On Representation: Some Details of the Nāṭyaśāstra

Margarida Coelho de Assis

Treball Final de Màster

Tutors: Xavier Riu Camps i Ignasi-Xavier Adiego Lajara

Màster en Cultures i Llengües de l’Antiguitat

Facultat de Filologia de la Universitat de Barcelona

2019



Table of contents

Introduction 1

Words for representation 10

anukṛti and anukaraṇa 11

anubhāvana and anukīrtana 28

anudarśaka and anudarśana 33

dharmī 36

A few notes on some concepts 50

rasa and bhāva 50

abhinaya 54

sattva and svabhāva 55

Conclusion 57

References 59

Appendix: correspondence between Baroda and Calcutta editions’ chapters 67

Acknowledgments

I always thought including acknowledgments in a work is a sign of great confidence in

it. For why thanking if we did not accomplish anything? Also, no one would write
down a dear person’s name on pages not worthy of it.

You see, I was wrong.

This page would hardly accommodate a list of all the close friends, distant
acquaintances, teachers, colleagues and strangers that have variously inspired me and,
one way or another, contributed to the final result of this project. There are some,
however, whose mention is unavoidable.

I would like to thank my advisors, whose wisdom and erudition have constantly
stimulated me: Professor Xavier Riu, for his generosity, ceaseless involvement and
enlightenment; Professor Ignasi Adiego, for his prompt counsel, fine discernment and
steady pragmatism.

Dr. M.ª Elena Sierra has been much more than my Sanskrit teacher, and I am
forevermore indebted to her for her time, insight and magnanimity.
Sah navvtu, Sah naE Éun´…, Sah vIy¡ krvavhE, tejiSv navxItmStu ma iviÖ;avhE,

My brilliant parents, two stellar rocks endlessly shining down on me.

Oliver, my daily delirium, my go-to rubber ducky.
My miraculous brother. My tender yet unbreakable grandmother.

Also, for many different reasons: Anuja Ajotikar, Aleix Ruiz Falquès, Simon Tharby,
Adrianne Jeffries, William Jeffries, Mary Hall, David Barnes, Olga Solà i Viñas,
Ariadna Arriaza, Núria Sala Grau, Sudha Seetharaman, Anand Kamalakar, Manuel
Recio, Chhote Rahimat Khan, tots el companys de Sànscrit, companys i professors del
màster, Diana Neiva, Ana Alexandra, Kate Cunningham, César Gomes, Rodrigo
Francisco, João de Matos, Joana Estrada, Gustavo Guiral, Ramon Solé, Rafael
Coutinho, Francisco Domingues.
Introduction

My interest in the Nāṭyaśāstra1 began for all the wrong reasons. Thinking about ancient
examples of literary criticism, or literary criticism in the ancient world, Aristotle’s
Poetics, inescapable as it is, came to my mind. I had the luck of attending, precisely at
that time, some classes by Professor Riu, whose Catalan translation of the text had just
been published. The book’s introduction, discussing key concepts of the text, some of
them popularly misinterpreted for centuries, struck me for its clarity and perspicacity,
presenting Aristotle’s system with great appeal to both my logical and artistic senses.
I wondered whether such beautiful concepts as µίµησις had an equivalent in Sanskrit,
and the Nāṭyaśāstra looked like the right place to start looking. Little did I know these
are completely different texts in nature: one, a lacunary collection of notes on poetry,
on some theoretical concepts, on tragedy and how to compose one; the other, an
exhaustive treatise, a manual for actors, producers and everyone involved in the public
presentation of an artistic performance. What is core and essential in the Poetics, i.e., a
purely theoretical, ‘scientific’ definition and description of all the elements of the form
of art under analysis, on the subject of literary criticism, is almost contingent in the
Nāṭyaśāstra, and vice versa2.

I soon learned there is a long tradition of scholarly comparison between the two texts3,
considering the time of the discovery of the Nāṭyaśāstra in the West, in the second half
of the nineteenth century, when Fitzedward Hall brought to light, as an appendix to
his edition of the Daśarūpa, some of its chapters, which he, by the time of the
publication, considers ‘excrescences’4, having too recently been acquainted with a
‘complete copy of Bharata’s work’5. One of the first to suggest, seemingly under

1 Sanskrit treatise attributed to Bharata Muni, composed or compiled between the second
century B.C and the second century C.E., dealing with everything that involves the staging of a
dramatic production, i.e., nāṭya, a word formed with the secondary suffix -ya, from either naṭa,
‘dancer’, or nāṭa, ‘dance’, both derived from the root √nṛt, ‘to dance’, whose prākṛtic form came
to be √naṭ. The distinction between dancer and actor was probably not clearly defined, their
domains being one and the same, to which all of these words referred.
2 In effect, while Aristotle certainly understands drama as a performance, his references to it
are few and allusive, subsidiary to his main interest, the composition.
Another conspicuous difference is that what in the Poetics intends to be a historical account of
the origin of drama with no intervention of the divine (1448b 4 - 1449a 30), in the Nāṭyaśāstra
is a mythical account in which a divinity, Brahmā, invents nāṭya.
3 This topic is part of the older discussion about the origin of Indian drama, which can be
followed in a series of writings by a number of scholars arguing for or against Greek influence
on it. See: Weber 1859: 314-327; Windisch 1882; Schroeder 1887: 591-609; Smith 1889; Lévi
1890: 341-366; Keith 1910, and 1924: 57-68; Rawlinson 1916: 155-180; Banerjee 1920 (chapter
X). More recently: Walker 2004; Fatima 2015 (chapter I).
4 Hall 1865: 37
5 The question of authorship, controversial until today, is not one we are going to focus on. For
a discussion on that subject, see: Srinivasan 1980; Vatsyayan 1996; Gupt 2016: 29-32.
1
Windisch’s advice, that the latter text might invite comparison with the Poetics was Max
Lindenau, on his dissertation, Beiträge zur altindischen Rasalehre, mit besonderer
Berücksichtigung des Nāṭyaśāstra des Bharata Muni6, which, although inaccessible to us, is
abundantly cited with reference to that suggestion. Besides other authors’ remarks
about it7 , Lindenau himself, in a contribution for a commemorative volume in honor of
Windisch8, summarizes some of the reasons put forward in his work, and adds a few
more, to suppose Bharata was influenced by Aristotle – being a disciple of Windisch’s,
one of the postulators of the Greek influence on Indian drama 9, the direction and
inclination of the comparison is unsurprising. One of those reasons is the purported
coincidence, in both texts, of the so-called rule of the three unities: time, space and
action, the first of which had already been considered a sign of Aristotle’s influence on
Bharata by Windisch himself, as Lindenau points out in his first footnote. In fact, both
the Poetics and the Nāṭyaśāstra contain remarks about this specific matter, while not
perfectly agreeing on the content: Aristotle speaks briefly of an effort to be made by the
playwright to keep the action within the limits of one day10; Bharata, on the other
hand, puts that same restriction, but to each act 11 (a play can have up to ten).
References to unity of place are completely absent from both texts – actually one of the
most refined artifices of Indian theater, as described in the Nāṭyaśāstra, is the expedient
through which changes of place are indicated by the actors12. As to unity of action,
starting with the Poetics, this idea is not only intimately related to, but also absolutely
dependent on the concepts of εἰκὸς and ἀναγκαῖον13, if we consider, for example, the
way Aristotle justifies Homer’s exclusion of certain episodes from the Odissey for the
sake of unity: ὧν οὐδὲν θατέρου γενοµένου ἀναγκαῖον ἦν ἢ εἰκὸς θάτερον γενέσθαι14.
Essentially, unity of action is achieved if the events in the plot are causally
concatenated, and this is the actual rule – unity of action is the result of applying it. In
the Nāṭyaśāstra, at 18.22, we have a simple instruction either not to put many actions
inside one single act or the exact opposite, depending on the manuscripts and

6 Lindenau 1913
7 See Konow 1920: 41 and Winternitz 1985: 193.
8 Lindeunau 1914
9 See note 3.
10 1449b 12-13
11 See 18.21. Gupt (2016: 206) believes it refers to the time of performance, not of action.
12 See 13.3-17.
13 See Riu 2017: 29-47.
141451a 27-28: ‘since it was not necessary or natural that one thing happened because the
other thing happened’.
2
editions15. As a matter of fact, the difference lies only in the way one breaks the word:
eka-aṅkena is the singular instrumental of eka-aṅka, ‘a single act’; but another option
would be to split it even further, eka-aṅke na, which is the singular locative of eka-aṅka
followed by the negative particle na. This depends exclusively on the space between the
characters in devanāgarī, so it is not at all surprising that a situation like this would
come up.
Regardless of that, what I found most interesting is the use of the word āvaśyaka,
‘necessity’, translated by Ghosh16 as 'routine duties', but to me inevitably redolent of
Aristotle’s ἀναγκαῖον. It may be mere coincidence, and I should grant that dictionaries
present 'religious duty' as another meaning of āvaśyaka, but were I interested in
comparing Aristotle and Bharata with regard to the unity of action, I would certainly
explore this in connection with the definitions and descriptions of aṅka, ‘act’, and each
of the elements and parts of the plot (chapter 19). However, a study of that concept,
āvaśyaka, would probably require an investigation into the wider philosophical and
cultural context, outside the scope of the present work.

Another basis for Lindenau’s conjecture was the existence, in the Nāṭyaśāstra, of a
theatrical concept like ‘Nachahmung’, which was, and is, the common German
translation of the Aristotelian µίµησις17. That became one of the longer-lasting
comparative motives of the two texts, and the one that, as said before, first aroused our
interest. One of the biggest problems in the present state of the investigation is that
many of those who take part in it think of Aristotelian µίµησις as 'imitation'18, falling
heir to a tradition of reception of the Poetics oblivious of the actual text (in fact, one of
the sources of misunderstandings and inaccuracies is the fact that most scholars read
one of the two texts in translation19, sometimes even both 20), or at least dated.
Virtually all the translations of Aristotle’s Poetics, for centuries, have been influenced by
the one current in the Renaissance, which rendered µίµησις as imitatio, a word whose
very etymology seems to be related to the idea of replica21. Then it had, undoubtedly, a

15 The Baroda edition presents the second one: ekāṅke na [v.l. ekāṅkena] kadācidbahūni kāryāṇi
yojayeddhīmān । āvaśyakāvirodhena tatra kāryāṇi kāryāṇi 'The wise should not bring many actions
together at once in one single act, for actions are to be acted without opposition to necessity', or
'The wise should bring many actions together through one single act: here actions are to be
acted without opposition to necessity'.
16 (1951, 1961): Ghosh’s is the most generally known English translation of the Nāṭyaśāstra,
following his own edition of the Sanskrit text.
17 Lindenau 1914: 38
18 Massey 1992; Virtanen 2006; Dimitrova 2015; Chmiel 2015; Dave-Mukherji 2016
19 Ley 2000; Gupt 2016; Seferiadi 2017
20 Banuand & Subbiah 2016
21Considering, for instance, the Hittite cognate with imago, himma- ‘imitation, substitute’ (De
Vaan 2008).
3
positive connotation that has been transferred to what in the following epochs turned
out to be not only incompatible with it, but also its antithesis: originality.
But it is not so obvious what a word like ‘image’ or ‘imitation’ could mean to these
civilizations; after all, these are our words, not theirs, which certainly confines our
understanding considerably, as in fact we can see by the shortcoming of our
translations: µίµησις has a scope of meaning that we can only match using different
words in each context; for instance, in Plato and Aristotle, according to the type of
relationship with life assumed: reproduction or representation, respectively. In other
words, µίµησις can refer both to a copy and to a creation, which, to us, is almost
contradictory, considering an even pejorative sense associated with the words ‘copy’
and ‘imitation’, which is based on the idea that the result of that process is alienated
from a supposed original.
But our contempt for the imitator, as we may call them, is most of all due to their
intention: the distance from the original, in these cases minimal, is only disturbing, and
maximized, inasmuch as it aims at not being noted, illuding and misleading us. What
Aristotle does, rejecting that Platonic conception, is to assume as his premise that the
µιµούµενος does not want to duplicate situations and characters, but to invent them,
better or worse than what we are22, life as a point of reference, not a model.
Thus, with Aristotle, µίµησις loses the degraded status Plato had given it, and becomes
art’s virtue, its declared design of doing something which is not an extension of life.
That is why words like ‘representation’ should be preferred to ‘imitation’.

However, a persistent association of µίµησις with concepts such as imitation and

realism explains why nowadays so many scholars, both Indian and Western, consider
µίµησις and anukaraṇa/anukṛti non-equivalent on the grounds of the latter being an
'independent creation free of the model'23.
Sukla (1977), who dedicated his doctoral dissertation to this particular question, is one
of the few who do not look at that independence of the work of art as a difference
between the two concepts, giving a detailed account of the Aristotelian µίµησις as a
creative process, albeit using the word ‘imitation’24.
Dhawan (2010) follows more or less the same line of thought, taking into account the
distinctiveness of art’s materials, objects and functions, as laid down by the Stagirite,
and therefore loosening its bonds with real life. He further states that ‘Bharata and
Aristotle had the same concept of imitation in their minds’25.

Dhawan’s work focuses on other aspects of the two texts, besides the notions of
imitation/representation. Some of his assumptions, especially those concerning parallels

22 See Poetics 1448a 16-18.

23 Gupt 2016: 93
24 Sukla has translated some Greek texts into Odia, including Aristotle’s Poetics.
25 Dhawan 2010: 73
4
and mutual influences, may be considered a bit overreaching, but the very question
that prompted his investigation, ‘Could Bharata and Aristotle, the two great theorists
on the art of dramaturgy, have directly or indirectly been influenced by one another?’,
would hardly accept a modest answer, for it cannot be approached without a previous
thorough study of both texts and, so far as this is feasible, of their respective conditions
and time of composition – being mindful, also, of the context of the common origin and
the general possible influences between the Indian and the Greek traditions. It is
certainly not possible to include such a study in the present work.
Quite often, as we can see, the comparative studies between the Poetics and the
Nāṭyaśāstra take a genetic approach, i.e., one that looks for evidence of the influence of
one text over the other, the most frequent supposition being that Bharata’s work was
influenced by Aristotle’s.
Our intention was never to address these texts in that fashion, but rather through a
typological comparison, i.e., one that does not look for lineage and takes note not only
of the similarities, but also of the differences, seeing how two prominent cultural and
literary traditions deal with similar issues. This method avoids forced interpretations in
order to find similarities, for it does not presuppose any kinship between the texts. In
fact, the process is quite the opposite: evidence of any relationship between the objects
under analysis could be gathered inductively, but this should arise from the comparison
itself, not coming determined by a hypothesis squeezing unnatural conclusions.

