In the Shade of the Golden Palace: Alaol and Middle Bengali Poetics in Arakan 9780190860332

Table of contents :
Cover
Half title
Series
In the Shade of the Golden Palace
Copyright
Contents
Acknowledgments
Transliteration Charts
Map of Arakan and Eastern South Asia in the Seventeenth Century
Introduction: Poetics in the Margins
Ālāol’s life and works at a glance
Studying Middle Bengali literature
Overview of the contents of the book
1. The Formation of Bengali Literature in Arakan (ca. 1430–​1638)
Setting a frame for a unified understanding of a composite tradition
The Bengal–​Arakan continuum and the Bay of Bengal network system
The formation of an Arakanese Islamicate political idiom circa 1430–​1630
Bengali Muslim literature in Chittagong and the Dhaññavatī area
Literary cultures in Bhulua
Mardān’s (fl. 1622–​1638) Sādhur vacan [The Merchant’s Promise]
Summary
2. Literary Urbanity in Mrauk U
Urban Bengali Muslim literature in Arakan
Locating Bengali Muslims in the social landscape of Mrauk U
The royal dignitary as patron and host
The secondary courts of Mrauk U
The economy of the sabhā
The functions of speech in the sabhā: The story of Bhāratīcatur
Summary
3. New Beginnings: Ālāol’s Early Career in Mrauk U
Beyond the trope of the aging poet, a context-​sensitive poetics
An Indo-​Afghan childhood: Ālāol in Fatihabad
Joining the royal household: Māgan Ṭhākur and his milieu
Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl: Cosmopolitanism in Mrauk U’s sabhās
Satī Maẏnā and the first signs of the patrons’ withdrawal to the edge of the royal household
Summary
4. Ālāol’s Poetry and Mrauk U’s Political Turmoil
1661: A political and poetical crisis
The dissolution of the Arakanese courtly milieu
Epilogue: The provincial afterlife of the Mrauk U literary tradition
Summary
5. Ālāol’s Poetics: When Locality Rhymes with Originality
Ālāol’s poetics in the perspective of Bengali literary history
Extending the paradigm of Bengali literary performance
Reconstructing Ālāol’s poetics
Speech, cosmology, and distinction
Defining kavitva
The sciences of kavitva
Prosody [chanda]
Sentiments and emotions [bhāva-​rasa]
The nine rasas and the prema-​rasa
The eight kinds of heroine [aṣṭa-​nāẏikā-​bheda]
Poetic ornaments [alaṅkāras]
The arrangement of all meanings [sarva-​artha-​gā̃thani]
Cleverness of speech/​citation [ukti]
Analogical and suggestive speech: upamā and iṅgita
Translation as the recording of a reading experience
Ālāol on translation
Summary
6. Indo-​Afghan Historical Imaginaries and the Romance Genre
A retrospective gaze through the lens of Ālāol’s oeuvre
The classicization of vernacular literature
The Indo-​Afghan historical imaginaries
The ideological background of Indo-​Afghan multilingualism
Literary multilingualism in Quṭban’s Mirigāvatī (1503)
The Avadhi romance: A new template for love poetry
Indo-​Afghan literary culture in the Deccan
Summary
7. Lyric Poetry and Deśī Aesthetics in Eastern South Asia
Deśī courtly culture, saṅgīta, and multilingualism
Vidyāpati and the deprofessionalization of literacy
Singing love after Vidyāpati: Vernacular lyrics in eastern South Asia
Locana’s (ca. 1680) Rāgataraṅgiṇī: Fashioning a grammar of eastern vernacular lyrics
Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara and the making of deśī connoisseurship
Summary
Conclusion: Middle Bengali Poetics and the Multilingual Literary History of Bengal
Appendix 1: Summaries of Ālāol’s Padmāvatī and the Story of the Goldsmith’s Wife
a. Summary of Ālāol’s Padmāvatī (1651)
b. The story of the Goldsmith’s wife in Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl (ca. 1656)
Appendix 2: Analytical Tables of Ālāol’s Songs
Appendix 3: Original Texts of the Middle Bengali and Old Maithili Songs
Appendix 4: A Persian Appraisal of Ālāol’s Life and Works
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

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In the Shade of the Golden Palace

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SOUTH ASIA RESEARCH Series Editor Martha Selby A Publication Series of The University of Texas South Asia Institute and Oxford University Press THE EARLY UPANISADS Annotated Text and Translation Patrick Olivelle INDIAN EPIGRAPHY A Guide to the Study of Inscriptions in Sanskrit, Prakrit, and the other Indo-​Aryan Languages Richard Salomon A DICTIONARY OF OLD MARATHI S. G. Tulpule and Anne Feldhaus DONORS, DEVOTEES, AND DAUGHTERS OF GOD Temple Women in Medieval Tamilnadu Leslie C. Orr JĪMŪTAVĀHANA’S DĀYABHĀGA The Hindu Law of Inheritance in Bengal Edited and Translated with an Introduction and Notes by Ludo Rocher A PORTRAIT OF THE HINDUS Balthazar Solvyns & the European Image of India 1740–1824 Robert L. Hardgrave MANU’S CODE OF LAW A Critical Edition and Translation of the Manava-​Dharmasastra Patrick Olivelle NECTAR GAZE AND POISON BREATH An Analysis and Translation of the Rajasthani Oral Narrative of Devnarayan Aditya Malik BETWEEN THE EMPIRES Society in India 300 BCE to 400 CE Patrick Olivelle

