel all adversities.' Arranging numerous donations in this way, the priests themselves enjoy their proceeds in secret."
"It is possible that future calamities may bring our king back to his senses. The discomforts of misfortune sometimes give occasion for regret. But even that may not induce him towards proper conduct. Well, so be it. A disaster is bound to occur."
""Gambling too has merits. The renunciation of quantities of wealth, as if it is no more than straw, gives an incomparable liberality of the temperament. The uncertainty of gain or loss makes the heart impervious to joy or sorrow. The capacity increases for wrath, the prime fount of valour.
The observation of exceedingly subtle legerdemain with dice and sleights of hand provides an infinite sharpness to the intellect. Concentration on one subject assures an exceptional single-mindedness. Delight increases in daring, the companion of enterprise. Competition with the strong-minded makes for self-confidence, indomitability and magnanimity."
"The enjoyment of excellent women, on its part, brings to fruition the pursuit of both virtue and wealth," Chandra Palita would add. "It enhances man's self-esteem. It skills him in judging emotions, promotes proficiency in all the arts, and prompts effort unafflicted by greed. The readiness of mind and speech are improved by the constant devising of new expedients: to make a new conquest; to safeguard it, once made; to enjoy it, once secured; to savour its pleasures and to propitiate angry mistresses. The body is kept trim and well-dressed, leading to respect in society. Friends become
dearer, and servants more attentive. One speaks with a smile, radiates authority and acts with courtesy. The procreation of children further provides benefits in both this and the next world.
"As for drinking, it is efficacious in the cure of all kinds of illness. Sufficient potation of wine preserves much desired youth. It elevates the ego, enabling all sorrows to be disregarded. It kindles passion and stimulates the capacity for sexual enjoyment. Erasing the memory of past offences, it clears the mind of the pricks of guilt. Trust is increased by innocent, uninhibited talk. Happiness is intensified by the absence of envy. Sound and other sensory perceptions are enhanced. The inclination to drink in company encourages hospitality. The limbs acquire unparalleled charm and peerless grace. The fighting spirit grows and fear and distress disappear. Similarly, harshness in speech, cruelty in punishment and impropriety in financial affairs are helpful, depending on the occasion. A king given to quietism like a hermit cannot defeat his enemies or maintain the state."
"All governance,' I considered, 'depend on three factors: counsel. authority and energy. When they complement each other these factors ensure progress in the affairs of state. By counsel and consultation alone can proper decisions be made about the state's objectives. To pursue them requires authority and their accomplishment depends on energetic efforts. The tree of statesmanship, if it is to benefit the leader, must have as its root the five elements of counsel; the two aspects of authority as its trunk; and the four categories of effort as its branches. It should also have the seventy-two attributes as its leaves, the six qualities as the buds, and power and achievement as the flowers and the fruit. Even then this tree needs many supports and cannot be cultivated without assistance."
May 5, 2021
'De avonturen van de tien prinsen' is een raamvertelling waarin één prins een avontuur beleeft in de onderwereld en zijn negen metgezellen onderwijl naar hem op zoek gaan. Wanneer ze na zestien jaar weer verenigd worden, vertelt iedere prins zijn verhaal, waarin elk met list en bedrog een mooie prinses aan de haak slaat en een koninkrijk verwerft.
Het boek is gesitueerd in en rond het oude Magadha-koninkrijk dat in Dandins tijd al enkele eeuwen terziele was. Het resultaat is een avonturenroman in een heel barokke stijl, rijk aan bijvoeglijke naamwoorden en gelijkenissen. Vooral de bloemrijke beschrijvingen van mooie vrouwen vallen op. Opmerkelijk zijn de vele bovennatuurlijke wezens, diverse al dan niet gespeelde gedaanteverwisselingen, de soms zeer aanwezige rol van reïncarnatie, waarbij de geliefden elkaar van vorige levens herkennen en de zichtbare rol van seks. Wat dat laatste betreft, is onderstaande passage met daarin een beschrijving van het vrouwelijk orgasme (hoofdstuk VIII, blz. 105) het opmerkelijkst:
"Met deze woorden omarmde ik haar. Ik bracht haar in vervoering, waarbij haar ogen groot en zacht werden door het liefdesgenot. Toen ik bemerkte dat zij een hoogtepunt bereikte, dat haar weggedraaide ogen rood waren, dat haar wangen hun glans verloren door het opkomen van een lichte transpiratie, dat zij zonder terughouding ongearticuleerde kreten slaakte, dat zij mij beet en krabde met haar rode tanden en nagels, dat haar ledematen volkomen ontspannen waren en dat zij als het ware zichzelf niet meer meester was, liet ook ik de beheersing van lichaam en geest varen en gaf mij over aan eenzelfde toestand als de hare. Nadat wij ons tegelijkertijd uit elkaars armen hadden losgemaakt, toefden wij een ogenblik, als mensen die lang met elkaar vertrouwd zijn, genietend van het naspel."