The question of the ‘theory of imitation’ in the Nāṭyaśāstra, if the treatise really
comprises such a thing, needs, first of all, to have recourse to an overview of all the
words that are used to express that idea. That was our first concern. We collected all
the contexts in which anukaraṇa, anukṛti, anubhāvana, anukīrtana, anudarśaka and
anudarśana are found, and, after translating them, we tried to discern the essential
quality of each of them. To our knowledge, no other work has accomplished this so far
– Gupt (2016) entangles the whole thing, mixing up some of these words with
compounds formed by them (bhāva-anukīrtana, loka-vṛtta-anukaraṇa, sapta-dvīpa-
anukaraṇa), and even saṅkīrtana, whose inclusion in this list we do not quite understand
(not to mention we cannot find it in the verses he indicates 26).
Anyhow, Gupt does not seem to be an inheritor of Sukla’s, since he says about
Aristotelian µίµησις that it 'retains the condition of being a copy of a model'. His
contribution to the investigation is, however, noteworthy for the structured analysis he
does of both cultural manifestations as 'systems of performance', in the broader context
of hieropraxis27. Thus, the components of drama as a visual and aural product, and
their features, are examined against an Indo-European background.
One of the most significant contributions of Gupt’s book, in our view, is the section
dedicated to lokadharmī and nāṭyadharmī, where the author rejects the widespread

26 Gupt 2016: 99
27 For more on Indian drama as hieropraxis see Lidova’s contributions, especially Drama and
Ritual in Early Hinduism (1994).
5
translations of the pair, particularly 'realistic vs. conventional', but also 'popular vs.
classic'.
Realism is, according to Herbert Read, ‘one of the most meaningless art historical
terms there is’28 , and it will only become more and more meaningless as we use it to
describe more and more things, especially those we do not even have direct access to,
like ancient performances. As will be seen from our translation and commentary of the
portions of the Nāṭyaśāstra dealing with lokadharmī, it is not out of the question that a
certain straightforwardness or even a precise reproduction of some features of the
world, like physical spontaneous reactions, – which are not necessarily characteristic of
all realisms – would be involved in this practice, but under no circumstances as an end
in itself, on the contrary, only as long as it benefits critical purposes, like the
conveyance of emotion, and certainly accompanied by other extremely stylized
components. Considering those details manifestations of realism is a very narcissistic
way of reading these descriptions and forcing them into our own patterns. Bearing this
in mind, we tried to stick to the literal meaning of the text as much as possible, and not
to read our expectations into it.

Since 1914 many have been the angles from which the subject of comparison between
the Poetics and the Nāṭyaśāstra has been observed. One of them is the postcolonial
approach. Celebration of a certain Eastern 'transcendentalism' by Indian scholars has
meant acceptance of the dichotomy created by the colonizer, who claimed the ability to
artistically represent the world with exactness and fidelity – what we here may call
naturalism – only for themselves, as a 'colonial weapon of drawing lines between self
and the other'29. In fact, the assertion of cultural idiosyncrasies as differentia assumes
the Western world as the standard just as much as seeking after similarities with it in
order to legitimize and validate Eastern aesthetics 30. G. Seferiadi, in her analysis of the
reception of the Poetics by Indian scholars, goes so far as to reject any sort of
comparativism as a superfluous, purely colonial practice that inevitably assumes
'Western unquestionable superiority'31. On the other hand, Parul Dave-Mukherji, in
her pursuit of a place for naturalism in Indian aesthetics32, whose extinction she
attributes to 'pioneering art historians such as A. K. Coomaraswamy', while tracing the
origin of the dispute against a theory of representation based in naturalistic principles
(like the one she imprecisely considers to be Aristotelian) back to Abhinavagupta, on

28As quoted by Peyton Skipwith in the film What is Realism?, on the subject of the exhibition
True to Life, which took place two years ago in the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art
(video available at YouTube, transcript available at https://www.nationalgalleries.org/sites/
default/files/features/What%20Is%20Realism.pdf).
29 Dave-Mukherji 2016: 71
30 Seferiadi 2017
31 Ibidem: 254
32 Dave-Mukherji 2016 and 2017
6
his Abhinavabhāratī, the oldest extant commentary to the Nāṭyaśāstra (tenth to eleventh
century CE). Dave-Mukherji illustrates the deep-rooted influence of such theories of
unrepresentativeness in Indian aesthetical and artistic thought with significant
examples of contemporary authors that fail to let the texts speak for themselves,
evidently inhibited and limited by that polarization.
At some level, the same reasons that make Seferiadi consider comparativism an idle
exercise seem to be what, to Dave-Mukherji, imposes comparison: 'The very fact that
there exists no one-to-one correspondence between anukṛti and mimesis takes us into
the heart of a theoretical problem of cultural difference and simultaneously compels us
to take up a comparative approach that can register cultural overlaps and
differences'33. The author suggests a new comparative attitude, in 'contemporary terms
rather than the ones that were laid down during the first quarter of the twentieth
century'34. Indeed, it is not conceivable, nowadays, to disregard the connections
between colonizer and colonized, for their identities and references are now
intertwined, and inevitably define and bound their world views, which is not saying
that similarities or differences should be sought after, but only that it is impossible to
elude one’s own background, and so it is better to assume it than to pretend it does not
exist.

In our case, Aristotle’s Poetics was the platform from which questions started to arise.
That is not something we felt should be avoided, for reasons stated above: they would
have to come from somewhere – and it is always better to come from Aristotle than
from my own mind, passing myself off as an impossible tabula rasa. Truth is we would
not know where to start from, with the Nāṭyaśāstra, probably would not even have
started, were it not for the curiosity of knowing what the ancient Indians had to say –
or not – about some of the topics examined in the Poetics. But then, of course, we did
not look for the answers outside the Sanskrit text, in fact that is why we decided to
translate the sections of the text where the concepts we wanted to study appear, to then
be able to comment on them with greater propriety.

Not only the extension but also the complexity of the Nāṭyaśāstra made us gradually
abandon our original intention of doing a more systematic comparison with the Poetics,
which turned out to be a constant yet modest company, unlocking thoughts and
narrowing the overwhelming way through the Sanskrit text, although never imposing
on it. Indeed, we realized it can be treacherous to undertake a comparison, be it genetic
or typological, not having made a previous work of terminological clarification.
Therefore, when trying to establish categories inside the Nāṭyaśāstra we held on to this
parallel system of theoretical structure. It is only based on these strict terms of external
objective reference of what a poetics may be that we engage in this study, while the
Sanskrit text must be, by all means, the main source of the analysis.

33 Dave-Mukherji 2016: 73
34 Ibidem: 75
7
Many are the investigations concerned exclusively with the Nāṭyaśāstra (not even
considering the materials in Hindi and other Indian languages, unfortunately beyond
our capabilities), but the number of works devoted to that subsidiary part of the text
which is the theoretical conception of nāṭya is remarkably exceeded by those concerned
with more practical aspects, like dance.

We had access to two glossaries 35, both of them dance-oriented, with little detail and
depth touching on more abstract ideas. A concise yet thorough work of this type,
dedicated to those ideas, would be very much appreciated as a general introduction to
the text for those trying to approach it from a more theoretical standpoint.
Kapila Vatsyayan (1967) presents a schematic view of some of those key concepts for
the theory and practice of nāṭya in an article still very useful in that it emphasizes and
sheds light on the relationships between them, namely dharmī, vṛtti and abhinaya. It is
clear that these three concepts, less popular than rasa and bhāva36, for instance, deserve
more and more investigation.
For lack of time, we did not go into vṛtti, and our work does not comment on it.
Furthermore, from the readings we can refer to on this topic, Bansat-Boudon 1993 and
Lidova37, it seems to be an abstruse concept with strong sacral affiliations, particularly
hard to examine within the strictly aesthetical context, as another variable of
representation.

The text

We used the Baroda edition38, which was the only complete critical edition available to
us. We used the second revised edition of the first volume, which was actually printed
after two of the other three volumes that make up this edition of the Nāṭyaśāstra,
published by Gaekwad’s Oriental Series, the last two being posterior to the death of
Ramakrishna Kavi, the main editor. Unless we inform the reader otherwise, it is that
edition we will be using when referring to the text, which we will do using only the
number of the chapter and śloka or prose section.

The translations we here present are noticeably analytical, as literal as possible,

sometimes at the expense of a more literary, appealing rendering of the text, but
hopefully providing an impression very close to the Sanskrit original. It is actually

35 Gupta 1994; Laxmi 2011

36 For an overview of these two concepts, as well as of abhinaya, see pp. 50-54.
37 in Tripathi 2014: 28-50
38 Most of it can be found at the Sanskrit Documents Collection online (https://
sanskritdocuments.org/), in both devanāgarī and transliteration, although not always with
perfect accuracy. This was, however, extremely helpful to search the text.
8
reassuring to bear in mind that, apart from some exceptional more narrative parts, the
tone of the text generally lacks excitement, being quite that of an encyclopedic manual.
On the other hand, the commentaries often register my progression of thought,
including questions and doubts I came across, so that the reader can track the stages of
my reasoning and follow me towards the conclusions, which can also promote a more
accurate dialogue about them.

One of the main difficulties of working with the Nāṭyaśāstra, besides the scarcity of
editions and translations available or accessible, is the lack of agreement between those
existent. Even the number of chapters varies from one to the other, so it is only to be
expected that the number of śloka inside each chapter differs too, as well as their
disposition. In order to be able to navigate between the four volumes we worked with
and Ghosh’s edition and translation, we tried to establish a general correspondence
between their chapters, whose imperfect result we here present in an appendix.
Moreover, the definition of terms used in a specialized way, different from their current
meanings, sometimes even ‘words the technical meaning of which tradition has no
trace’39, is another source of problems (especially when translating parts instead of the
whole text). As always, a deep knowledge of the cultural context, related works and
philosophical aspects is determining in the apprehension and analysis of the text,
opening innumerous doors, from which our ignorance lets us see but a few. As
Rancharya puts it, ‘all the elements that could make a book difficult to an average
reader are there’40.

Finally, a note on style: I am, as I should be, aware of the fact that the use of nosism is
not absolutely consistent throughout the work, but I am too young and small not to
assure the reader of that in advance. Not all of the ‘we’ are modestiae – in fact I am not
sure whether any of them are. Sometimes I am trying to include the reader, sometimes
I am thinking about people with whom I have discussed the ideas here presented,
specially my advisors; sometimes I am just subtly avoiding full credit for statements
whose pertinence I am not sure about. There are other occasions, however, when a
certain personal tone imposes itself – and who am I to resist?

39 Rangacharya 2011: 2
40 ibidem
9
 Words for representation

In the following pages we present a translation of all the instances of the six words we
found in the Nāṭyaśāstra to, one way or another, refer to representation. They all have
one thing in common, the prefix anu-41, which is the element that establishes the
connection between the product of that process and its source, indicating that the
referent of the word is not the thing itself but its artistic version, one that has no
effectiveness out of the stage, just as worldly things do not enter the stage, as we will
see.

The nucleus of each word expresses a particular aspect of representation, according to

the verbal root behind it, and, even though the nuances that draw the distinction
between them are sometimes very subtle, we tried to be as faithful as possible to the
etymology.

√kṛ, ‘to make’, √bhū, ‘to become’, √kṝt, ‘to praise’, and √dṛś, ‘to see’, are the four roots
from which those six words derive, the first two generally alluding to the process of
converting things into theatrical objects; while the third and the fourth seem to be more
associated with the presentation or performance.

Some of these words, however, are not always used in this technical sense, so to say,
sometimes alluding to activities or events occurring inside the play, i.e., carried out by
characters, instead of actors. We can thus make a general distinction between internal
and external frames of reference: inside nāṭya, characters usually have intentions
similar to ours in our daily activities, as opposed to the creative, artistic purpose of
staging something, which would agree with the description of what an actor or a
director does. These are, to us, very different procedures in nature, but we will find
that they can be identically designated.

41 Monier-Williams: ’ind. (as a prefix to verbs and nouns, expresses) after, along, alongside,
lengthwise, near to, under, subordinate to, with. (…)’.
10
anukṛti and anukaraṇa

pUv¡ k«ta mya naNdI ýazIvRcns<yuta . 1·56.

Aòa¼pds<yu´ ivicÇa vedinimRta ,

tdNte=nuk«itbR˜a ywa dETya> surEijRta> . 1·57.

pūrvaṁ kṛtā mayā nāndī hyāśīrvacanasaṁyutā ॥ 1.56॥

aṣṭāṅgapadasaṁyuktā vicitrā vedanirmitā ।
tadante‘nukṛtirbaddhā yathā daityāḥ surairjitāḥ ॥ 1.57॥

First I made the prologue, consisting of a benediction,

full of words in their eight classes42, variegated, imbued with the veda;
thereafter, a representation of the daitya43 chained, subdued by the sura44.

42 At 14.4, introducing vācikābhinaya, the verbal conveyance (see p. 54), we are given its eight
elements, which are probably what this aṣṭāṅgapada refers to: nāma, ‘noun’, ākhyāta, ‘verb’,
nipāta, ‘particles’, upasarga, ‘prefix’/‘preposition’, samāsa, ‘compounds’, taddhita, ‘derivative
nouns’, sandhi, ‘euphonic combination’, vibhakti, ‘declension’.
43 A genus of demons.
44sura is originally a classification based on behavior: those who act in accordance with dharma,
‘duty’, ‘virtue’, are sura, as against asura, wrongful beings. Many times, however, sura
synechdochely stands for deva, which are superior, divine beings.
11
nanaÉavaepsMpÚ< nanavSwaNtraTmkm!,

laekv&Äanukr[< naq(metNmya k«tm!. 1·112.

nānābhāvopasampannaṁ nānāvasthāntarātmakam ।
lokavṛttānukaraṇaṁ nāṭyametanmayā kṛtam ॥ 1.112॥

Furnished with many states, composed of many changing situations,

this nāṭya45 I made is the representation of the turnabouts of the world.

tÚaÇ mNyu> ktRVyae ÉviÑrmraNàit,

sÝÖIpanukr[< naq(metÑiv:yit. 1·117.

tannātra manyuḥ kartavyo bhavadbhiramarānprati ।

saptadvīpānukaraṇaṁ nāṭyametadbhaviṣyati ॥ 1.117॥

There is no reason for you to feel wrath towards the immortals:46

this nāṭya will be a representation of the seven islands47.

45We will keep the Sanskrit word, as nāṭya probably involves more than what we understand
by mere drama; as E. G. Carlotti puts it, drawing it nearer to the modern concept of
performance, 'l’introduzione del termine nāṭya in sanscrito, approssimativamente due millenni
or sono, testimonia la visione di un’identità di funzione per tutto ciò che è qualificabile come
una forma di espressione artistica dal vivo, senza alcun interesse per una distinzione di generi
specifici' (Carlotti, 2018). We would go even further and say that nāṭya also includes the
composition and production of those artistic manifestations. As we will see in the following
pages, the Nāṭyaśāstra is an all-encompassing text, the reference book for anyone involved,
indirectly as it may be, in the staging of a performance.
46Brahmā is here addressing the daitya, who were resentful of the re-enactment of their defeat
(see 1.57).
47jambūdvīpa, plakṣadvīpa, śālmalīdvīpa, kuśadvīpa, krauñcadvīpa, śākadvīpa and pukṣaradvīpa are
names of either planets or continents that illustrate the levels of existence correspondent to
certain levels of consciousness, i.e., each of them is inhabited by beings with different karman.
'Drawing inspiration from the concept of the wheel, the Purāṇas postulate that the earth
comprises, as already noted, seven concentric ring-shaped dvīpas (continents) alternating with
seven annular oceans, centered on the golden Mount Meru' (Singh & Khan 1999). For more
on this topic, see also Thompson 2004.
12
( yenanukr[< naq(metÄ*Nmya k«tm!. )

(yenānukaraṇaṁ nāṭyametattadyanmayā kṛtam ॥)

Hence the representation was made into this very nāṭya by me.

z&¼aranuk«ityRa tu s haSyStu àkIitRt> , 6·40,

śṛṅgārānukṛtiryā tu sa hāsyastu prakīrtitaḥ । 6.40 |

And that which echoes the romantic is known as the mirthful. 48

te;a< canukair[ae ye pué;aSte;amaip sœ'œ¢amsMàhark«tae raEÔae

rsae=numNtVy>,

teṣāṁ cānukāriṇo ye puruṣāsteṣāmapi saṅgrāmasamprahārakṛto raudro raso’numantavyaḥ ।

(prose after 6.63)

The violent flavor is allowed when people who represent them49 also do their battles
and wars.