MANAGING MONKS Administrators and Administrative Roles in Indian Buddhist Monasticism Jonathan A. Silk ŚIVA IN TROUBLE Festivals and Rituals at the Pasupatinatha Temple of Deopatan Axel Michaels A PRIEST’S GUIDE FOR THE GREAT FESTIVAL Aghorasiva’s Mahotsavavidhi Richard H. Davis DHARMA Its Early History in Law, Religion, and Narrative Alf Hiltebeitel POETRY OF KINGS The Classical Hindi Literature of Mughal India Allison Busch THE RISE OF A FOLK GOD Viṭṭhal of Pandharpur Ramchandra Chintaman Dhere Translated by Anne Feldhaus WOMEN IN EARLY INDIAN BUDDHISM Comparative Textual Studies Edited by Alice Collett THE RIGVEDA The Earliest Religious Poetry of India Edited and translated by Stephanie W. Jamison and Joel P. Brereton CITY OF MIRRORS Translated by Carol Salomon Edited by Saymon Zakaria and Keith E. Cantú

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In the Shade of the Golden Palace Ālāol and Middle Bengali Poetics in Arakan

z THIBAUT D’HUBERT

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1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2018 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. CIP data is on file at the Library of Congress ISBN 978–​0–​19–​086033–​2 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America

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Contents

Acknowledgments 

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Transliteration Charts 

xiii

Map of Arakan and Eastern South Asia in the Seventeenth Century 

xix

Introduction: Poetics in the Margins  Ālāol’s life and works at a glance  6 Studying Middle Bengali literature  11 Overview of the contents of the book  17

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1. The Formation of Bengali Literature in Arakan (ca. 1430–​1638)  20 Setting a frame for a unified understanding of a composite tradition  20 The Bengal–​Arakan continuum and the Bay of Bengal network system  21 The formation of an Arakanese Islamicate political idiom circa 1430–​1630  25 Bengali Muslim literature in Chittagong and the Dhaññavatī area  32 Literary cultures in Bhulua  39 Mardān’s (fl. 1622–​1638) Sādhur vacan [The Merchant’s Promise]  42 Summary  45 2. Literary Urbanity in Mrauk U  47 Urban Bengali Muslim literature in Arakan  47 Locating Bengali Muslims in the social landscape of Mrauk U  51 The royal dignitary as patron and host  58 The secondary courts of Mrauk U  62

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Contents

The economy of the sabhā  65 The functions of speech in the sabhā: The story of Bhāratīcatur  75 Summary  87 3. New Beginnings: Ālāol’s Early Career in Mrauk U  89 Beyond the trope of the aging poet, a context-​sensitive poetics  89 An Indo-​Afghan childhood: Ālāol in Fatihabad  93 Joining the royal household: Māgan Ṭhākur and his milieu  99 Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl: Cosmopolitanism in Mrauk U’s sabhās  117 Satī Maẏnā and the first signs of the patrons’ withdrawal to the edge of the royal household  123 Summary  129 4. Ālāol’s Poetry and Mrauk U’s Political Turmoil  1661: A political and poetical crisis  132 The dissolution of the Arakanese courtly milieu  140 Epilogue: The provincial afterlife of the Mrauk U literary tradition  151 Summary  160

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5. Ālāol’s Poetics: When Locality Rhymes with Originality  162 Ālāol’s poetics in the perspective of Bengali literary history  162 Extending the paradigm of Bengali literary performance  163 Reconstructing Ālāol’s poetics  171 Speech, cosmology, and distinction  175 Defining kavitva  179 The sciences of kavitva  182 Prosody [chanda]  186 Sentiments and emotions [bhāva-​rasa]  188 The nine rasas and the prema-​rasa  190 The eight kinds of heroine [aṣṭa-​nāẏikā-​bheda]  194 Poetic ornaments [alaṅkāras]  200 The arrangement of all meanings [sarva-​artha-​gā̃thani]  203 Cleverness of speech/​citation [ukti]  205 Analogical and suggestive speech: upamā and iṅgita  206 Translation as the recording of a reading experience  213 Ālāol on translation  219 Summary  223

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Contents

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6. Indo-​Afghan Historical Imaginaries and the Romance Genre  226 A retrospective gaze through the lens of Ālāol’s oeuvre  226 The classicization of vernacular literature  228 The Indo-​Afghan historical imaginaries  231 The ideological background of Indo-​Afghan multilingualism  238 Literary multilingualism in Quṭban’s Mirigāvatī (1503)  244 The Avadhi romance: A new template for love poetry  247 Indo-​Afghan literary culture in the Deccan  250 Summary  252 7. Lyric Poetry and Deśī Aesthetics in Eastern South Asia  Deśī courtly culture, saṅgīta, and multilingualism  254 Vidyāpati and the deprofessionalization of literacy  255 Singing love after Vidyāpati: Vernacular lyrics in eastern South Asia  262 Locana’s (ca. 1680) Rāgataraṅgiṇī: Fashioning a grammar of eastern vernacular lyrics  270 Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara and the making of deśī connoisseurship  276 Summary  288 Conclusion: Middle Bengali Poetics and the Multilingual Literary History of Bengal  Appendix 1: Summaries of Ālāol’s Padmāvatī and the Story of the Goldsmith’s Wife  a. Summary of Ālāol’s Padmāvatī (1651)  299 b. The story of the Goldsmith’s wife in Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl (ca. 1656)  308

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Appendix 2: Analytical Tables of Ālāol’s Songs 