'De avonturen van de tien prinsen' is een vermakelijk en onderhoudend boek uit een heel andere tijd. Het enige wat de leesbaarheid echt bemoeilijkt zijn de vele namen die voor de Westerse lezer allemaal op elkaar lijken, ook omdat ze van helden, mooie vrouwen of schurken zijn zonder verdere herkenbare eigenschappen.
Het boek is gesitueerd in en rond het oude Magadha-koninkrijk dat in Dandins tijd al enkele eeuwen terziele was. Het resultaat is een avonturenroman in een heel barokke stijl, rijk aan bijvoeglijke naamwoorden en gelijkenissen. Vooral de bloemrijke beschrijvingen van mooie vrouwen vallen op. Opmerkelijk zijn de vele bovennatuurlijke wezens, diverse al dan niet gespeelde gedaanteverwisselingen, de soms zeer aanwezige rol van reïncarnatie, waarbij de geliefden elkaar van vorige levens herkennen en de zichtbare rol van seks. Wat dat laatste betreft, is onderstaande passage met daarin een beschrijving van het vrouwelijk orgasme (hoofdstuk VIII, blz. 105) het opmerkelijkst:
"Met deze woorden omarmde ik haar. Ik bracht haar in vervoering, waarbij haar ogen groot en zacht werden door het liefdesgenot. Toen ik bemerkte dat zij een hoogtepunt bereikte, dat haar weggedraaide ogen rood waren, dat haar wangen hun glans verloren door het opkomen van een lichte transpiratie, dat zij zonder terughouding ongearticuleerde kreten slaakte, dat zij mij beet en krabde met haar rode tanden en nagels, dat haar ledematen volkomen ontspannen waren en dat zij als het ware zichzelf niet meer meester was, liet ook ik de beheersing van lichaam en geest varen en gaf mij over aan eenzelfde toestand als de hare. Nadat wij ons tegelijkertijd uit elkaars armen hadden losgemaakt, toefden wij een ogenblik, als mensen die lang met elkaar vertrouwd zijn, genietend van het naspel."
'De avonturen van de tien prinsen' is een vermakelijk en onderhoudend boek uit een heel andere tijd. Het enige wat de leesbaarheid echt bemoeilijkt zijn de vele namen die voor de Westerse lezer allemaal op elkaar lijken, ook omdat ze van helden, mooie vrouwen of schurken zijn zonder verdere herkenbare eigenschappen.
August 3, 2022
It was a very interesting and intriguing book, making me want to read each young man's story. I loved the poetic and beautiful descriptions and want to know more about Dandin, and what influenced him. It is speculated at the beginning that the book is partly autobiographical which is very interesting. I liked the beautiful and sensual description of many of the men's lovers and how he describes the couple's falling in love. I'd like to know how common these kind of descriptions are of women. I'd love to see if there was any art of these stories because the stories are very picturesque taking place in many different places. I'm reading Manu's law code at the same time and there is a lot of cross over in this book. You learn alot about the society and life of the time in India. The book indeed does feel fragmentarily in places particularly the end which seems to be a summary of what happened but that's not the fault of the original writer. Also interested in whether this book was part of a larger story.
November 4, 2022
A Romance of Ancient India. More here: https://ahotcupofpleasureagain.wordpr...
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April 15, 20227th - prose romance
Ten princes
Ten princes
May 6, 2021
Translated by Rangeya Raghav, this is a better translation than most available in Hindi.
August 14, 2021
The Dandi is a best story teller ever. What a description of ten Prince abounding stories.
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