48 For an elementary explanation of rasa, see pp. 50 ff. This verse is part of the definition of
relationships between primary and secondary rasa, in this case, śṛṅgāra, ‘the romantic’, and
hāsya, ‘the mirthful’, respectively, which we discuss on pp. 24-25. For more on this topic, see
Raghavan 1963: 434-436.
49 The rākṣasa, which are a kind of evil being or demon.
13
hasae nam -

prceòanukr[k…hkasMbÏàlappaEraeÉaGymaEOyaRidiÉivRÉavE> smuTp*te,

tmiÉnyeTpUvaeR´Eh›istaidiÉrnuÉavE>,

Évit caÇ ðaek> -

prceòanukr[aÏas> smupjayte,

iSmhasaithistEriÉney> s pi{ftE>. 7·10.

hāso nāma –
paraceṣṭānukaraṇakuhakāsambaddhapralāpapaurobhāgyamaurkhyādibhirvibhāvaiḥ
samutpadyate । tamabhinayetpūrvoktairhasitādibhiranubhāvaiḥ ।
bhavati cātra ślokaḥ –
paraceṣṭānukaraṇāddhāsaḥ samupajāyate ।
smitahāsātihasitairabhineyaḥ sa paṇḍitaiḥ ॥ 7.10॥

It is called mirth:
It arises from signs50 like imitation of other people’s gestures, trickery, gibberish, envy
and foolishness.
It should be conveyed through manifestations 51 already mentioned, like laughter.
There is also a śloka about that:
Mirth springs up from imitation of other people’s gestures;
it should be conveyed by specialists through smiles, mirth and laughter.

50 See pp. 51-52 for a description of vibhāva.

51 See pp. 51-52 for a description of anubhāva.
14
mns> smaxaE sÅvin:piÄÉRvit, tSy c yae=saE SvÉavae

raemaÂaïuvEv{yaRidl][ae ywaÉavaepgt> s n zKyae=Nymnsa ktuRimit,

laekSvÉavanukr[TvaTc naq(Sy sÅvmIiPstm!,

manasaḥ samādhau sattvaniṣpattirbhavati । tasya ca yo’sau svabhāvo

romāñcāśruvaivarṇyādilakṣaṇo yathābhāvopagataḥ sa na
śakyo’nyamanasā kartumiti । lokasvabhāvānukaraṇatvātca nāṭyasya sattvamīpsitam ।
(prose after 7.93)

The attainment of emotion happens in total absorption of the mind. And its very
spontaneity, manifesting as goosebumps, tears, change of color and so forth, in order to
reach the state, is not possible to be rendered by someone whose mind is absent.
Emotion is desirable in nāṭya in that it recreates the spontaneity of the world.

prav&Äanukr[aTprav&ÄimhaeCyte, 8·34,

parāvṛttānukaraṇātparāvṛttamihocyate । 8.34 |

Because it is a representation of a turn, it is here called turn.52

AymuÖeiòtkr[e:vnukr[aw¡ àyaegmasa*,

ÔutmXymàcar> sk«dsk«Öa àyae´Vy>. 9·268.

ayamudveṣṭitakaraṇeṣvanukaraṇārthaṁ prayogamāsādya ।
drutamadhyamapracāraḥ sakṛdasakṛdvā prayoktavyaḥ ॥ 9.268॥

This53, for the sake of representation in the performance, should be employed

in high or medium speed, once or more, in the udveṣṭita54 movements.

52 This is part of a list of the movements of the head.

53 The previous verses describe udghaṭṭita, a certain movement of the feet.
54 Name of a particular movement of the hands.
15
\;y ^cu>

yda mnu:ya rajnSte;a< devgit> kwm!, 12·25,


(…)

deva<zjaStu rajanae vedaXyaTmsu kIitRta>,

@v< devanukr[e dae;ae ýÇ n iv*te. 12·28.

ṛṣaya ūcuḥ
yadā manuṣyā rājānasteṣāṁ devagatiḥ katham । 12.25 ।
(…)
devāṁśajāstu rājāno vedādhyātmasu kīrtitāḥ ।
evaṁ devānukaraṇe doṣo hyatra na vidyate ॥ 12.28॥

The sages spoke:

If kings are human beings how is the gait of the deva55 theirs too?
(…)
But kings are celebrated in the Vedic literature as born part deva.
Hence it is certainly not considered a fault that they do as deva here.

%NmÄSyaip ktRVya gitSTvinyt³ma,

bhucarIsmayu´a laekanukr[aïya. 12·123.

unmattasyāpi kartavyā gatistvaniyatakramā |

bahucārīsamāyuktā lokānukaraṇāśrayā ॥ 12.123॥

The gait of a drunk should be made with tottering steps

along with wide wanders, resting on imitation of the world.

55 Higher-order entities, in charge of the various functions of administration and maintenance

of the Universe (such as sūrya, the Sun, for example).
16
bhUna< Éa;ma[ana< TvekSyawRivin[Rym!,

isÏaepmanvcn< hetuirTyiÉs<i}t>. 16·14.

ApdezStu prae]ae ySmaÊuTp*te=nukr[en,

l][smankr[aTsarUPy< tÄu iv}eym!. 16·15.

bahūnāṁ bhāṣamāṇānāṁ tvekasyārthavinirṇayam |

siddhopamānavacanaṁ heturityabhisaṁjñitaḥ || 16.14 ||
apadeśastu parokṣo yasmādutpadyate‘nukaraṇena ।
lakṣaṇasamānakaraṇātsārūpyaṁ tattu vijñeyam ॥ 16.15॥

Utterance of a perfect analogy for the settlement of the meaning

of one among the many things that are said is called hetu 56.
And that resemblance because of which oblique indication arises
through representation can be recognized thanks to the common characteristics.

56 It seemed odd that the sort of process described in this śloka, related to upamāna,
‘comparison’, ‘analogy’, would be called hetu, ‘cause’, but it starts to make sense if we consider
hetu in a broader sense, as a means to dhvani, ‘suggestion’, as in the account given by Gerow
(1971: 327) in his Glossary of Indian Figures of Speech: 'hetu, 'cause': (1) a figure in which an
effect is described along with its cause. (…) (3) aviralakamalavikāsaḥ sakalâlimadaś ca
kokilânandaḥ / ramyo'yam eti saṁprati lokôtkaṇṭhākaraḥ kālaḥ (Rudraṭa; description of the
springtime and its several effects: “The delightful season progresses; men fall in love,
nightingales rejoice, drunken bees hover about the unbroken spread of lotus blooms"). (4)
"Beneath this slab / John Brown is stowed. / He watched the ads / And not the road" (Ogden
Nash). (5) This is the most controversial alaṁkāra. It would seem to be nothing but literal
description, like the figure svabhāvôkti, and it has been rejected by Bhāmaha and Mammaṭa for
that reason, for they feel that an alaṁkāra must repose upon some figurative usage (Mammaṭa
does in effect resuscitate the figure hetu as kāvyaliṅga, q.v.). But, as usual, such objections miss
the point: those authors who accept hetu are far from thinking it mere literalism, judging by the
examples which they give. All involve some striking, though not necessarily deformed or
unnatural (cf. vyāghāta, asaṁgati, etc.) instance of the cause-effect relation. Though the cause of
John Brown's death is given literally, it touches upon other issues which strike a responsive
chord in the reader's mind, and he is pleased. It would be said by Ānandavardhana that in this
instance, the figure hetu was nothing but a means to the expression of a dhvani (suggestion)
regarding the ubiquity of billboards, etc. In such considerations may be said to reside the
alaṁkāratā of the figure hetu.’
17
llaqitlk< cEv nanaizLpàyaeijtm!,

æUguCDaepirguCDí kusumanuk«itStwa. 21·24.

lalāṭatilakaṁ caiva nānāśilpaprayojitam ।

bhrūgucchoparigucchaśca kusumānukṛtistathā ॥ 21.24॥

And a mark on the forehead should be finely applied in sundry ways,

and on the bushes of the eyebrows, designs of bushes 57, thus imitating flowers.

yd!ÔVy< jIvlaeke tu nanal][li]tm!,

tSyanuk«its<Swan< naq(aepkr[< Évet!. 21·201.

yaddravyaṁ jīvaloke tu nānālakṣaṇalakṣitam ।

tasyānukṛtisaṁsthānaṁ nāṭyopakaraṇaṁ bhavet ॥ 21.201॥

Any distinguishable object in the world of the mortals

may become a prop of nāṭya when it is made into a copy.

57 At Pande 1993: 48, the author says bhrū-guccha and upari-guccha are two types of painted
ornament used above the eyebrows. I have found no information about these anywhere else,
but I dare suggest that it is only one kind of ornament we are talking about here, mostly
because we should expect a dvandva to have a dual ending in this case, and what we have is a
singular one. Sure enough, it could be a samāhāra dvandva, where bhrūguccha is an ornament
applied on the eyebrows, and upariguccha, one on the forehead. However, and since we do not
have any information concerning these ornaments, it seems more cautious to consider it a
tatpuruṣa, where bhrūguccha, ‘eyebrows like bushes’, is a karmadhāraya, as mukhacandra, ‘moon-
like face’, hinting at the thickness of the eyebrows, in a genitive relation with upariguccha (as
upari is constructed with genitive), the latter being another karmadhāraya, upari-guccha, ‘upper
bush’. It could also be that bhrū, ‘eyebrow’, is in a locative relation with guccha-upari-guccha,
‘bush over bush’, the latter being the design applied on the former.
18
vag¼al»arE> izòE> àIitàyaeijtEmExurE>,

#òjnSyanuk«itlIRla }eya àyaeg}E>. 22·14.

vāgaṅgālaṅkāraiḥ śiṣṭaiḥ prītiprayojitairmadhuraiḥ ।

iṣṭajanasyānukṛtirlīlā jñeyā prayogajñaiḥ ॥ 22.14॥

Impersonation of the beloved through sophisticated, graceful and sweet

words, physiognomy and ornaments is known to the experts in performance as līlā.

³…Ï> ³aexe Éye ÉIt> s ïeó> àe]k> Sm&t>,

@v< Éavanukr[e yae yiSmn! àivzeÚr>. 27·62.

s tÇ àe]kae }eyae gu[EreiÉrl<k«t>, 27·63,

kruddhaḥ krodhe bhaye bhītaḥ sa śreṣṭhaḥ prekṣakaḥ smṛtaḥ ।

evaṁ bhāvānukaraṇe yo yasmin praviśennaraḥ ॥ 27.62॥
sa tatra prekṣako jñeyo guṇairebhiralaṁkṛtaḥ । 27.63|

Angry in anger, frightened in fright: that spectator is deemed the best.

The man who thus engages in the representation of states
should then be considered a spectator, being adorned with such qualities.

nae´< yCDaÇ lkadnuk«itkr[at! s<ivÉaVy< tu tJ}E>.

noktaṁ yaccātra lokādanukṛtikaraṇāt saṁvibhāvyaṁ tu tajjñaiḥ ॥ (not numbered, between

37.30 and 37.31)

And that which has not been said here should be perceived by experts from the world,
the source of representations.

19
Commentary

Some scholars58 have suggested that Sanskrit words formed by the prefix anu- and a
noun derived from the root √kṛ, ‘to make’59, are analogous to Aristotelian µίµησις, at
least in the Nāṭyaśāstra.
The foregoing corpus comprises every instance of the text where those words, namely
anukṛti and anukaraṇa, appear, and we hereby discuss their uses and meanings.

Let us begin by considering the apparently most elementary examples, 1.112 and
1.117, two definitions of nāṭya. These are actually not so simple, because they
absolutely depend on what the translator thinks relates nāṭya to the real world, as we
may call it60. What is nāṭya? nāṭya is anukaraṇa of the events of the real world. And
what is anukaraṇa? Well, that is whatever you think nāṭya does with the events and
things of the real world.
Now, for the sake of argument, and notwithstanding further questioning of it, let’s say
in this context anukaraṇa is used to generally refer to the artistic display of some events
and objects, namely those happening in the real world.
Likewise, at 1.57 anukṛti means just about the same thing, whilst referring to a
particular occasion with a particular plot to it. This is not a trivial difference. The first
two examples would be telling us about the overall essence of nāṭya, i.e.,
‘representation’ as the process and result of fashioning the materials of the real world
into drama; and the third one would be more about the very performance. It could
indicate that anukaraṇa is a more abstract concept than anukṛti, but let us examine the
other examples to see if that is a conclusion we can jump to.

At 22.14 a curious instance of the word is found, encompassing what could be seen as a
conflict between anukṛti, the ‘representation’, and iṣṭajana, the ‘beloved person’, since,
at first glance, we might think the former is the actor’s or the dramaturgist’s domain,

58 For example, Ley 2000; Jhanji 2007; Dhawan 2010; Moačanin (in Tripathi 2014: 63-76);
Gupt (2016) calls them ‘comparable concepts’ (p. 87) and calls some ‘similarity’ between them
(p. 93); Mukherji (2016) calls anukṛti ‘a term cognate to mimesis’.

Another question is whether or not one tradition or author influenced the other, and we are not
going to discuss it here. For an outline of that discussion, see Keith 1924: 57 ff.), Walker 2004
and Dhawan 2010 (chapter I).
59 Monier-Williams: ’to do, make, perform, accomplish, cause, effect, prepare, undertake, (…)
to execute, carry out (as an order or command) (…); to manufacture, prepare, work at,
elaborate, build (…); to form or construct one thing out of another (abl. or instr.), (…) to
employ, use, make use of (instr.) (…); to compose, describe (…)’.
60 We should take into account that what we from here on call 'real world' is conceived, in this
tradition, as a copy or reflexion of the eternal transcendental world. In fact, the material world
is considered prakṛti, a temporal manifestation of one of the energies of Īśvara, the Supreme
Being, intimately related to the concept of māyā, ‘illusory image’, making nāṭya, to the delight of
Platonist ears, a reflexion of the reflexion, a copy of the copy. See, for instance, Bhagavadgītā
13.22, 13.35, 14.5, 15.7.
20
and the latter, the character’s. In fact, it would be odd for an actor to represent their
loved one on stage, or similarly, that the character would represent their sweetheart. I
emphasize the word ‘represent’ because that is exactly where the solution to this
problem lies: this section of the text is a description of ten activities of female
characters61, one of them being impersonating their lover, which is called līlā,
‘amusement’, ’pastime’62 . So, here we have a different use of the word anukṛti, certainly
not coincident with the external description of nāṭya seen above. One thing they have
in common, though: both involve a particular realization or event; at 1.57 it is the
representation of a particular plot; here, the impersonation of a particular character (or
class of character), i.e., none of them is a general name for representation as defined
above.

The word µίµησις is employed in a somewhat similar way in the Poetics at 1448b 5: Τό
τε γὰρ µιµεῖσθαι σύµφυτον τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐκ παίδων ἐστὶ, ’because imitating is natural
to humans since childhood’.
But, clearly, this passage is referring to a natural, untaught process63, an intrinsic
disposition of humans, whereas the example from the Nāṭyaśāstra we are examining is
alluding to an acquired faculty, an activity different from the one meant by Aristotle in
that it is deliberate and even stylized.

At 7.10, this time with anukaraṇa, we narrow our scope from imitating someone to
imitating someone’s movements. It is very clear from the compound para-ceṣṭā-
anukaraṇa, ‘mimicry of the gestures of others’, that we are here before another instance
of mimicry or impersonation, yet in this case it is not specific, it could be anyone’s
gestures or behavior. Also, this one, for its context, could probably be associated with a
more caricatural manner, but that does not seem to be clearly indicated64.