313

Appendix 3: Original Texts of the Middle Bengali and Old Maithili Songs 

319

Appendix 4: A Persian Appraisal of Ālāol’s Life and Works 

327

Bibliography 

329

Index

357

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Acknowledgments

The making of In the Shade of the Golden Palace mirrors the literary processes that it describes: It is a work driven by intellectual curiosity and a will to savor all sorts of poetic nectars in a variety of languages. It is itself the product of several translations and adaptations that, hopefully, result in a coherent whole. Because it is my first monograph, the list of those who contributed to its making should contain the names of all my teachers and friends who made me the researcher and teacher that I am today through their generous teaching and inspirational conversations. I will inevitably omit some names, but whoever while reading this book reminisces an encounter, a conversation, thoughtful advice, or a challenging question should consider himself or herself the recipient of my sincere gratitude. I shall certainly open my acknowledgments with a guru-​vandanā and thank my teachers of Bengali at the Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales (INALCO, Paris), France Bhattacharya and Philippe Benoît. To them I owe my love for the Bengali language, a taste for premodern literature, and enthusiasm to transmit and spread knowledge about South Asian literature. Following Philippe Benoît’s example and advice, I studied Sanskrit, first in Hyderabad (India) with Professor Nilakantha Dash, and then at Paris 3 Sorbonne Nouvelle. Among the teachers whose courses and seminars I attended during those years, I am particularly grateful to Nalini Balbir and Jean Fezas for helping me put some order in a scattered brain through the healthy practice of Sanskrit grammar, while constantly kindling my sensibility as a reader of Sanskrit literature. During my time at Paris 3 I  also had the privilege to study Sanskrit poetry and poetics with Professor S.  N. Chakraborty for two years. Witnessing his lively erudition provided me with a compass that will always orient my life as an aspiring sahr̥daya. Françoise “Nalini” Delvoye, my supervisor at the École Pratique des Hautes Études (EPHE), was an unfailing source of support throughout

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Acknowledgments

the preparation of my dissertation and introduced me to the world of Indo-​ Persian culture. Her research on the Braj lyric tradition and Indo-​Persian sources on musicology proved crucial to the formulation of some of the key arguments of the present monograph. My hope is that In the Shade of the Golden Palace will shed some light on the history of Indo-​Persian culture and its contribution to the making of vernacular poetics in eastern South Asia, thus carrying out the work that Professor Delvoye accomplished in the domain of Braj literature. Many people within and without my academic homes also provided feedback and precious encouragements over the years:  Imre Bangha, Elena Bashir, Aditya Behl, Mandira Bhaduri, Sebastien Belheur, Dulal K. Bhowmik, Kalpana Bhowmik, Irving Birkner, Yigal Bronner, Thomas de Bruijn, Steven Collins, Whitney Cox, Alicia Czaplewski, Tracy L. Davis, Islam Dayeh, Wendy Doniger, Sascha Ebeling, Stephan van Galen, Arlo Griffiths, Ayesha Irani, Christian Lammerts, Corine Lefèvre, Jacques Leider, Rochona Majumdar, Md Abdul Mannan, C.  M. Naim, James Nye, Francesca Orsini, Alexandre Papas, Stefano Pellò, Jérôme Petit, Muhammad Abdul Qayyum, Francis Richard, Laura Ring, Sunil Sharma, Ulrike Stark, Tony K. Stewart, Sanjay Subrahmanyam, Razia Sultana, Marc Toutant, Audrey Truschke, Gary Tubb, Richard Williams, Tyler Williams, Paul Wormser, and Saymon Zakaria. To this list I should also add the students at the University of Chicago with whom I read Ālāol’s texts and who enriched my understanding of Middle Bengali poetics with their questions and comments. I owe a special thanks to Allison Busch for the interest she expressed for my work and for providing me with invaluable feedback. Over the last few years, I was given the chance to work with and learn from Muzaffar Alam, who has been my most valuable companion and mentor as I was giving this project its final shape. I am also grateful to the graduate student of the department of South Asian Languages and Civilizations (SALC) Nell Hawley who turned copper into gold by fixing the broken English of the drafts of Chapters 1–​5. I also have a special thought for the late Christopher Bayly who, as a Swami Vivekananda Professor in South Asian studies at the University of Chicago, attended one of our SALC faculty forum in which we discussed a draft of the introduction of this book. In a way typical of him, he provided thoughtful comments during our discussion and immediately after in written form. As a junior scholar, I was touched by his genuine interest for what was presented to him and the tone of his comments: Devoid of the sententiousness of experience, his input displayed the freshness of an

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Acknowledgments

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indefatigably curious mind. This brief encounter made me wish I could be as present, as truly beneficial to my colleagues and friends as he was. This exchange took place in the week when he suddenly left us. Over the years, I received the support of several entities who afforded me the opportunity to lead my archival research in Europe, India, and Bangladesh: the UMR 7528 Mondes Iranien et Indien (Paris), the École Francaise d’Extrême-​Orient (EFEO, Paris), the program Zukunftsphilologie (Forum Transregionale Studien, Berlin), and the Committee on Southern Asian Studies (COSAS, the University of Chicago). Thanks to the work of Martha Selby, the editorial board, the anonymous reviewers who provided precious feedback on the first draft, and the production team this monograph found its proper home in the OUP South Asia Research series. But none of those encounters would have borne their fruits without the inner peace brought by my families and friends. My wife Stéphanie and children Faustine and Emilien patiently accompanied me through moments of joy and anguish. I am deeply indebted to Stéphanie for giving a kind ear to the thoughts induced by my reading of Ālāol’s works and to Faustine and Emilien for sharing their dad with his imaginary friends in medieval Arakan. My parents Marie-​Françoise and Hervé d’Hubert have given me love, material, and moral support throughout my student years and beyond. When witnessing the passion that animated my research and shaped me as a person, my late father would quote Voltaire as a blessing and word of encouragement: “Il faut cultiver notre jardin.” Comforted by his words, I carried on, and I hope that behind the thickets of scholarly analysis readers will have a glimpse of the pleasure garden in which I spend my days.