At 8.34, in an account of the name of a particular movement of the head, parāvṛtta,

‘turn’, anukaraṇa of that movement, and not the movement itself, is stressed. It does not
say parāvṛttāt parāvṛttam ucyate, ‘it is called turn because it is a turn’, but ‘because it is a
representation of a turn’. Does that indicate that in nāṭya nothing is, but everything
represents? Regardless of the degree of stylization involved in the execution of these

61 (…) iti vijñeyā daśa strīṇāṁ svabhāvajāḥ । punareṣāṁ svarūpāṇi pravakṣyāmi pṛthakpṛthak ॥
22.13॥ ‘these ten should be known as natural to women. I shall further explain their
characteristics separately’.
62 Monier-Williams: ‘(in rhet.) a maiden's playful imitation of her lover’.
63 Which is not to say Aristotle opposed nature to education, on the contrary, they complement
each other, according to him. Actually, imitation, or emulation, which is natural in humans, is a
learning method (Poetics 1448b 6-8).
64At 36.37, when rebuking the sons of Bharata for doing an indecorous drama, the sages use
the word viḍambana, which would probably be a more specific way of implying mockery or
derision (cf. Monier-Williams s.v. viḍambana).
21
movements, the text clearly situates us inside a reality apart, which cancels the
existence of its features outside of it, or at least their validity. And vice versa:
movements, like turns, do not exist inside of nāṭya, only representations of them.

Chapter 21 deals with props, costumes and make-up (āhāryābhinaya), things we learn
can be made through anukṛti too. At 21.24, for lack of a better solution, we have used
the participle ‘imitating’, but if we were to maintain the word class, possibly we could
go further than ‘imitation’, and use ‘image’, thus making a more literal rendering of
kusumānukṛtiḥ tathā – 'like the image of a flower'. This śloka is a perfect illustration of
the multiplicity of forms of representation in nāṭya: it does not involve only the body, in
fact, representation is made through four different means, being, indeed, a function of
abhinaya.
The same could be said about 21.201, concerning props, namely replicas of real world
objects. Here anukṛti is in a compound with saṁsthāna65, which, in any case, qualifies
the object of the real world that is to become nāṭyopakaraṇa, a theater prop, through
anukṛti, be it a simple tatpuruṣa (‘the state of replica of any distinguishable object…’ or ‘the
figure of any distinguishable object (…) [obtained] through imitation…’) or a bahuvrīhi
(‘that which is in obedience to imitation of any distinguishable object…’). anukṛti is then the
process or method of creating a stage object that somehow represents another one,
existent in the real world. Again, the new object has its own characteristics, obeys to its
own rules and conventions, and anukṛti is that (indispensable) metamorphosis –
otherwise, why not use the object itself?

We might think, given the context, that there is another instance of the use of
anukaraṇa related to mimicry at 12.123, in the description of the gait of a drunk. But a
closer look reveals that here the word is applied to hint at the methodology and not to
refer to the specific imitation of some movements. Here anukaraṇa, once again
connected to loka, ’the world’, acquires a sense close to ‘observation’66 . The gait of an
intoxicated person should be performed in a certain way, somehow inspired by what is
seen in reality, but certainly not altogether conditioned by it, having its own rules and
conventions 67 – precisely what this text is establishing. So, the word ‘imitation’ here
should be read with some restrictions, bearing in mind it is an imitation that always
implies a translation (into the codified language of nāṭya).
āśraya, at the end of the compound where anukaraṇa figures, means, among other
things, ‘help’ or ‘assistance’68 . Not only are the conventions mentioned in the text
inspired by loka, as we can see from 12.123, for example, but also, since it is not within

65 ‘configuration’ (Apte), ‘state’, ’strict adherence to’ (Monier-Williams).

66Ghosh, as it happens, translates anukaraṇa as 'observation (lit. imitative)' too, at 37.31 (his
36.83).
67 See 7.5 (p. 51).
68 Monier-Williams s.v. āśraya.
22
reach of a treatise, encyclopedic as it may be, to cover all possible situations, those who
are involved in producing nāṭya should always have recourse to the observation of
reality, as is stated in the Nāṭyaśāstra itself on more than one occasion69. For example,
at 37.31, loka is described as the source, karaṇa, of anukṛti, which we made plural in the
translation in order to convey that particularizing sense, as a discrete event or
occurrence, a representation in a one-to-one relationship with its model or reference, as
opposed to ‘representation in general’, which would be anukaraṇa.

As we will see in other parts of the text, being the model for nāṭya, loka must include
other representations, given that some of the objects and subjects displayed on stage
are found only in that context. That is not the case with drunk people, whom one can
watch directly. However, we should not discard the possibility of, even here, the
observation of representations of drunken people being recommended as the model or
paradigm – after all, the Nāṭyaśāstra is most certainly not creating these rules or codes
from scratch, it is collecting and perpetuating an already existing tradition.

For example, in the prose excerpt between 6.63 and 6.64, the word anukārin, the agent,
not the action, agrees with puruṣāḥ, ‘men’, ‘human beings’. It is, thus, referring to the
actor, the poet, the director, or whoever creates a fictional object (a character) based on
a model. The example of the rākṣasa is actually useful to think about the question of the
model: as mythological evil beings, the reference point for those wanting to represent
them must have been previous representations: so, is that also considered loka? Most
certainly, yes, and we should always bear that in mind when we think of loka as the
‘source of representation’ (37.30-31).



At 7.93, anukaraṇatva could be literally translated as ‘imitativeness’, ’representativeness’
or other similar solutions. In this case, we slightly adjusted our reading of the suffix -
tva, from ‘quality’ to ‘fact’, the literal translation of lokasvabhāvānukaraṇatvāt resulting
in 'for the fact of replicating the nature of the world'. The compound is very similar to
lokavṛttānukaraṇa (1.112), for instance; instead of vṛtta, ‘turnabout’, we have svabhāva,
‘nature’, ‘spontaneity’, the meaning of anukaraṇa being practically the same in both
examples: that conversion of life into drama through various expressive forms, namely
body movements, speech, props, and, in the particular case of 7.93, emotional
reactions70.

69 na ca śakyaṁ hi lokasya sthāvarasya carasya ca । śāstreṇa nirṇayaṁ kartuṁ bhāvaceṣṭāvidhiṁ prati

॥ 25.122॥ nānāśīlāḥ prakṛtayaḥ śīle nāṭyaṁ pratiṣṭhitam । tasmāllokapramāṇaṁ hi vijñeyaṁ
nāṭyayoktṛbhiḥ ॥ 25.123॥ ‘The precepts concerning the gestures that express the states of the
stable and moving world are not possible to be completely settled through a treatise. Many
usages make up the material world; nāṭya rests on usages, for that reason the authority of the
world should be recognized by practicers of nāṭya’.
70 See p. 54 on abhinaya.
23
Thus far, we have seen anukṛti may refer to an external as well as an internal process,
that is to say, it may designate activities carried out by either actors/dramatists (for
instance, 1.57) – which consist in a codification of some object into a form of art – or
characters (for instance, 22.14) – which would be a simple imitation or impersonation
as we would do in real life, so to speak. There is, however, at 6.40, a special occurrence
of the word anukṛti, very open to interpretation71, that does not seem to fit in any of
those categories, establishing the relationship between two theoretical categories of
nāṭya72. An intuitive, if perhaps simple, way of reading it would be as ‘caricature’; we
could add that to our list of possible meanings, thus solving the problem – it seems
reasonable that a clumsy, absurd imitation of the behavior of lovers would produce
laughter. It would however require a somewhat metonymic reading of the verse, where
the flavors (rasa) would be standing for the actions presented in order to produce
them, and, in fact, this approach starts to look rather feeble when we carefully observe
the context in which the verse is found. After establishing the four primary rasa and
their causal relationship with each of the secondary rasa 73, a further specification takes
place, where the mirthful flavor is declared to be anukṛti of the romantic one, just as
'that which is a product [karman] of the violent is known as the melancholic flavor; and
also that which is a product [karman] of the heroic is called prodigious; and that which
is a demonstration [darśana] of the repulsive is known as fearful'74. It could really be
just a rephrasing of the causal relationship expressed above. If we bear in mind the fact
that playful interaction is a common feature of romantic scenes in Sanskrit literature75,
we may start to understand why they are put in such a relationship, and a broader
reading of anukṛti may emerge, even if it hinges on the most literal account of the verb
anu√kṛ: ‘to make after’, ‘to follow’. As already noted, this appears to be nothing more

71 For example, Chmiel (2015) says hāsya, ’the comic’, ‘the mirthful’, is an 'emulation of’
śṛṅgāra, ‘the romantic’; Visuvalingam (in his unpublished doctoral dissertation from 1982) says
it is an ‘imitation’ or ‘semblance’; Ghosh’s translation is ‘A mimicry of the Erotic [Sentiment] is
called the Comic’; and Pujol’s (2006), ‘La parodia de lo erótico es conocida como lo cómico’);
see also Rangacharya’s translation (1998). Abhinavagupta considers hāsya ‘the semblance
(ābhāsa) of any other rasa’ (Ganser & Cuneo 2012); Tarlekar (1962: 35), also inspired by
Abhinavagupta, says that it is the ‘impropriety of the sentiments’ that causes the comic.
72 See pp. 50 ff. on rasa.

73 teṣāmutpattihetavaścatvāro rasāḥ । tadyathā – śṛṅgāro raudrau vīro bībhatsa iti । atra –

śṛṅgārāddhi bhaveddhāsyo raudrācca karuṇo rasaḥ । vīrāccaivādbhutotpattirbībhatsācca
bhayānakaḥ ॥ 6.39 ॥ 'the four flavors causing their arising are as follows: romantic, violent,
heroic, repulsive. Then: from the romantic the mirthful would emerge; and from the violent,
the melancholic flavor; and from the heroic, the arising of the prodigious; and from the
repulsive, the fearful'.

74 raudrasyaiva ca yatkarma sa jñeyaḥ karuṇo rasaḥ ॥ 6.40 ॥ vīrasyāpi ca yatkarma

so'dbhutaḥ parikīrtitaḥ । bībhatsadarśanaṁ yacca jñeyaḥ sa tu bhayānakaḥ ॥ 6.41 ॥

75 For a deep study of the special relationship between the romantic and the comic, see
Visuvalinga 1982 (chapter VIII). See, by way of curiosity, Bhagavata Purāṇa 10.60.31.
24
than a development of the somehow taxonomic description of the relations between
primary and secondary rasa, wherefore we should not interpret any further, i.e., it
should not clash with other accounts of the comic flavor with which love seems to have
little to do76 . So, even if the mirthful flavor does not come down to love scenes, these
are a privileged setting for laughter to arise in, and usually of its subtlest kind.

At 12.28, anukaraṇa is, once more, something done by actors or characters, the
distinction between which becomes somewhat blurred in this example, which deals
with the gait of kings. When it comes to movement, everything a character does is also
done, or at least simulated or signified, by the actor. Yet, even if the latter must perform
whatever the convention of that gait is, if we say kings walk like deva, we are certainly
referring to characters, because it is characters who are kings or deva, not actors. 77 So, a
rather literal translation of anu√kṛ is appropriate, something as simple as ‘do as’. Thus,
once again, anukaraṇa seems to assume a meaning independent of its specialized use to
refer to the process of representation, and closer to that expressed in 22.14.
Nevertheless, given the nature and aim of this text and the fact that the subject of
anu√kṛ/anukaraṇa is absent from the last verse, it would not be senseless either to read
this as an instruction for actors, something tantamount to ‘hence there is certainly no
fault in the representation of deva here’, thus keeping the word within the conceptual
framework of nāṭya, i.e., understanding it as a creative process indissociable from the
actor’s craft.

At 27.62, depicting the ideal spectator, it is said that they should penetrate the
representation of bhāva, ‘emotional states’, ‘moods’. We could go a long way in defining
bhāva78, and particularly in discussing whether they are the object or the product of

76 See 7.10, on p. 14.

77So they both walk, only in different ways or to different extents. It is interesting to think the
character is the one who really walks, while the actor pretends to walk, as far as intention is
concerned.
78 For a basic notion, see pp. 50 ff. For a more comprehensive study, see Cuneo 2013.
25
anukaraṇa 79, the model or the result, i.e., whether they are features of the real world
transposed to theater or purely theatrical devices. However, the nuances in the
definition of bhāva are not so critical for the interpretation of these verses, as, even if
one considers bhāva to be real-world states of mind, we are here talking about
anukaraṇa of bhāva, i.e., a process of dramaturgical codification and presentation of
those objects, for which reason they are now inevitably confined to the stage, just as
the spectator’s experience. Needless to say, in this context, anukaraṇa is more the
second part, i.e., the delivery, than the first, i.e., the conception, for the former is
precisely the only exoteric stage of the process.

To understand 16.15, context is key. This particular meaning of anukaraṇa would be

inscrutable without it. Especially because almost all the nouns in the text have many
different meanings, some of them technical or specific to the Nāṭyaśāstra, but not
always used in the same way throughout the whole text. 

The sixteenth chapter is called vāgabhinaye kāvyalakṣaṇa, ‘poetic marks in verbal
conveyance’, providing a clear location in which to begin our examination. We are
talking about stylistic resources. So, starting with 16.14, we acquaint ourselves with
the discussion on the acceptance of hetu, ‘cause’, as alaṁkāra, ‘rhetorical figure’, to
finally be able to relate it in a certain way to upamāna, ‘comparison’, if we accept that it
is 'a means to the expression of a dhvani (suggestion)'80. We are then in the field of
figurative speech and allusion, and it is in that frame of reference that we should read,

79 We may enquire if anu√kṛ really admits both options, as is the case with Greek µιµεῖσθαι:
'D’aquí ve un altre problema que presenta imitar per traduir mimeîsthai: que no et permet
traduir correctament Aristòtil, perquè quan dius «imitar una cosa», aquest «una cosa» és
necessàriament l’objecte de la imitació, allò que és imitat, no allò que produeixes quan imites;
en canvi en grec tant pot designar una cosa com l’altra, i de fet a Aristòtil designa la
segona' (Riu 2018: 23). Here we may have a difference between the two concepts, since, in
fact, anu√kṛ, for its morphology, seems to necessarily imply, as its direct object, the model.
Even if the process is a creative one, even if we are not talking about copy, the prefix anu-,
’after’, ‘in conformity with’, etc., is a link between the product (karaṇa/kṛti) and its inspiration,
so any direct object of anu√kṛ (or any genitive determining anukaraṇa/anukṛti, or a word in a
compound with them, or any other way of expressing this relationship) should be a pre-
existing object or entity that is being somehow transformed (√kṛ) into a new object or entity,
that may have specific materials and purposes to it. Gupt (2016: 99) says: 'anukaraṇa like
mimesis, must have an original to be followed and relationship to the original is a point of
consideration'. In fact, in the Poetics, Aristotle clearly states that tragedy represents 'men better
than ourselves' (1454b 8-9). Well, if they are better than ourselves, better than Humanity, we
certainly do not know them, or put more clearly, they do not exist. So, the poet creates
something completely new, to which the real world is merely a reference point, not a model.
Could anu- express that kind of relationship too? Probably, yes. For example, Lidova (2013)
argues that bhāva are not 'genuine emotion[s], characterizing humans in actuality, but its
artistic image, pure and unadulterated – one that arises and seizes the audience only in the
theatre', giving us to understand that bhāva-anukaraṇa is a representation in the Aristotelic
sense here described. Cuneo (2013), in contrast, tells rasa and bhāva apart based on the
‘transcendent’ and ‘worldly’ quality of each of them respectively, i.e., the consideration of rasa
as ‘aesthetic’ emotions, and bhāva as ‘real-life emotions’.
80 Gerow 1971: 327
26
in the following strophe, terms like apadeśa parokṣa, ‘indirect communication’, as well as
lakṣaṇasamāna, ‘sameness of characteristics’, and sārūpyam, ‘likeness’. Thus, we are
much better placed to discern the specificities of the use of anukaraṇa here. Suppose
there is a man who has exuberant hair and eats voraciously. Some indirect remark81
could be made about this fact – something like ‘Arnold is like a lion’ – through
anukaraṇa, which then seems to be some sort of verbal representation – the process of
associating any two distinct objects or beings using words, just as with any other means
proper to nāṭya: again, representation as a function of abhinaya.

Finally, the sentence in brackets after 1.117 is most certainly a case of 'redundant
passages found only in one or two manuscripts and not required by the context'82, the
footnote attached to it reading m. t. pustakayoridamardhaṁ nāsti, ‘m. t.83 this half [śloka]
is not in those two manuscripts’. Given the circumstances, we can say very little about
this occurrence of the word anukaraṇa, and accordingly have made the translation as
literal as possible. If we try to make sense of it, probably the most intuitive approach
would be to think of this representation as the utmost abstraction of that in 1.112 or
1.117. The latter, as we have said, is the specific process and result of transforming
worldly materials into dramatic objects, while the former is the general concept of
representation – the general action of, one way or another, following an example or a
model, doing or creating something, quite as if, in this verse, anukaraṇa were
anukaraṇed into nāṭya, that is to say, as if nāṭya were made from anukaraṇa.

81 At a certain level, as we have seen, representation is always indirect, it never presents an

object just as it is, i.e., the object itself, and so one could even say that indirectness is what
characterizes representation, similarities being what allows recognition. Since we are talking
about the conveyance of meaning through words, we can think about apadeśa parokṣa as a
comparison or analogy, but in the wider context of nāṭya an indication [apadeśa] can be made
through other means, for instance, movement of the limbs. And it can, in fact, be more or less
direct or evident: see the section on dharmī (pp. 36-49).
82See preface to the Baroda edition (volume I). It could also be an instance of 'passages which
appeared to be inconsistent with the other texts of the N. Ś. and not commented upon by
Abhinava' or 'passages, which appeared to be either repetitions or seemed to have been
wrongly taken into the text from the commentary'.
83 m and t manuscripts are numbered 6 and 7, respectively, in the preface.
27
anubhāvana and anukīrtana

nEkaNttae=Ç Évta< devana< canuÉavnm!,

ÇElaeK(SyaSy svRSy naq(< ÉavanukItRnm!. 1·107.

naikāntato‘tra bhavatāṁ devānāṁ cānubhāvanam ।

trailokyasyāsya sarvasya nāṭyaṁ bhāvānukīrtanam ॥ 1.107॥

This is the manifesting not only of you and the deva;

nāṭya is a celebration of the states of these three whole worlds.

nra[a< àmdana< c ÉavaiÉnyn< p&wkœ. 25·51.

ÉavanuÉavn< yu´< VyaOyaSyaMynupUvRz>, 25·52,

narāṇāṁ pramadānāṁ ca bhāvābhinayanaṁ pṛthak ॥ 25.51॥

bhāvānubhāvanaṁ yuktaṁ vyākhyāsyāmyanupūrvaśaḥ । 25.52 ।

Men’s conveyance of states is different from women’s:

I will explain the manifesting of states connected with each of them.

ttae ÉUtg[a ùòa> kmRÉavanukItRnat!,

mhadeví suàIt> iptamhmwaävIt!. 4·11.

tato bhūtagaṇā hṛṣṭāḥ karmabhāvānukīrtanāt ।

mahādevaśca suprītaḥ pitāmahamathābravīt ॥ 4.11॥

Then, all classes of beings delighted in the celebration of actions and states.
And the great deity84, well pleased, addressed the great father85.

84 mahādeva is a name of Śiva (Monier-Williams).

85 pitāmaha is a name of Brahmā (Monier-Williams), used, for instance, by Virūpākṣa at 1.104,
to address him.
28
sÝêpe[ sNtuòa deva> kmRanukItRnat!, 5·35,

saptarūpeṇa santuṣṭā devāḥ karmānukīrtanāt । 5.35 |

The deva were pleased by the celebration of their actions accompanied by the sevenfold
[music]86.

ivliMbtae nam k{QSwangtStnumNÔ>

s c z&¼arké[ivtik›tivcaram;RasUiytaVy

´awRàvadl¾aicNtatjRnivSmydae;anukItRndI"RraeginpIfnaid;u,

vilambito nāma kaṇṭhasthānagatastanumandraḥ

sa ca śṛṅgārakaruṇavitarkitavicārāmarṣāsūyitāvyaktārthapravādalajjācintātarjana-
vismayadoṣānukīrtanadīrgharoganipīḍanādiṣu | (prose after 17.113)

It is called vilambita87, comes from the throat, of rather low tone, and it [is used] in the
romantic and melancholic flavors, speculative look, deliberation 88, impatience,
resistance, talk with hidden purpose, embarrassment, indifference, scolding,
bewilderment, wickedness, announcement, long disease, pain, among others.

StuTyazIvRcnE> zaNtE> kmRÉavanukItRnE>,

mya papaphr[E> k«te iv¹inbhR[e. 36·19.

stutyāśīrvacanaiḥ śāntaiḥ karmabhāvānukīrtanaiḥ ।

mayā pāpāpaharaṇaiḥ kṛte vighnanibarhaṇe ॥ 36.19॥

By honorable benedictions, by undisturbed celebrations of actions and states,

in the destruction of obstacles made by me, taking away all evil.

86 This refers to the seven types of song, described in chapter XXXI.

87vilambita means ‘slow’, it is considered one of the ornaments of the parts of the text to be
recited.
88There are two options here: one may consider vitarkita-vicāra a compound word, meaning, for
example, ‘unexpected deliberation’, or consider them two separate concepts, as we did, vitarkita
here being used not as an adjective, but as a noun, alluding to a particular type of glance
described in chapter 8.
29
Commentary

The word anubhāvana appears only twice in the whole text. It is thus very challenging
to be peremptory as to the peculiarities of its meaning. A way of addressing the
problem is to explore the difference between this word and anubhāva, both formed from
the root √bhū, ‘to become’, and a kṛtpratyaya (primary suffix), -ana and -a,
respectively89. If anubhāva are the manifestations of a given state of mind or mood
(bhāva) – for example, a smiling face is a manifestation of love90 –, then anubhāvana
could be the act of performing those manifestations, something like anubhāving, i.e.,
’manifesting’, which is perfectly consonant with the fact that it appears in a compound
with bhāva (25.52).
At 1.107, anubhāvana is determined by the two genitives bhavatām, ‘of you’, and
devānām, ‘of the deva’, and that extension of scope, wherefore bhāva is not the only
possible object of anubhāvana, is probably the reason why this word is among the other
three here under analysis as generally meaning ‘representation’. In fact, throughout this
speech, which is the one where Brahmā is talking the daitya out of their rage against
the sura (see 1.117), all of those words, except from anukṛti, are used to define nāṭya:
here it is anubhāvana not only of the daitya and the deva, but anukīrtana of the bhāva of
the whole trailokya; at 1.117 it is anukaraṇa of saptadvīpa, ‘the seven islands’91.

Therefore, in spite of the differences between anubhāvana and anukīrtana, at least in this
śloka (1.107) their meanings must not be too disparate, considering that both words are
used to define nāṭya with regard to the same category, which is the scope of what is
taken as its model: whatever anubhāvana is, as nāṭya it is not only of the daitya and the
deva; nāṭya is whatever anukīrtana is of everyone. So, it is not surprising that some
authors translate both as ‘representation’, as Ghosh92, for instance, does.
Still, we chose to preserve the essential etymological quality of each of them in our
translations, even if that meant failing to express the idea of representation more
distinctly.
Sujatha (2015: 2), going maybe a bit too far, suggests anukaraṇa is done by the actor,
anukīrtana by the playwright, and anubhāvana by the audience, in what seems to be an

89 Another option would be to consider anubhāvana to be derived from anubhāva with the
taddhita pratyaya (secondary suffix) -na, but that is certainly less probable, since this suffix is
not nearly as productive as the primary -ana, which seems to make perfect sense here, as we
will see, the difference between anubhāva and anubhāvana being the same as the one between
smara and smaraṇa, for example, which have been appointed throughout the whole Sanskrit
grammatical tradition of pratyaya as two nouns formed from the same root, √smṛ, ‘to
remember’, each with a different primary suffix, -a and -ana, respectively. According to the
Monier-Williams, smara is 'remembering, recollecting (…) memory, remembrance,
recollection'; and smaraṇa, 'the act of remembering or calling to mind'. The distinction is very
subtle, but significant, as we will try to demonstrate for anubhāva and anubhāvana.
90 ratirnāma (…) abhinayet (…) smitavadana (…) adibhiranubhāvaiḥ (7.9).
91 See footnote 45.
92 On the other hand, he generally translates anukaraṇa and anukṛti as ‘mimicry’.
30
overly strict approach, as we do not have enough textual evidence to suppose the
author intended that perfect demarcation, and even less as to the audience taking part
in the process of representation as such. But it is certainly illustrative and eloquent in
showing some of the subtleties of each word, namely the many-sidedness of anukaraṇa,
the praising function involved in anukīrtana, and the idea of experience involved in
anubhāvana, except we believe this last one to be something accomplished by the actor
through the application of a method, the engagement with the character, so as to
become them (see prose after 7.93).
So, even if we do not fully subscribe E. G. Carlotti’s account of anubhāvana,
'indicazione di qualcosa tramite movimenti, gestualità e segni'93, we agree that it
belongs to the actor’s domain. In this particular context, 1.107, and having regard to
the etymology, √bhū, ‘to become’, we may understand it as the process by which a
character lives again through the actor.

As to anukīrtana, etymologically it is indissociable from the act of presenting, wherefore

we should place it, within the dramatic field, much closer to the performance than to
the composition. The verb √kṝt (or √kīrt) means, according to the Monier-Williams, ‘to
mention, make mention of, tell, name, call, recite, repeat, relate, declare, communicate,
commemorate, celebrate, praise, glorify’ (like the Greek µιµνήσκοµαι, combining all of
these values in one single word, the concepts of remembrance and commemoration
being intimately related), while with the prefix -anu, ‘to relate after or in order; to
narrate’. Four out of the five times anukīrtana appears in the text are in compounds
with karman, ‘action’, bhāva, ‘state’, or both. If bhāva-anubhāvana (25.52) is the act of
performing the anubhāva, ‘manifestation’, correspondent to a certain bhāva; and bhāva-
anukaraṇa (27.62) is the process and result of converting emotions into apt dramatic
features (likely to be somehow experienced by an audience); bhāva-anukīrtana (1.107)
could be interpreted as the presentation of those transformed emotions in a public
gathering, presumably with a praising or glorifying function. The same goes for 4.11,
5.35 and 36.19: anukīrtana is the staging of things lived or imagined in the real world,
produced in order to keep their memory alive.

The word also appears in a prose excerpt after 17.113, concerning the contexts in
which a particular intonation, called vilambita, should be employed. In the middle of
that enumeration, composed of diverse theatrical circumstances – like different kinds of
rasa (śṛṅgāra and karuṇa), bhāva (vismaya, amarṣa), specific glances (vitarkita), etc. –,
anukīrtana does not keep its specialized value, as a word used to describe nāṭya by some

93 Carlotti 2018: 10. This looks like an almost candid translation of the definition of anubhāvana
given in the Monier-Williams, 'the act of indicating feelings by sign or gesture', but it misses a
crucial detail, one we adverted above, which is the difference between anubhāva and
anubhāvana. Between 'indicazione' and 'the act of indicating' there is a difference, one
expressed by the two different suffixes (in fact one of Monier-Williams’s definitions of anubhāva
is 'sign or indication of a feeling (bhāva) by look or gesture').
31
means, it is just another situation internal to the play, a stage feature, as when a
character is telling a story or announcing something.

32
anudarśaka and anudarśana

xMyRmWy¡ yzSy< c saepdeZy< ss'œ¢hm!,

Éiv:ytí laekSy svRkmaRnudzRkm!. 1·14.

svRzaSÇawRsMpÚ< svRizLpàvtRkm!,

naq(aOy< pÂm< ved< seithas< kraeMyhm!. 1·15.

dharmyamarthyaṁ yaśasyaṁ ca sopadeśyaṁ sasaṅgraham ।

bhaviṣyataśca lokasya sarvakarmānudarśakam ॥ 1.14॥
sarvaśāstrārthasampannaṁ sarvaśilpapravartakam ।
nāṭyākhyaṁ pañcamaṁ vedaṁ setihāsaṁ karomyaham ॥ 1.15 ॥

I shall make a fifth veda, along with the traditional stories94 , called nāṭya,
full of virtue, purpose and splendor, along with instruction and with maxims,
and consisting of a depiction of all the actions of the world that will come to be,
endowed with the purpose of all the treatises, promoting all the arts.

tiSmNsmvkare tu àyu´e devdanva>,

ùòa> smÉvNsvRe kmRÉavanudzRnat!. 4·4.
tasminsamavakāre tu prayukte devadānavāḥ ।
hṛṣṭāḥ samabhavansarve karmabhāvānudarśanāt ॥ 4.4॥

But once the samavakāra95 was performed, all the deva and the dānava96
were delighted in the depicting of actions and states.

94 The itihāsa, traditional stories like the Mahabhārata or the Rāmāyaṇa, are popularly
considered the fifth veda.
95 A kind of play (see chapter XVIII).
96Monier-Williams: ‘a class of demons often identified with the Daityas or Asuras and held to
be implacable enemies of the gods or Devas’.
33
@v< ivrame àyÆae=nuóey>, kSmat!, ivramae ýwaRnudzRk>,
evaṁ virāme prayatno'nuṣṭheyaḥ । kasmāt । virāmo hyarthānudarśakaḥ। (prose after
17.132)

Thus an effort is to be done in the pause. Why? For the pause is what constitutes the
depiction of meaning.

34
Commentary

The words anudarśaka and anudarśana are both derived from the root √dṛś, ‘to see’,
prefixed by anu-, the first one having a secondary suffix -ka, ‘consisting of’, and the
second one, a primary suffix, -ana (the same as in anubhāvana), which gives an abstract
value to the word.

anudarśaka is ‘that which consists of anu-darśa, which, very literally, means ‘re-vision’ or
‘re-appearance’, and the Monier-Williams lists as ‘representation, admonition’; while
anudarśana is, if we consider the difference between anubhāva and anubhāvana, and the
illustration given in footnote 85, the process of anudarśing, which is why we rendered it
as ‘depicting’ instead of ‘depiction’.

At two of those three instances, these words are used almost as equivalents to some of
the other four we have seen so far: at 1.14-15, we find another definition of nāṭya, along
the lines of lokavṛttānukaraṇa (1.112); and at 4.4, in an account of the first performance,
there is a parallel structure to karmabhāvānukīrtanāt (4.11), the moment of the
presentation being here in evidence through both anudarśana and anukīrtana.

At the prose section after 17.132, it is, once again, a use connected to the delivery, more
than to the composition, here particularly in the field of vācikābhinaya, the verbal
conveyance, where pauses are said to play a critical role in the transmission of artha,
the meaning. This is a very expressive way of describing the conveyance of meaning,
especially in the context of the aural content of the play, since the word used,
anudarśaka, is emphatically indicating that it is put in front of the eyes of the audience.