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Transliteration Charts

Bengali The system adopted here is a transliteration, not a phonetic transcription of Bengali. For an introduction to how Bengali should be pronounced, see William Radice and Hanne-​Ruth Thompson, Complete Bengali:  A Teach Yourself Guide, 4th ed. (Blacklick, OH: McGraw-​Hill, 2011).

Vowels অ—​a

আ—​ā

ই—​i

ঈ—​ī

উ—​u

ঊ—​ū

ঋ—​r̥

ৠ—​ṝ

ঌ—​ḷ

ৡ—​ḹ

এ—​e

ঐ—​ai

ও—​o

ঔ—​au

◌ং—​ṃ  ◌ঁ —​ ̃

◌ঃ -​ḥ

Consonants ক—​ka

খ—​kha

গ—​ga

ঘ—​gha

ঙ—​ṅ

চ—​ca

ছ—​cha

জ—​ja

ঝ—​jha

ঞ—​ñ

ট—​ṭa

ঠ—​ṭha

ড—​ḍa  ড়—​ṛa

ঢ—​ḍa  ঢ়—​ṛha

ণ—​ṇa

ত—​ta

থ—​tha

দ—​da

ধ—​dha

ন—​na

প—​pa

ফ—​pha

ব—​ba1

ভ—​bha

−

র—​ra

ল—​la

ব—​va1

−

ষ—​ṣa

স—​sa

হ—​ha

ক—​kṣa2

য—​ya  য়—​ẏ শ—​śa

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Transliteration Charts

These two letters are the same in most manuscripts, and they are always pronounced [bɔ] (or [bo] in cases of vowel harmony). When va is the second letter of consonant cluster, it is assimilated by the letter that precedes it (kavitva = kobitto). Nevertheless, I do maintain the difference between both letters for the following reasons: 1. Although va and ba were not distinguished in the script and in the pronunciation, they were theoretically perceived as two different letters—​as is shown in premodern syllabaries and in the occasional recourse to diacritical marks to distinguish both letters in some manuscripts. 2. Because Bengali orthography is today, and was—​although to a lesser extent—​etymological (as opposed to purely phonetic), I use va in words directly borrowed from the Sanskrit (i.e. tatsamas). 1

kṣa is technically speaking not a letter, but a conjunct (ka + ṣa). The traditional name of the letter is khya [khjɔ] and it is often used in manuscripts to transcribe geminate aspirate gutturals [kkhɔ]. 2

NB: • When quoting MB versified texts, because the prosody requires it, I include the final inherent -​a in my transliteration, but I omit it when transliterating modern texts. • The orthography of Middle Bengali is extremely unstable, and I chose to be very conservative in my transliterations. Therefore it is not rare to find the same word transcribed in sometimes completely different ways. • When quoting from an already edited text, I  indicated orthographic changes and emendations. I  systematically rehyphenated the quotations from Middle Bengali to indicate nominal compounds (which is not done in most modern editions). I have not signaled these modifications in my text; therefore the hyphenation reflects my own understanding of the morphology and syntax of the texts. • Sandhis are not always applied in Middle Bengali compounds; e.g., kāvya-​alaṅkāra.

Hindi and Avadhi Vowels अ—​a

आ—​ā

इ—​i

ई—​ī

उ—​u

ऊ—​ū

ऋ—​r̥

ॠ —​ṝ

ऌ—​ḷ

ॡ—​ḹ

ए—​e

ऐ—​ai

ओ—​o

औ—​au

◌ं—​ṃ  ◌ँ —​ ̃

◌ः -​ḥ

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Transliteration Charts

Consonants क—​ka

ख—​kha

ग—​ga

घ—​gha

ङ—​ṅ

च—​ca

छ—​cha

ज—​ja

झ—​jha

ञ—​ñ

ट—​ṭa

ठ—​ṭha

ड—​ḍa  ड़—ṛ​ a

ढ—​ḍa  ढ़—​ṛha

ण—​ṇa

त—​ta

थ—​tha

द—​da

ध—​dha

न—​na

प—​pa

फ—​pha

ब—​ba

भ—​bha

−

य—​ya

र—​ra

ल—​la

व—​va

−

श—​śa

ष—​ṣa

स—​sa

ह—​ha

Sanskrit Sanskrit has no alphabet of its own. The quotes given in the present monograph are based on texts written or edited in Devanagari or Bengali scripts. a

ā

i

ī

u

ū

r̥

ṝ

ḷ

ḹ

e

ai

o

au

ṃ

ḥ

ka

kha

ga

gha

ṅ

ca

cha

ja

jha

ñ

ṭa

ṭha

ḍa

ḍa

ṇa

ta

tha

da

dha

na

pa

pha

ba

bha

−

ya

ra

la

va

−

śa

ṣa

sa

ha

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Transliteration Charts

Languages written with the Arabic alphabet Name of letter*

Alone form

Transliteration

alif

‫ا‬

a—​i—​u

bā

‫ب‬

b

bā-​yi fārsī

‫پ‬

p

tā

‫ت‬

t

thā

‫ث‬

th

jīm

‫ج‬

j

jīm-​i fārsī

‫چ‬

ch

ḥā-​yi ḥuṭṭī

‫ح‬

ḥ

khā

‫خ‬

kh

dāl

‫د‬

d

dhāl

‫ذ‬

dh

rā

‫ر‬

r

zā

‫ز‬

z

zā-​yi fārsī

‫ژ‬

zh

sīn

‫س‬

s

shīn

‫ش‬

sh

ṣād

‫ص‬

ṣ

ḍād

‫ض‬

ḍ

ṭā

‫ط‬

ṭ

ẓā

‫ظ‬

ẓ

ʿayn

‫ع‬

ʿ

ghayn

‫غ‬

q

fā

‫ف‬

f

qāf

‫ق‬

q

kāf

‫ک‬

k

kāf-​i fārsī

‫گ‬

g

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Transliteration Charts

Name of letter*

Alone form

Transliteration

lām

‫ل‬

l

mīm

‫م‬

m

nūn

‫ن‬

n

wāw

‫و‬

w—​ū—​o (wāw-​i majhūl)

hā-​yi hawwaz

‫ه‬

h

yā

‫ی‬

y—​ī—​e (yā-​yi majhūl)

baṛī ye (Dakani, Urdu)

‫ے‬

e

* The names given here follow the premodern Indo-​Persian philological tradition.

NB: Premodern Persian texts are transliterated according to the rules of classical Persian orthography (e.g., verbal prefix bi-​ and preposition ba; use of majhūl letters e and o). Modern Persian is transliterated according to modern Persian orthographical rules (e.g., verbal prefix bi-​and preposition bi-​; no majhūl letters).

Dakani and Urdu Retroflex letters in Dakani and Urdu are transliterated: ṭ, ṭh, ḍ, ḍh, ṛ, ṛh.

Burmese/​Arakanese Almost all the Burmese terms and proper names mentioned in the book are found in Leider, Jacques P. Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie: son histoire politique entre le début du XVe et la fin du XVIIe siècle. Paris: École française d’Extrême-​Orient, 2004. I followed the transliterations of this author, with one exception: the sign of the visarga [:]‌> [ḥ] (maṅ: > maṅḥ).

Format of versified texts Sanskrit/​Bengali/​Avadhi The first line of a distich/​stanza is punctuated by a single vertical line (|), the second line by a double vertical line (||). In Bengali, prosodic segments are punctuated with a colon (:).

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Transliteration Charts

Persian The first and second miṣraʿ of a bayt are separated by a slash (/​). Each bayt is punctuated with a period (.).

Place names, proper names and work titles Only some historical place names (i.e., places mentioned in the sources under scrutiny) have diacritics. All proper names of premodern individuals are transliterated from the script in which they are mainly associated with (e.g., Ālāol [Ben.], not ʿAlāwal [Ar.]). The title of some works may not be rendered similarly in my text and in the bibliography (e.g., Saptapaẏkar/​ Sapta paẏkar).

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Map of Arakan and Eastern South Asia in  the Seventeenth Century

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xxi

In the Shade of the Golden Palace

xxi

1

Introduction Poetics in the Margins

The present monograph is a study of the Bengali literature that was produced in the seventeenth century CE in the coastal kingdom of Arakan. This literary tradition stands as one of the most fascinating instances of cultural encounter that took place in the premodern world, yet very little focus has been drawn to it in anglophone scholarship. Margins and frontier areas foster self-​reflexivity, the explicit formulation of identities, as well as the formation of new cultural ethos. The texts that I comment upon in the present book, and the courtly poems of the Bengali author of Arakan Ālāol (floruit [fl.] 1651–​1671) in particular, are the product of a poetics fashioned in the overlapping margins of many worlds. The frontier region between today’s Bangladesh and Myanmar is the meeting point of what post–​WWII scholarship defined as South, Southeast, and East Asia. It was, and remains today, a region of intense circulation of people, goods, and ideas. Historians recently highlighted the political unity of this frontier area from the fifteenth up to the eighteenth century CE with the formation of the kingdom of Arakan. These approximately four centuries are designated by historians as the Mrauk U period (1430–​1784), using the name of the capital city of the kingdom founded in 1430.1 This historical moment was the cradle of a cultural ethos that

1.  Jacques P. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie:  Son histoire politique entre le début du XVe et la fin du XVIIe siècle (Paris: École française d’Extrême-​Orient, 2004); Jos Gommans and Jacques P. Leider, eds., The Maritime Frontier of Burma:  Exploring Political, Cultural, and Commercial Interaction in the Indian Ocean World, 1200–​1800 (Amsterdam; Leiden, The Netherlands:  Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen; KITLV Press, 2002); Michael W.  Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged:  Religious