35
 dharmī

mns> smaxaE sÅvin:piÄÉRvit, tSy c yae=saE SvÉavae

raemaÂaïuvEv{yaRidl][ae ywaÉavaepgt> s n zKyae=Nymnsa ktuRimit,

laekSvÉavanukr[TvaTc naq(Sy sÅvmIiPstm!, kae †òaNt> - #h ih

naq(xmRàv&Äa> suoÊ>ok«ta ÉavaStwa sÄvivzuÏa> kayRa> ywa sêpa

ÉviNt,

manasaḥ samādhau sattvaniṣpattirbhavati । tasya ca yo’sau svabhāvo

romāñcāśruvaivarṇyādilakṣaṇo yathābhāvopagataḥ sa na
śakyo’nyamanasā kartumiti । lokasvabhāvānukaraṇatvātca nāṭyasya sattvamīpsitam । ko
dṛṣṭāntaḥ – iha hi nāṭyadharmapravṛttāḥ97 sukhaduḥkhakṛtā bhāvāstathā sattvaviśuddhāḥ
kāryāḥ yathā sarūpā bhavanti । (prose after 7.93)

The attainment of emotion happens in total absorption of the mind. And its very
spontaneity, manifesting as goosebumps, tears, change of color and so forth, in order to
reach the state, is not possible to be rendered by someone whose mind is absent.
Emotion is desirable in nāṭya in that it recreates the spontaneity of the world.98 Any
further gloss? – Why, here states resulting from happiness and unhappiness, according
to the laws of nāṭya, should be done with such purity of emotion so as to become
embodied.99

97The reading here presented is the one found at mss. p and b, which we think preferable to
nāṭyadharmipravṛttāḥ, thus differing from our edition of reference. In nāṭyadharmipravṛttāḥ, -
dharmi- must stand for dharmin, since we have other examples of dharmī in the middle of
compound, and it does not change its form (see, on p. 41, 13.84, an almost identical
compound), but, as we will argue in the following pages, nāṭyadharmin does not exist in the
Nāṭyaśāstra, it is a misinterpretation of nāṭyadharmī.
One should also consider the fact that at this point the dharmī have just been mentioned, but
not explained (that will only happen in chapter 13), so remarks about them are probably not to
be expected.
98We here reproduce the excerpt already presented in p. 15 for considering it provides useful
context for the text that follows.
99 Two of the key concepts of this excerpt are sattva and svabhāva, explained on pp. 55 ff.
36
xmIR ya iÖivxa àae´a mya pUv¡ iÖjaeÄma>,

laEikkI naq(xmIR c tyaevRúyaim l][m!. 13·70.

dharmī yā dvividhā proktā mayā pūrvaṁ dvijottamāḥ ।

laukikī nāṭyadharmī ca tayorvakṣyāmi lakṣaṇam ॥ 13.70॥

I shall now give you, oh the best among the twice born100, the description of that
dharmī which I have declared before to be twofold, loka and nāṭyadharmī.

SvÉavÉavaepgt< zuÏ< tu ivk«t< twa,

laekvataRi³yaepetm¼lIlaivvijRtm!. 13·71.

SvÉavaiÉnyaepet< nanaöIpué;aïym!,

ydI†z< ÉveÚaq(< laekxmIR tu sa Sm&ta. 13·72.

svabhāvabhāvopagataṁ śuddhaṁ tu vikṛtaṁ tathā ।

lokavārtākriyopetamaṅgalīlāvivarjitam ॥ 13.71॥
svabhāvābhinayopetaṁ nānāstrīpuruṣāśrayam ।
yadīdṛśaṁ bhavennāṭyaṁ lokadharmī tu sā smṛtā ॥ 13.72॥

Close to natural disposition and simple, as if unfinished101,

with actions based on popular stories, lacking play of the limbs102,
with conveyance of spontaneity, having recourse to various women and men:
that which thus be nāṭya is called lokadharmī.

100 A dvija, ‘twice-born’, is a brāhman.

101The use of the word vikṛta (whose meaning, as is the case with too many Sanskrit words,
can be one thing and its opposite; in this case, the prefix vi- can be either emphatic, thus
denoting change or alteration, or negative, as in this particular instance, counterpoising the
participle by which it is followed, kṛta, ‘done’) to describe lokadharmī irresistibly tends to make
one think of Oscar Wilde’s account of Art in “The Decay of Lying”: ‘hers the great archetypes
of which things that have existence are but unfinished copies’. But let us not forget Vivian is
opposing Nature (‘things that have existence’) to Art, while lokadharmī is only tathā, like
unfinished, not quite though.
102 Adorned gestures are one of the main features of nāṭyadharmī. See 13.73, 81 and 85 below.
37
AitvaKyi³yaepetmitsÅvaitÉavkm!,

lIla¼haraiÉny< naq(l][li]tm!. 13·73.

Svral»ars<yu´mSvSwpué;aïym!,

ydI†z< ÉveÚaq(< naq(xmIR tu sa sm&ta . 13·74.

ativākyakriyopetamatisattvātibhāvakam ।
līlāṅgahārābhinayaṁ nāṭyalakṣaṇalakṣitam ॥ 13.73॥
svarālaṅkārasaṁyuktamasvasthapuruṣāśrayam ।
yadīdṛśaṁ bhavennāṭyaṁ nāṭyadharmī tu sā smṛtā ॥ 13.74॥

Containing actions with excessive words, having excessive emotion, excessive

affection,
and conveyance through playful gesticulation, marked with the marks of nāṭya,
combined with ornament of the voice, having recourse to men who are not themselves,
that which thus be nāṭya is called nāṭyadharmī.

laeke ydiÉyaeJy< c pdmÇaepyuJyte,

mUitRmTsaiÉla;< c naq(xmIR tu sa sm&ta . 13·75.

loke yadabhiyojyaṁ ca padamatropayujyate ।

mūrtimatsābhilāṣaṁ ca nāṭyadharmī tu sā smṛtā ॥ 13.75॥

And that words censurable in real life are appropriate here,

wilfully taking form, is called nāṭyadharmī.

AasÚae´< c yÖaKy< n z&{viNt prSprm!,

Anu´< ïUyte yCc naq(xmIR tu sa sm&ta . 13·76.

āsannoktaṁ ca yadvākyaṁ na śṛṇvanti parasparam ।

anuktaṁ śrūyate yacca nāṭyadharmī tu sā smṛtā ॥ 13.76॥

And that words said in proximity are not mutually heard

and that which is not said is heard is called nāṭyadharmī.

38
zElyanivmanain cmRvmRayuxXvja>,

mUitRmNt> àyuJyNte naq(xmIR tu sa sm&ta . 13·77.

śailayānavimānāni carmavarmāyudhadhvajāḥ ।
mūrtimantaḥ prayujyante nāṭyadharmī tu sā smṛtā ॥ 13.77॥

That personified mountains, vehicles, flying carriages, shields, armours,

weapons and flags are employed is called nāṭyadharmī.103

y @ka< ÉUimka< k«Tva k…vIRtEkaNtre=pram!,

kaEzLyadekkTvaÖa naq(xmIRit sa sm&ta . 13·78.

ya ekāṁ bhūmikāṁ kṛtvā kurvītaikāntare'parām ।

kauśalyādekakatvādvā nāṭyadharmīti sā smṛtā ॥ 13.78॥

If someone, having played a part, plays a second one different from the first,
out of skilfulness or singleness, it is certainly called nāṭyadharmī.

yagM(a àmda ÉUUTva gM(a ÉUim;u yuJ(te,

gM(a ÉUim:vgM(a va naq(xmIR tu sa sm&ta . 13·79.

yāgamyā pramadā bhūtvā gamyā bhūmiṣu yujyate ।

gamyā bhūmiṣvagamyā vā nāṭyadharmī tu sā smṛtā ॥ 13.79॥

If a damsel, being inapt for nuptials, is considered nubile while in character,

or a nubile one is inapt for nuptials while in character, it is called nāṭyadharmī.

103 See 21.94 and 21.203 below.

39
liltEr¼ivNyasEStwaeiT]Ýpd³mE>,

n&T(te gM(t caipe naq(xmIR tu sa sm&ta . 13·80.

lalitairaṅgavinyāsaistathotkṣiptapadakramaiḥ ।
nṛtyate gamyate cāpi nāṭyadharmī tu sā smṛtā ॥ 13.80॥

Dancing and even walking through playful positions of the limbs,

like steps with raised feet: that is called nāṭyadharmī.

yae=y< SvÉavae laekS( suoEuÊ>oi³yaTmk>,

sae=¼aiÉnys<yu´ae naq(xmIR àkIitRta. 13·81.

yo'yaṁ svabhāvo lokasya sukhaduḥkhakriyātmakaḥ ।

so'ṅgābhinayasaṁyukto nāṭyadharmī prakīrtitā ॥ 13.81॥

That which is the very spontaneity of the world, consisting of actions full of happiness
and unhappiness,
combined with conveyance through the limbs, is known as nāṭyadharmī.

yíeithasvedawaeR äü[a smudaùt>,

idV(manu;rT(w¡ naq(xmIR tu sa sm&ta . 13·82.

yaścetihāsavedārtho brahmaṇā samudāhṛtaḥ ।

divyamānuṣaratyarthaṁ nāṭyadharmī tu sā smṛtā ॥ 13.82॥

And that which is declared by Brahmā to be the aim of the traditional stories and the
veda
for the sake of divine and human delight is called nāṭyadharmī.

40
yí kúyaivÉagae=y< nanaivixsmaiït>,

r¼pIQgt> àae´ae naq(xmIR tu sa Évet! . 13·83.

yaśca kakṣyāvibhāgo'yaṁ nānāvidhisamāśritaḥ ।

raṅgapīṭhagataḥ prokto nāṭyadharmī tu sā bhavet ॥ 13.83॥

And this division of zones104, following various rules,

described in connection with the stage, should be nāṭyadharmī.

naq(xmIRàv&Ä< ih sda naq(< àyaejyet!,

n ý¼aiÉnyaiTki†te rag> àvtRte. 13·84.

nāṭyadharmīpravṛttaṁ hi sadā nāṭyaṁ prayojayet ।

na hyaṅgābhinayātkiñcidṛte rāgaḥ pravartate ॥ 13.84॥

So, nāṭya arising from nāṭyadharmī should always be performed:

for no feeling arises unless from conveyance through the limbs.

svRvSy shjae Éav> svaeR ýiÉnyae=wRt>,

A¼al»arceòa tu naq(xmIR àkIitRta. 13·85.

sarvasya sahajo bhāvaḥ sarvo hyabhinayo'rthataḥ ।

aṅgālaṅkāraceṣṭā tu nāṭyadharmī prakīrtitā ॥ 13.85॥

Indeed, everyone’s every state is innately meant for a conveyance,

but ornamented gesturing made with the limbs is known as nāṭyadharmī.

104Earlier on this chapter the division of zones is described. It is basically a method for
changing scenes by walking on the stage.
41
naq(xmRàv&Ä< tu }ey< tTàk«itiSwtm!,

Svv[RmaTmnía*< v[RkEveR;s<ïyE>. 21·88.

nāṭyadharmapravṛttaṁ tu jñeyaṁ tatprakṛtisthitam ।

svavarṇamātmanaśchādyaṁ varṇakairveṣasaṁśrayaiḥ ॥ 21.88॥

But it is known, according to the laws of nāṭya, that, being in character,

one’s own appearance is to be covered with paints combined with dress.

zElàasadyNÇai[ cmRvmRXvjaStwa. 21·93.

nanaàhr[a*aí te=àai[n #it Sm&ta>,

Awva kar[aepeta ÉvNTyete zrIir[>. 21·94.

ve;Éa;aïyaepeta naq(xmRmveúy tu,

śailaprāsādayantrāṇi carmavarmadhvajāstathā ॥ 21.93॥

nānāpraharaṇādyāśca te’prāṇina iti smṛtāḥ ।
athavā kāraṇopetā bhavantyete śarīriṇaḥ ॥ 21.94॥
veṣabhāṣāśrayopetā nāṭyadharmamavekṣya tu ।

These mountains, palaces, machines, together with shields, armours, flags

and various weapons, among others, are known to be inanimate,
but in fact those endowed with reasoning become them in bodily form,
having recourse to dress and speech, observing the laws of nāṭya.

42
àasadg&hyanain nanaàhr[ain c,

n zKy< tain vE ktu¡ ywae´anIh l]nE>. 21·202.

laekxmIR ÉveÅvNya naq(xmIR twapra,

SvÉavae laekxmIR tu ivÉavae naq(mev ih. 21·203.

prāsādagṛhayānāni nānāpraharaṇāni ca ।
na śakyaṁ tāni vai kartuṁ yathoktānīha lakṣaṇaiḥ ॥ 21.202॥
lokadharmī bhavettvanyā nāṭyadharmī tathāparā ।
svabhāvo lokadharmī tu vibhāvo nāṭyameva hi ॥ 21.203॥

Palaces, houses and vehicles, as well as various weapons:

these, as said, are indeed not possible to be built with their proper characteristics here.
lokadharmī is the ordinary, and nāṭyadharmī, the extreme:
in fact, lokadharmī is literality; while nāṭya is suggestion alone.

kamaepÉagae iÖivxae naq(xmeR=iÉxIyte,

baýa_yNtrtíEv narIpué;s<ïy>. 22·149.

kāmopabhāgo dvividho nāṭyadharme'bhidhīyate ।

bāhyābhyantarataścaiva nārīpuruṣasaṁśrayaḥ ॥ 22.149॥

The fruition of pleasure between women and men

is considered twofold in the laws of nāṭya: external and internal105.

105 The adjectives bāhyā and ābhyantarā are here probably referring to social codes of
intercourse, as with courtesans and between married couples, for instance. Only this seems to
shed some light on the categorization of women that follows, whereby they are considered
bāhyā, ‘exterior’, ‘public’; ābhyantarā ‘interior’, ‘private’; or bāhyābhyantarā ‘exterior and
interior’, ‘public and private’.
43
n kay¡ zyn< r¼e naq(xm¡ ivjanta,

kenicÖcnaweRn A»CDedae ivxIyte. 22·295.

na kāryaṁ śayanaṁ raṅge nāṭyadharmaṁ vijānatā ।

kenacidvacanārthena aṅkacchedo vidhīyate ॥ 22.295॥

Sleeping should not be enacted on stage by one who knows the laws of nāṭya:
an interruption of the act should be occasioned under some pretext.

s<mIiltneÇTvat! Vyaixivv&ÏaE Éuj<gdznaÖ,

@v< ih naq(xmeR mr[ain buxE> àyaeJyain. 25·110.

saṁmīlitanetratvāt vyādhivivṛddhau bhujaṁgadaśanādvā ।

evaṁ hi nāṭyadharme maraṇāni budhaiḥ prayojyāni ॥ 25.110॥

At the height of a disease or because of a snake bite, those learned

in the laws of nāṭya should perform death by closing the eyes.

@vmNyeñip twa naq(xmRivÉagt>,

dezve;anuêpe[ paÇ< yaeJy< SvÉUim;u. 35·15.

evamanyeṣvapi tathā nāṭyadharmavibhāgataḥ ।

deśaveṣānurūpeṇa pātraṁ yojyaṁ svabhūmiṣu ॥ 35.15॥

Similarly, in other circumstances as well, and consistently with the laws of nāṭya,
an actor is to be given proper parts, in accordance with region and appearance.