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was manifested in a variety of artistic and literary productions.2 The multiple redefinitions of regional frontiers, radical changes in administrative and political culture, large-​scale religious reforms in both urban and rural areas, and, as a consequence of those structural shifts, deep changes in the way literacy and collective memory were acquired and transmitted, all these factors contributed to the complexity of the study of Arakan’s past. Therefore the corpus of texts that I propose to explore gradually became strange to the eyes of both the general readership and scholars. The fate of the Bengali literature of Arakan is but one of the many symptoms of the estrangement from the cultural past of the frontier area between modern Bangladesh and Myanmar, which was manifested through the repeated communal and ethnic conflicts that had struck the region since the colonial period up to this day.3 Moreover, as a consequence Changes and the Emergence of Buddhist Communalism in Early Modern Arakan, 15th–​19th Centuries,” PhD dissertation (University of Michigan, 1999); Stephan van Galen, “Arakan and Bengal: The Rise and Decline of the Mrauk U Kingdom (Burma) From the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Century A.D.,” PhD dissertation (Leiden University, 2008); Thibaut d’Hubert and Jacques P. Leider, “Traders and Poets at the Mrauk U Court: On Commerce and Cultural Links in Seventeenth-​Century Arakan,” in Pelagic Passageways: Dynamic Flows in the Northern Bay of Bengal World Before the Appearance of Nation States, ed. Rila Mukherjee (New Delhi: Primus Books, 2011), 345–​79. 2.  Muhammad Enamul Haq and Abdul Karim, “Ārākān rājsabhāẏ bāṃlā sāhitya (1600–​ 1700),” in Muhammad Enāmul Haq racanāvalī, ed. Monsur Musa, vol. 2 (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Bangla Academy, 1993), 17–​142; Mijānur Rahmān, Ārākāner bāṃlā romānṭik kāvye āoẏādhī-​hindī sāhityer prabhāv (Kolkata, India: Śrībhāratī Press, 2011); Pamela Gutman and Zaw Min Yu, Burma’s Lost Kingdoms: Splendours of Arakan (Trumbull, CT: Weatherhill, 2001); Thibaut d’Hubert, “Arākān aur janūb-​i mashriqī Bangāla-​desh mẽ musulamānõ kī tahdhīb aur zabānẽ,” trans. Timsal Masud, Maʿārif 194 (2014): 265–​88. 3. Moshe Yegar, The Muslims of Burma (Wiesbaden, Germany: Harrassowitz, 1972); Gabriel Defert, Les Rohingya de Birmanie:  Arakanais, musulmans et apatrides, Mondes contemporains (Montreuil, France: Aux lieux d’être, 2007); Pascal Arcaro and Loïs Desaine, La junte birmane contre l’ennemi intérieur:  Le régime militaire, l’écrasement des minorités ethniques et le désarroi des réfugiés rohingya (Paris:  L’Harmattan, 2008); Hans-​Bernd Zöllner, “Die Rohingyas-​Konstruktion, De-​Konstruktion und Re-​Konstruktion einer ethnisch-​religiösen Identität/​The Rohingyas in Myanmar. Construction, De-​construction and Re-​construction of an Ethnic Identity,” ASEAS—​Österreichische Zeitschrift für Südostasienwissenschaften/​Austrian Journal of South-​East Asian Studies 1, no. 1 (2008): 53–​64; Imtiaz Ahmed, The Plight of the Stateless Rohingyas :  Responses of the State, Society & the International Community (Dhaka, Bangladesh: University Press, 2010). For a recent, rather polemical, discussion on Rohingya historiography, see Jacques P. Leider, “Competing Identities and the Hybridized History of the Rohingyas,” in Metamorphosis: Studies in Social and Political Change in Myanmar, ed. Renaud Egreteau and François Robinne (Singapore: NUS Press, 2015), 1–​28. See also the rich historical study of the Bengal–​Arakan frontier, with a focus on discourses about identity formation and migrations in Kyaw Minn Htin, “Where ‘Imagined Countries’ Overlap: Histories, Identities and Fates of the People From Arakan and South-​eastern Bangladesh,” PhD dissertation (National University of Singapore, 2017).

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of the epistemic shift that occurred during the colonial and postindependence periods, the scholarly community either neglected or adopted a markedly presentist reading of the texts that reflect this polyvocal cultural ethos. The Bengali literature of Arakan is thus marginal in various ways: Although it is presented in textbooks as a major moment in the early history of Bengali Muslim literature, it originates from the limits of the cultural area of South Asia, which also coincides with one of the frontiers of the Muslim World.4 The rhetoric of light and darkness as it is found in both premodern discourses and modern historiography offers interesting ways to encapsulate what is at stake in the study of Arakan’s past. On the one hand, the Mrauk U period is seen as a Golden Age, witnessing the maximal territorial expansion of the kingdom and its inclusion as a major player in the emerging trading, diplomatic, and religious networks of the Bay of Bengal.5 For this Golden Age, we have a Golden Palace, which became part of the king’s title, royal eulogies—​including those composed by Bengali poets—​and its mention of figures among the typical tropes about Arakan in contemporary travel narratives.6 From the mountain-​like Golden Palace whose roofs radiated a dazzling light, dominating the city as Mount Meru in the center of the microcosm of Mrauk U, with its channels, its rich markets and neighborhoods organized by the ethnic origins and religions of the inhabitants: the Portuguese Christians in the western part of the town,

4. See, for instance, Sukumar Sen, Islāmi bāṃlā sāhitya (Calcutta: Ānanda Pābliśārs, 1358), 23–​36; Māhbubul Ālam, Bāṃlā sāhityer itihās: Prācīn, madhya, o ādhunik yug, 11th ed. (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Khān Brādārs, 2000), 249–​75; Willem van Schendel, A History of Bangladesh (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2009), 53–​4; Wakil Ahmed, Bāṃlā sāhitya koṣ (prācīn o madhyayug) (Dhaka:  Ahmed Publishing House, 2015), s.v. “Ālāol.” Regarding Bengal and Arakan as frontiers of the history of the Muslim and Buddhist worlds, see Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), xxi–​xxvii; Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged.” 5.  Gommans and Leider, eds., The Maritime Frontier of Burma; Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “Persianization and ‘Mercantilism’ in Bay of Bengal History, 1400–​1700,” in Explorations in Connected History (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005), 45–​79; Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “Slaves and Tyrants: Dutch Tribulations in Seventeenth-​Century Mrauk-​U,” Journal of Early Modern History 1, no. 3 (1997): 201–​53. 6. Wouter Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, ed. Michael Breet and Marijke Barend-​van Haeften (Zutphen, The Netherlands:  Walburg Pers, 2003); Gautier Schouten, Voiage de Gautier Schouten aux Indes orientales. Commencé l’an 1658 et fini l’an 1665, vol. 1 (Amsterdam: Pierre Mortier, 1708); Sebastião Manrique, Travels of Fray Sebastien Manrique, 1629–​1643: A Translation of the Itinerario de Las Missiones Orientales, ed. Charles Eckford Luard and Henry Hosten, 2 vols. Works Issued by the Hakluyt Society 2nd Series 59, 61 (Oxford: Printed for the Hakluyt Society, 1927).

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the Hindus in the South, and Muslims in the harbor, whereas the large Buddhist monasteries, libraries, and pagodas were located in the eastern and northern parts of the city.7 But if Arakan’s history is today covered in darkness for the various reasons just mentioned, its location in the margins of the civilized world was also present in the perception of the region by both people who dwelled within the limits of the kingdom as well as by those looking at it from a distance. Muslim authors saw Arakan as belonging to the world of marvels described by the earliest cosmographers, who were themselves transmitting a knowledge gathered from Hellenic cosmography.8 It was a land of darkness in a figurative sense, because its inhabitants lay beyond the civilized world.9 An eloquent example of the perception of Arakan as a land beyond the span of civilization is found in the inability of early modern authors, until as late as the last decades of the eighteenth century, to clearly distinguish the nature of the religion prevalent among the Maghs (i.e., the Arakanese).10 In a classical understanding of world geography, Arakan was one of those remote countries where monsters and fairies lived, just before one reached the Dark Ocean surrounding the world [ẓulmāt].11 Local 7. See maps in Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 507–​9. See also the illustration in Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, 158. For an analysis of the illustrations of Schouten’s travel account, see Catherine Raymond, “An Arakanese Perspective From the Dutch Sources: Images of the Kingdom of Arakan in the Seventeenth Century,” in The Maritime Frontier of Burma, 177–​95. 8. André Miquel, La géographie humaine du monde musulman jusqu’au milieu du 11e siècle, 4 vols., École Pratique des Hautes Études (Paris, La Haye: Mouton, 1967). 9.  Muzaffar Alam and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “Southeast Asia as Seen From Mughal India: Tahir Muhammad’s ‘Immaculate Garden’ (ca. 1600),” Archipel 70, no. 1 (2005): 209–​37. 10. For instance, in Ṭāhir Muḥammad’s comographical account (ca. 1600) “[i]‌t is mentioned that this is a land which is ruled over by the Magh who are a kind of Hindus [az firqa-​i Hindū’an and], as distinct from Pegu which he regards as different from both Hindus and Muslims.” Alam and Subrahmanyam, “Southeast Asia as Seen From Mughal India,” 223. Similarly Shihāb al-​Dīn Tālish in his account of the conquest of Chittagong by the Mughals makes the following statement:  “The inhabitants have no defined faith or religion, but incline [a little] to the Hindu creed.” Jadunath Sarkar, “The Feringi Pirates of Chatgaon, 1666 A.D.,” Journal & Proceedings of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, Numismatic Suppl. 3 (1907): 419. A questionnaire commissioned to his Persian secretary [munshī] by John Murray MacGregor (1745–​1822) titled Sūʾāl-​i āʾīn wa rawāj-​i qawm-​i magh wa jawāb-​i ān [Questions regarding the customs of the Magh (i.e., Arakanese) people and their answers] shows the same ignorance regarding Arakanese Buddhism. Wilhelm Pertsch, Die Handschriften-​Verzeichnisse der königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin, vol. 4 of Verzeichniss der persischen Handschriften der königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin (Berlin: A. Asher & Co., 1888), no. 15.10; Ms. or Fol. 281. 11. Travis E. Zadeh, Mapping Frontiers Across Medieval Islam: Geography, Translation, and the ʿAbbāsid Empire, Library of Middle East History 27 (London; New York: Tauris, 2011).

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authors completely embraced this perception of the region, and they actually considered that they were living in the margins of the civilized world.12 On the one hand, we have the picture of the grandiose cosmopolitan city with its palace standing for the axis mundi, spreading its light far and wide, and, on the other hand, Arakan was perceived as a twilight zone of the civilized world. This general observation is symptomatic of the reconfiguration of cosmographical imaginaires in the early modern period and of the anxiety of the literati living in emerging polities to locate themselves in already existing representations of the world, while asserting the role of those places as major culture centers.13 This phenomenon of self-​affirmation of previously “silent” polities would significantly contribute to the formation of a polycentric cultural geography that is characteristic of the early modern period.14 Those cosmographical considerations are essential for the interpretation of the works of an author such as the Bengali poet and translator Ālāol (fl. 1651–​1671), whose oeuvre displays at every step his attempt to make sense of, and benefit from, the expanding horizons of human knowledge occasioned by the intensification of supraregional interactions.15