44
Commentary

The word we are looking at here, dharmī, looks just like the masculine singular
nominative of the adjective dharmin, ‘abiding by dharma’, ‘observing the law’, and that
has seemingly misled some authors106 to think they are actually the same. However, in
the Nāṭyaśāstra it must be a feminine noun, maybe a neologism created in this context
to describe a particular theatrical reality. The use of feminine adjectives in connection
with it – laukikī (13.70), anyā and parā (21.203) – as well as the feminine relative
pronoun, yā, at 13.70, leave no doubt that dharmī is not a masculine form, as at first we
could think, but a feminine one, and that immediately excludes the possibility of it
being an adjective, since in that case its form would be dharmiṇī.
Another symptom of the specifically dramatic scope of this term is the name
dharmīputra, meaning ‘actor’ (literally ‘son of dharmī’), where the first element should be
at its stem form107 (unless this is an exceptional compound, and we have no reason to
believe so), being thus a feminine noun, like dhī108 or lakṣmī109, whose singular
nominative happens to be the same as the stem. The origin of that word is obscure, the
dictionaries giving it as a varia lectio of dhātrīputra, ‘the son of a midwife’, ‘an actor’110,
and we do not intend to explore its etymology and meaning, for all its suggestiveness in
the context of the Nāṭyaśāstra; it serves as mere grammatical evidence of the emergence
of the feminine noun dharmī in the context of drama.
That process, however, must have taken place before the Nāṭyaśāstra attained its final
form, maybe even in the Naṭasūtra111, since here it seems to be a perfectly developed
notion. Our idea is that lokadharmī and nāṭyadharmī may have originally been two
bahuvrīhi from which dharmī then dissociated as an independent concept. Of course, in
order to prove that right, we should find a feminine noun that could be the referent,
some part of nāṭya, such as, by way of illustration, the performance or rendition,
described by those two compounds, i.e., following one or the other convention

106 For example, Carlotti 2018: 20.

107 Just as in nāṭya-dharmī-pravṛttaṁ, at 13.84.
108 ‘intelligence’
109 ‘sign’
110 Monier-Williams (says retrieved from lexicographers, i.e., according to the list of
abbreviations, ’a word or meaning which although given in native lexicons, has not yet been
met with in any published text’); Böhtlingk and Roth Grosses Petersburger Wörterbuch refers
to Hemacandra’s Abhidhanakintamani, ein systematisch angeordnetes synonymisches Lexicon.
Herausgegeben, übersetzt und mit Anmerkungen begleitet von O. Böhtlingk und Ch. Rieu.
Neudruck von 1972 der Ausgabe St. Petersburg 1847. XII, 443 Seiten. Kunstledereinband.,
and adds 'Ueber die zweifelhafte Etym. des Wortes s. d. Sch.'.
111 Lost treatise, possibly a precursor of the Nāṭyaśāstra (see Lidova 1994).
45
(dharma).112 Being feminine, that word made the bahuvrīhi feminine as well – so, for
instance, lokadharma, ‘prosaic convention’, which, when referring to a feminine noun,
becomes lokadharmī, designates, as a bahuvrīhi, ‘he who/that which observes the prosaic
convention’. 113
It should also be noticed that the feminine gender of nāṭyadharmī conveniently avoids
confusion with nāṭyadharma, a name that appears at least seven times in the text (while
lokadharma not even once) and, as we see it, should not be taken for an equivalent to
the former114. We should not mistake our own difficulties to discern and understand
each concept for imprecision on the part of the author (uncertain as he may be), so,
even rejecting our bahuvrīhi hypothesis, it would probably be more cautious to think
nāṭyadharmī and lokadharmī were made feminine with the sole purpose of distinguishing
the former from nāṭyadharma than to consider dharmī and dharma two forms of the same
word used indistinctly.

Looking at Ghosh’s translation of the words dānadharma, ‘charities’, and matyadharma,
‘intellect’ 115, has helped me thinking about the distinction between nāṭyadharmī and
nāṭyadharma: Ghosh treats the two compounds above as if dharma, in fine compositi,
worked as a suffix granting a certain abstract, generic value to the previous element.
Thus the law or usage, dharma, of giving, dāna, becomes ‘charity’, and the law or usage
of thinking, matya, becomes the ‘intellect’. Following that same logic, we could
translate nāṭyadharma as ‘dramaturgy’, for instance, or something like Carlotti’s (2014)
‘attività teatrale’116. That seems perfectly plausible to us: nāṭyadharma would then be the
general rule, the set of principles and codes according to which any play should be
staged, and which comprises both loka and nāṭyadharmī as particular styles. Let us take
a closer look at each of them.

I first started thinking about dharmī while trying to understand the process of
anukaraṇa and to ascertain whether it implied or not any degree of verisimilitude. The
fact that many translations rendered lokadharmī and nāṭyadharmī as ‘realistic’ and
‘conventional’117, for instance, caught my attention. I started thinking about the
relationship between dharmī and anukaraṇa, whether anukaraṇa was involved in both

112The only feminine noun we found that could possibly suit these conditions is anukṛti, one of
the words for representation, and particularly used to refer to each specific execution or
staging (see 1.57, on p. 11, for instance), but, obviously, this is a hypothesis not easy to verify.
113The Monier-Williams (1899) has an entry for nāṭyadharmī, given as a feminine noun, ‘the
ruler of dramatic representation’. However, that definition, notwithstanding perfect aptness in
other contexts perhaps, does not seem to fulfil the function of a counterpart to lokadharmī in the
Nāṭyaśāstra.

Unni (1998: 167), for example, asserts that 'the term is available in both the genders', dharmī
114

and dharma.
115 36.76 and 80, respectively, in Ghosh’s edition.
116 This is, in fact, Carlotti’s translation of Satguru’s (p. 156).
117 Ghosh’s translation of lokadharmī and nāṭyadharmī.
46
forms of dharmī, which I soon realized was right: it is obvious, from the extensive
description of nāṭyadharmī, that many of its characteristic instances entail that
transmutation we have been analyzing in the previous sections of this work (see 13.75,
13.77 and 13.79); and, simple and literal (or even realistic!) as it may be, lokadharmī is
nāṭya (see 13.72), therefore it necessarily implies anukaraṇa, for nāṭya is anukaraṇa
(1.112, 1.117).
We have said before we consider representation to be a function of abhinaya, as its
realization depends on the means of expression involved. And it could well be related
to dharmī in the same way: things can be represented in one or the other manner, so
anukaraṇa is always present, only with different possible aspects.

The word ‘realistic’ bears many problems with it. It is possible that there is some
overlap between lokadharmī and what we understand by realism, but we probably
should avoid that word when it comes to describing a millennia old art form which
includes representation of fantastical creatures through highly stylized make-up,
costumes and movements.
From the few verses exclusively dedicated to lokadharmī the main idea that comes
across is one of plainness: śuddha, ‘pure’, ‘simple’, vikṛta, ‘unfinished’, (13.71); anya,
‘ordinary’118 (21.203).

The word svabhāva, on the other hand, in spite of its two occurrences in relation to
lokadharmī (13.72, 21.203), should be looked at very carefully, since it also appears at
13.81, in a description of nāṭyadharmī, and even in relation to nāṭyadharma, if we
consider the prose excerpt after 7.93, where it is said that the rules of drama prescribe
a certain conveyance of emotion so as to reproduce the svabhāva of the world, as a
result of which svabhāva appears to be a structural notion in drama, as described in the
Nāṭyaśāstra, and not a particular characteristic of one dramatic circumstance or the
other.

That is why a wordplay should be considered at 21.203: while both svabhāva and
vibhāva are frequent words throughout the whole text in other contexts (svabhāva is
usually ‘spontaneity’, as the instant emotional response to something, – see prose after
7.93 – and vibhāva can be either the symptom or the cause of some state of mind or
feeling – see 7.10), here they assume slightly different meanings, the relation between
the two of them being the determining factor: svabhāva is the thing itself – spontaneity
in the sense spontaneity is immediate and straightforward –, and vibhāva is the
insinuation or hint – that which is not the thing itself. The deviation from the current
meaning is subtle, but it needs to be noted, since it would not make sense to read these

118 This is a wonderful example of Sanskrit polysemy, one that quite often implies antithesis:
anya is a quite frequent word, it means ‘other’, so one of its extended senses, and the one that
appears the most in dictionaries, is ‘different’, ‘strange’, ‘unusual’ (see the Monier-Williams, for
instance). But then, of course, ‘other’ can become ‘another’, and, following that, ‘any one’,
’common’.
47
words, especially vibhāva, in its quasi-technical sense: we have no reason to believe
signs as a category of the theory of aesthetical experience presented in the Nāṭyaśāstra
are exclusive to nāṭyadharmī, much less equivalent to it. Having said that, in order to
ascertain the shift in the meaning of these words, the only clue I had was the fact that
both had the same main element with different prefixes. One of the difficulties here is
that our languages do not have a word equivalent to bhāva, which, more than a state or
a stage, is basically something that happens (√bhū, ’to become’). So, making the
translations of bhāva and words such as vibhāva, anubhāva or sāttvikabhāva harmonious in
the context of the Nāṭyaśāstra can be quite challenging, for none of latter is really a
‘state’, even if their nucleus is the word bhāva 119. At 21.203, it seems to be even more so,
bhāva working as a sort of dumb element, which loses its original value in compounds
or when prefixed, since the key to understand the meaning of vibhāva and svabhāva here
lies in the comparison between the two prefixes, sva-, ‘own’, and vi-, which can have
various meanings, including the expression of distinction, this probably being the case
here. So, even in this example, expressed with the word svabhāva, the implication,
regarding lokadharmī, is towards that idea of plainness: lokadharmī is the simple way,
the expression of content without great ornament, probably in symbiosis with the
content itself, which is conceivable to be the prosaic, the pedestrian (see 13.71:
lokavārtā, ‘wordly reports’), as opposed to the poetic – Gupt’s ‘raw’ vs. ‘cooked’ 120.

This dichotomy can vaguely remind one of Aristotle’s σπουδαῖος vs. φαῦλος: in the
Poetics, tragedy is described as the representation of a serious action, as contrasted with
a low one, which would be the case of comedy (1459b 24, 1449a 32). According to
Aristotle, that means that the men (and their actions) represented in one are better
than us, while in the other, worse, each genre being a development of more primitive
forms that already constituted a poetry divided in two halves, praise and blame121,
ἔπαινος and ψόγος (possibly with its origin at an Indo-European opposition122).

That is definitely something we do not see in the descriptions of lokadharmī and

nāṭyadharmī, but we should take into account that, as Riu points out, praise and blame
as literary categories are essentially two opposite ways of making poetry, each with its
particular objects and particular ways. Therefore, if we acknowledge that actual praise
and blame are part of both ἔπαινος and ψόγος, and completely subsidiary to the general
function each of them has, the coincidence of both texts mentioning two contrasting
modes, one grand, the other low, can start to look quite interesting, even if it only helps
us shift our standpoint when enquiring into dharmī.

119See pp. 50-53. Cuneo (2013) says ‘vibhāvas, anubhāvas and vyabhicāribhāvas are nothing but
the theatrical counterparts of real-life causes, effects and concomitant factors of an emotion’.
120 Gupt 2016: 240
121 See Nagy 1999 (chapter 12) and Riu 2008.
122 See, for example, Dumézil 1969: 103-124.
48
So, even if lokadharmī is less conspicuous, short of elaborate expression and more
denotative, one should not assume it followed rules and codes of life – it is not
surprising that no such thing as lokadharma is found in the text – because both
lokadharmī and nāṭyadharmī are part of drama123, they complement each other (the two
halves?) as part of nāṭyadharma.

So, while nāṭyadharmī is a sophisticated, ingenious style whereby all artists involved
give way to creativity, nāṭyadharma is concerned with general principles, things that
should always be done in the same way. Or, if that is not possible, it encompasses all
the alternatives. I shall give an example that demonstrates clearly that nāṭyadharma and
nāṭyadharmī are not the same. One of the most distinctly expressed oppositions between
the two dharmī is related to the assignment of roles to the actors: at 13.72 we have
nānāstrīpuruṣāśrayam ‘having recourse to various women and men', and at 13.74 we
have an almost identical compound, asvasthapuruṣāśrayam, ‘having recourse to men who
are not themselves’. It is actually easier to understand what each of them means when
looking at both: in lokadharmī men and women play men and women respectively, and
they are various because they have to suit a variety of roles; while in nāṭyadharmī, not
only one actor can play more than one single role (see 13.78), but also men can play
women, and vice-versa, or other categories that they do not belong to in real life, for
instance, they can play 'palaces, houses and vehicles, as well as various weapons'124
(see 21.93 and 21.202). So, if nāṭyadharma and nāṭyadharmī were the same thing, we
would not come across something like what we find at 35.15, where a concern about
the correspondence between the actor’s and the character’s characteristics is shown.

To sum up, drama does not abide by real world laws, it has its own rules, which
establish both that death is to be acted by closing the eyes (25.110) and that
distribution of roles should take into account, when possible, the personal
characteristics of the actors (35.15). nāṭyadharmī and lokadharmī are provided by those
same rules, as two complementary manners of conveying the general meaning of a play.

123See 21.201, on p. 18, for instance, where it becomes clear that the prop cannot be a real
object, but necessarily a theatrical one representing it in a more (loka) or less (nāṭya) obvious
way (see 21.203, on p. 43).
124 Just as in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Tom Snout plays a wall, the Wall, at
Nick Bottom’s suggestion: ‘QUINCE: (…) Then there is another thing: we must have a wall
in the great chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did talk through the chink of a
wall. SNOUT: You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom? BOTTOM: Some man
or other must present Wall; and let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast
about him, to signify ‘wall’; or let him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall
Pyramus and Thisby whisper.’
49
 A few notes on some concepts

rasa and bhāva

The theory of rasa is one of the most prominent questions of the Nāṭyaśāstra, and
probably the one that has been most studied and discussed throughout the centuries of
reception of the text. Both rasa and bhāva (in the present work translated as ‘flavor’ and
‘state’, respectively) are profoundly complex concepts, to which many have dedicated
extensive work.
For a very clear general view of the theory of rasa, as presented in the Nāṭyaśāstra and
discussed by its commentators, including a translation of the rasasūtra125 and its
development, as well as of the respective sections of the Abhinavabhāratī126, see Maillard
& Pujol 2006.
What we here intend to do is to give a basic account of these central notions for the
reader who is not familiarized with the Nāṭyaśāstra.127

rithaRsí zaekí ³aexaeTsahaE Éy< twa,

juguPsa ivSmyíeit SwaiyÉava> àkIitRta>. 6·17.

inveRdGlainz»aOyaStwasUya md> ïm>,

AalSy< cEv dENy< c icNta maeh> Sm&itx&it>. 6·18.

ìIfa cplta h;R Aavegae jfta twa,

gvaeR iv;ad AaETsuKy< inÔapSmar @v c. 6·19.

suÝ< ivbaexae=m;RíaPyvihTwmwae¢ta,

mitVyaRixStwaeNmadStwa mr[mev c. 6·20.

125The basic account of the origin of rasa, contained in the prose section after 6.31, is usually
referred to as rasasūtra.
126The Abhinavabhāratī is the commentary by Abhinavagupta (c. 950 – 1016 AD), the only one
extant. Discussion of previous commentators’ ideas found in it are almost the only source of
information about them we have.
127A thorough study of the aesthetical theory of rasa requires, we believe, serious acquaintance
with the spiritual one, concerning the individual relationship with God, so many are the
elements in common, especially with regard to nomenclature.
50
ÇasíEv ivtk›í iv}eya VyiÉcair[>,

ÇyiSÇ<zdmI Éava> smaOyataStu namt>. 6·21.

ratirhāsaśca śokaśca krodhotsāhau bhayaṁ tathā ।

jugupsā vismayaśceti sthāyibhāvāḥ prakīrtitāḥ ॥ 6.17॥
nirvedaglāniśaṅkākhyāstathāsūyā madaḥ śramaḥ ।
ālasyaṁ caiva dainyaṁ ca cintā mohaḥ smṛtirdhṛtiḥ ॥ 6.18॥
vrīḍā capalatā harṣa āvego jaḍatā tathā ।
garvo viṣāda autsukyaṁ nidrāpasmāra eva ca ॥ 6.19॥
suptaṁ vibodho'marṣaścāpyavahitthamathogratā ।
matirvyādhistathonmādastathā maraṇameva ca ॥ 6.20॥
trāsaścaiva vitarkaśca vijñeyā vyabhicāriṇaḥ ।
trayastriṁśadamī bhāvāḥ samākhyātāstu nāmataḥ ॥ 6.21॥

Love and mirth and affliction, wrath and power, as well as fear,
disgust and bewilderment are known as the permanent states.128
Despondency, languor, as well as something called hesitation, indignation, intoxication,
exertion,
and also idleness and depression, anxiety, perplexity, remembrance, resolution,
shame, fickleness, pleasure, agitation as well as apathy,
pride, aversion, desire, sleepiness and also confusion,
sleeping, awaking and impatience too, dissimulation and aggressiveness,
devotion as well as disease as well as madness and also death,
and also terror and conjecture are known as transient states.
Those thirty-three states are fully described by name.

vag¼aiÉnyeneh ytSTvwaeR=nuÉaVyte,

zaoa¼aepa¼s<yu´STvnuÉavStt> Sm&t>. 7·5.

vāgaṅgābhinayeneha yatastvartho'nubhāvyate ।
śākhāṅgopāṅgasaṁyuktastvanubhāvastataḥ smṛtaḥ ॥ 7.5 ॥

Since the meaning is manifested through verbal and gestural conveyance,

movement of the body combined with the minor limbs129 is called manifestation.

128 These eight states have, notably, a one-to-one rapport with the eight flavors: romantic
(śṛṅgāra), mirthful (hāsya), melancholic (karuṇa), violent (raudra), heroic (vīra), fearful
(bhayānaka), repulsive (bībhatsa) and prodigious (adbhuta).
129śākhā is, in fact, a particular kind of gesture using the whole body, described at chapter 22.
upāṅga, the minor limbs, are the eyes, the eyebrows, the nose, the lips and the chin (8.13).
51
tÇ ivÉavanuÉavaE laekàisÏaE, laekSvÉavanugtTva½ tyaelR][<

naeCyte=itàs¼inv&ÅywRm!,

tatra vibhāvānubhāvau lokaprasiddhau । lokasvabhāvānugatatvācca tayorlakṣaṇaṁ

nocyate'tiprasaṅganivṛttyartham । (prose after 7.5)

Now, the signs and manifestations are well-known in the world and, because they
follow the spontaneity of the world, their characteristics are not described, to avoid
excessive dependence on it.

Contrary to what happens with the permanent (eight) and the transitory states (thirty-
three), the list of signs and manifestations is not a closed one. That is due to the fact
that they should be inspired on the spontaneous behaviours observed in life, in what
seems to be a window of creative freedom to the actor, who should not be too
conditioned by a rigorous description of such objects of expression.
vibhāva, the signs, are the conditions that give rise to the permanent states – in fact, at
the prose section after 7.3 it is said vibhāvaḥ kāraṇaṁ nimittaṁ heturiti paryāyāḥ, ‘sign,
cause, mark and motive are synonyms’ –, vibhāva is really what comes before bhāva
(7.10); in a certain way it is specifically what bhāva is not (vi-), its indication or
suggestion as opposed to itself (21.203). And anubhāva follows the same logic: it is what
comes after (anu-) the bhāva, the manifestations or demonstrations of those permanent
states. They are, in short, the causes and consequences of the states.

tÇ ivÉavanuÉavVyiÉcairs<yaegaÔsin:piÄ>, (…)

nanaÉavaepgta Aip Swaiynae Éava rsTvmaßuvNtIit, AÇah - rs #it

k> pdawR>, %Cyte - AaSva*Tvat!,

kwmaSva*te rs>, ywa ih nanaVyÃns<Sk«tmÚ< ÉuÃana

rsanaSvadyiNt sumns> pué;a h;RadI<íaixgCDiNt twa

52
nanaÉavaiÉnyVyiÃtan! vag¼gsÅvaepetan! SwaiyÉavaSvadyiNt

sumns> àe]ka> h;RadI<íaixgCDiNt,

tatra vibhāvānubhāvavyabhicārisaṁyogādrasaniṣpattiḥ । (…)

nānābhāvopagatā api sthāyino bhāvā rasatvamāpnuvantīti ।
atrāha – rasa iti kaḥ padārthaḥ । ucyate – āsvādyatvāt ।
kathamāsvādyate rasaḥ । yathā hi nānāvyañjanasaṁskṛtamannaṁ bhuñjānā
rasānāsvādayanti
sumanasaḥ puruṣā harṣādīṁścādhigacchanti tathā nānābhāvābhinayavyañjitān
vāgaṅgasattvopetān
sthāyibhāvānāsvādayanti sumanasaḥ prekṣakāḥ harṣādīṁścādhigacchanti । (prose
after 6.31)

So, the attainment of the flavor results from the combination of signs, manifestations
and transient states. (…)
Thus, accompanied by the other states, the permanent states achieve the quality of
flavors. Now: why is it called flavor? They say: for it can be tasted130.
How can the flavor be tasted? Just as competent men, eating food prepared with
various seasonings, taste the flavors and obtain an original pleasure, in that same
manner competent spectators taste the permanent states made visible through the
conveyance of states with speech, body and emotion, and obtain an original pleasure.

The flavor is, then, something to be experienced by the audience, as a consequence of

the actor’s structured conveyance of meaning, which includes, as its objects, the signs
of a certain permanent state, its manifestations and the transient states that are
associated with it. By this conjunction the permanent states refine themselves into rasa,
which is the climax of theatrical experience, the ultimate form of fruition and
understanding of drama.

130 The basic meaning of rasa is precisely ‘sap’, ‘juice’, which extends to ‘taste’, and then to
‘essence’. In the spiritual and religious domain, particularly in Vaiṣṇavism, rasa is the kind of
devotional relationship each individual has with God; in art, it is the aesthetical experience or
relish (see Monier-Williams). In both cases, it is alaukika, an extraordinary, extramundane
experience.
53
abhinaya

Aai¼kae vaickíEv ýahayR> saiÅvkStwa,

cTvarae=iÉnya ýete iv}eya naq(s<ïya>. 6·23.

āṅgiko vācikaścaiva hyāhāryaḥ sāttvikastathā ।

catvāro'bhinayā hyete vijñeyā nāṭyasaṁśrayāḥ ॥ 6.23॥

The gestural and the verbal, the accessory131 as well as the emotional:
these four conveyances are known to be the dwelling place of nāṭya.

As to abhinaya, it is the fourfold collection of the means of expression in nāṭya: gestures

and dance (āṅgika), words (vācika), props and characterization (āhārya), and
psychosomatic reactions (sāttvika).
The translation ‘conveyance’ is a choice based on the etymology: the root √nī means ‘to
guide’, it is through abhinaya that the actor ‘guides’ the meaning towards (abhi-) the
audience, and we wanted to keep that idea of movement.

131 The āhāryābhinaya concerns the props, set, costume and make-up, and, as we can see from
this śloka, it is considered a form of expression of the content of a play, just as body movements,
words and manifestation of emotion.
54
sattva and svabhāva

AVy´êp< sÅv< ih iv}ey< Éavs<ïym!,

ywaSwanrsaepet< raemaÂaöaidiÉguR[E>. 22·3.

avyaktarūpaṁ sattvaṁ hi vijñeyaṁ bhāvasaṁśrayam ।

yathāsthānarasopetaṁ romāñcāsrādibhirguṇaiḥ ॥ 22.3॥

Its form being imperceptible, emotion is known to belong to the states,

reaching the flavor instantly through elements like goosebumps and tears.

This śloka might be somewhat confusing, if we are not careful. Someone could ask:
How can something like goosebumps and tears be imperceptible? The key is precisely
the instrumental, through: sattva, which is invisible, is manifested through those things,
which are sāttvika.

StMÉ> Svedae=w raemaÂ> Svrɼae=w vepwu>,

vEv{yRmïuàly #TyòaE saiÅvka> Sm&ta>. 6·22.

stambhaḥ svedo'tha romāñcaḥ svarabhaṅgo'tha vepathuḥ ।

vaivarṇyamaśrupralaya ityaṣṭau sāttvikāḥ smṛtāḥ ॥ 6.22॥

Paralysis and sweating, goosebumps and hoarseness, trembling,

change of color, tears and fainting are the eight established emotional reactions.

There are, in this wise, two sāttvika categories in nāṭya, bhāva132 and abhinaya (6.23). As
we have seen earlier, bhāva is a difficult word to translate, and in fact the sāttvikabhāva
are not exactly states133. They are more truly manifestations, displays or indications,
like anubhāva, but of a particular kind. anubhāva is especially related to gestures and
words134, i.e., to āṅgikābhinaya and vācikābhinaya, so it is an expression of the flavors,
rasa, through those two means for the most part, and each flavor has its own

132The previous śloka enumerate other kinds of bhāva, namely sthāyibhāva, ‘permanent states’,
and vyabhicāribhāva, ‘transient states’, so here the word bhāva is implied as the noun which the
adjective sāttvika is qualifying.

Interestingly, all eight of them are considered symptoms of ecstasy. See Caitanya Caritāmṛta,
133

Ādilīlā, 7.89-90 and Madhyalīlā 14.167.

134 See 7.5.
55
manifestations of that kind – for example, in the case of śṛṅgārarasa, ‘the romantic
flavor’, they are 'amiable liveliness of the pupils of the eyes, contraction of the
eyebrows, side glances, playful wandering, elegance of the limbs, and delightful
words'135. So, the third type of abhinaya that depends on the actor, sāttvika, involves
other particular kind of manifestation, the sāttvikabhāva (see 6.22), which are the more
reflex and unpremeditated indications of feeling, the ones that are deeply rooted in
one’s emotional condition, rendering the invisible (sattva) visible.
sattva also means ‘essence’, ‘nature’, and that is the function of sāttvikābhinaya,
furnishing the words and gestures that by themselves may have an uncertain meaning
with character, determining their spirit and whole significance.

Intimately related to sattva is svabhāva. As noted above, this word is found in relation to
both dharmī, and even in the prose excerpt after 7.93, about general dramaturgy.
svabhāva is the object of representation through sāttvikābhinaya, and this is a constant in
dramatic art, for nāṭyaṁ sattve pratiṣṭhitam136, ‘nāṭya is based on sattva’. That is why
spontaneity, as we here translate svabhāva, is a constant too. It says a lot about the
process of acting, an exercise of deep concentration and embodiment, almost as if
sāttvikabhāva were psychosomatic reactions taking over the actor.
At 13.71 and 72, svabhāva is the basic physical response without expansion or
elaboration; whereas in 13.81 it is 'combined with conveyance through the limbs',
which seems to be preferable in order to arise the sympathy of the audience (see 13.84,
on p. 41, which can, in fact, be seen as evidence that no play would be exclusively
performed in lokadharmī, otherwise failing to reach its goal, siddhi, ‘accomplishment’,
’success’).

135 nayanacāturyabhrūkṣepakaṭākṣasañcāralalitamadhurāṅgahāravākya (prose after 6.45)

136 22.1
56
 Conclusion

The appeal of Aristotelian µίµησις lies, to me, in its liberating power: in the Poetics, Art
proudly conquers its independence, its sovereignty, its body of law.

In fact, it was not surprising, but rather reassuring, to find out that nāṭya has its own
body of law too (nāṭyadharma), and that representation (anukaraṇa) is the very line that
draws the border around it.

The variety of words used in the Nāṭyaśāstra to refer to that process manifests the
peculiarities of each of its aspects, and the analysis of the corpus of text we here
translated, consisting of every appearance of those words, invites us to discern between
them, and to appreciate their nuances, amounting to a broad, all-inclusive idea of
representation, taking into account not only the work of the poet or director (1.112),
but also those of the actor/dancer (7.93), property master (21.201) and even makeup
artist (21.24) – at odds with what we find in the Poetics.

From that collection, however, the most significant outcome is the evidence of that
removal of Art from Reality, that same freedom and autonomy seen in the Poetics, albeit
revealed in a completely different way, through both indirect demonstrations – like
verses 8.34 and 21.201, for example, where the stage features described may be seen as
specifically opposed to the ones existent in nature/life, which are not appropriate for
nāṭya – and the explicit assertion of the existence of a nāṭyadharma.

The distinction between nāṭyadharmī and nāṭyadharma, as well as the enquiry into the
origin of the notion of dharmī, is truly one of the most stimulating explorations we did
in this work. A close reading of the text gives us no reasons to sustain lokadharmī is
‘realistic’, except if guided by our own preconceptions.
From that analysis emerges a sense of wholeness to nāṭya, whereof lokadharmī and
nāṭyadharmī are the two halves, not only reconcilable, but, what is more,
complementary, as options to all the artists involved, which they apply according to the
circumstances: 13.84 says ‘nāṭya arising from nāṭyadharmī should always be performed’,
which we should not interpret as saying lokadharmī must not be performed – for, then,
why would it exist and be described here? –, but that it should not be exclusive.

The Nāṭyaśāstra, a colossal treatise, six thousand śloka long, is too small to embrace the
whole nāṭyadharma, and thus refers to observation of the world. But let us not forget
that all those things that are lovely and that never happen, all those things that are not and that
should be137 are only so as long as we experience and analyze them, namely, as objects of
our worldly perception. And that is the conundrum we should always bear in mind:

137 Wilde 1891.

57
even if nāṭya is its own world, we access it through those fourth walls that are as real as a
real drunkard.

58
 References

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Ghosh, M. (1951). The Nāṭyaśāstra ascribed to Bharata Muni: A Treatise on Hindu

Dramaturgy and Histrionics. Vol. I (chapters I - XXII). Calcutta: Asiatic Society of
Bengal.

Ghosh, M. (1961). The Nāṭyaśāstra ascribed to Bharata Muni: A Treatise on Hindu

Dramaturgy and Histrionics. Vol. II (chapters XXIII - XXXVI). Calcutta: Asiatic Society
of Bengal, 1951.

Kavi, M. R. (ed.) (1926-1964). Nāṭyaśāstra of Bharatamuni with the Commentary

Abhinavabhāratī by Abhinavaguptācārya. 4 vols. Vol. I (ch. 1-7), 2nd ed., revised and
critically edited by K. S. Ramaswami Sastri, 1956; vol. II (ch. 8-18), 1934; vol. III (ch.
19-27), 1954; vol. IV (ch. 28-37), edited by late M. Ramakrishna Kavi and J. S. Pade,
1964. Gaekwad’s Oriental Series, vols. 36; 68; 124; 154. Baroda: Oriental Institute.

Kumar, P. (ed.) (2010). Nāṭyaśāstra of Bharatamuni: Sanskrit Text, Romanised Text,

Commentary of Abhinava Bhāratī by Abhinavaguptācārya and English Translation by M. M.
Ghosh. 4 vols. Delhi: New Bharatiya Book Corporation.

Rangacharya, A. (trans.) (2016). The Nāṭyaśāstra: English Translation with Critical Notes.
Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers.

Unni, N. P. (1998). Nāṭyaśāstra: Text with Introduction, English Translation and Indices. 4
vols. Delhi: NAG Publishers.

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66
 Appendix: correspondence between Baroda and Calcutta editions’ chapters

Chapters I to XIII and XXVII to XXXII match, in general terms. Chapter XXXV has
some particular issues: śloka 1–20 match; 21–84 in Ghosh’s edition we were not able to
locate at the other one; and Ghosh’s 85–106 are 21–41 in Baroda.

Baroda Calcutta
IX IX and X
X XI
XI XII
XII XIII
XIII XIV
XIV XV
XV XVI
XVI XVII
XVII XVIII and XIX
XVIII XX
XIX XXI
XX XXII
XXI XXIII
XXII XXIV
XXIII XXV
XXIV XXXIV
XXV XXVI
XXVI ?

XXXIII ?
XXXIV XXXIII

XXXVI and XXXVII XXXVI

67