12.  Thibaut d’Hubert and Paul Wormser, “Représentations du monde dans le golfe du Bengale au XVIIe siècle: Ālāol et Rānīrī,” Archipel 76 (2008): 15–​35; Thibaut d’Hubert, “Living in Marvelous Lands: Islamic Cosmography and a Bengali Version of the Adventures of Saif al-​Mulūk,” in The Persianate World: Towards a Conceptual Framework, ed. Abbas Amanat and Assef Ashraf (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, forthcoming). 13. Denys Lombard, Le carrefour javanais: Essai d’histoire globale (Paris: Editions de l’Ecole des hautes études en sciences sociales, 1990). 14. Over the last decades, the focus seems to be moving away from the study of the gunpowder empires (i.e., Ottoman, Safavid, and Mughal empires) to “peripheral” polities. For instance, R.  M. Eaton provided some pioneering works in the study of the cultural history of the Deccani and Bengal sultanates. The rich scholarship on Southeast Asia and the Malay world also highlighted the presence of such polycentric cultural areas. A recent volume edited by F. Orsini and S. Sheikh builds on the work of S. Digby regarding the rooting of Islam and the formation of regional polities in South Asia during the late Sultanate period. See, for instance, Richard M. Eaton, Sufis of Bijapur, 1300–​1700: Social Roles of Sufis in Medieval India (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1978); Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760; Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh, eds., After Timur Left: Culture and Circulation in Fifteenth-​Century North India (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014); Lombard, Le carrefour javanais; Vladimir Braginsky, The Heritage of Traditional Malay Literature:  A Historical Survey of Genres, Writings and Literary Views (Leiden, The Netherlands: KITLV Press, 2004). 15. Thibaut d’Hubert, “Ālāol,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, THREE, ed. Denis Matringe, Everett Rowson, and Gudrun Krämer (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill Online, 2013), http://​dx.doi. org/​10.1163/​1573-​3912_​ei3_​COM_​27295; d’Hubert and Wormser, “Représentations du monde dans le golfe du Bengale au XVIIe siècle: Ālāol et Rānīrī.”

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Ālāol’s life and works at a glance During the Mrauk U period (1430–​1784), the Bengali language became the privileged means of literary expression of Muslims living in the kingdom of Arakan.16 It is also worth mentioning that until well into the eighteenth century, southeastern Bengal and Arakan were the only regions in which the Bengali language was used by Muslims to produce literary works.17 There were mainly two centers of literary production during the first phase of this history:  the rural areas around the port of Chittagong and the capital of the kingdom, Mrauk U.18 Later on, in the late eighteenth century, another center of literary production was formed in Ramu, south from Chittagong, near today’s Cox’s Bazar. Technically, during this period Ramu lied beyond the boundaries of Arakan, but its literary tradition was closely connected to the Bengali literature of Mrauk U. More generally, the accounts found in the prologues of the texts composed in Chittagong after the Mughal conquest of 1666 always refer to the Mrauk U period. In terms of language and style, the eighteenth-​ century Chittagongian literature is also reproducing the models elaborated in Mrauk U. In the nineteenth century, Mughal intellectuals actively engaged in reforming the literary culture of Muslims in Chittagong and condemned their attachment to the works composed during the Mrauk U period. This opinion is partly echoed in the works of the scholar Ḥamīd Allāh Khān (ca. 1789–1870)  who wrote a history of Chittagong in Persian that was published in 1871.19 In this text the author, while praising Ālāol’s eloquence and skills as a translator from Persian into Bengali, bemoans the poet’s choice to render “absurd and ludicrous tales of the Hindus.” In the same spirit,

16. Thibaut d’Hubert, “Pirates, Poets, and Merchants: Bengali Language and Literature in Seventeenth-​Century Mrauk-​U,” in Culture and Circulation:  Literature in Motion in Early Modern India, ed. Thomas de Bruijn and Allison Busch, Brill’s Indological Library 46 (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2014), 47–​74. 17.  d’Hubert, “Arākān aur janūb-​i mashriqī Bangāla-​desh mẽ musulamānõ kī tahdhīb aur zabānẽ.” 18. See infra, Chapter 1. 19.  Mawlawī Ḥamīd Allāh Khān Bahādur, Aḥādīth al-​khawānīn, yaʿnī tārīkh-​i Islāmābād Chāṭgām ki ham musammá ba-​Tārīkh-​i Ḥamīd ast (Calcutta:  Maẓhar al-​ʿAjāʾib, 1871). The chronogram of the title Tārīkh-​i Ḥamīd indicates that the book was written earlier in 1273/​ 1856. For a rather unreliable Bengali translation, see Maulabhī Hāmidullāh Khān Bāhādur, Āhādisul khāoẏānin:  Caṭṭagrāmer prācīn itihās, trans. Khāled Māsuke Rasul, ed. Tānbīr Muhāmmad (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Anupam Prakāśanī, 2013).

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Ḥamīd Allāh Khān composed several books in Bengali to reform the customs of Chittagongian Muslims.20 The main figures of the formation of the Bengali literary tradition of Arakan are Daulat Kājī (fl. 1637)  and Ālāol.21 The influence of the latter on the authors who followed was remarkable.22 Daulat Kājī came from Chittagong in the western part of the kingdom in circumstances unknown to us. Ālāol was captured in his native region of Faridpur, in today’s Bangladesh, by Luso-​Arakanese raiders who brought him to Mrauk U. He hailed from the local Indo-​Afghan courtly milieu and became a royal slave in Arakan. His literary talents and command over Persian, Hindavi (/​Avadhi), Sanskrit, and Bengali—​the regional literary idiom—​made him a valuable member of the assemblies of the Muslim dignitaries of the Buddhist kings of Arakan. The texts written by Ālāol are complex textual transpositions of Hindavi and Persian narrative poems and treatises into Bengali.23 His translation techniques show his familiarity with the methods of Sanskrit textual exposition.24 There were two phases to his literary career, one rooted in the regional literary traditions of eastern Hindustan and Bengal and another

20.  Khān Bahādur, Aḥādīth al-​khawānīn, 54–​ 5; Muhammad Kalim Sahsarami, Khidmatguzārān-​i fārsī dar Banglādish (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Rāyzanī-​i Farhang-​i Jumhūrī-​i Islāmī-​i Īrān, 1999), 265–​70; Ahmad Sharif, Bāṅālī o bāṅlā sāhitya, vol. 2, reprint (Dhaka, Bangladesh: New Age Publication, 2004), 295; Shahed Ali, Bāṃlā sāhitye Caṭṭagrāmer avadān (Chittagong, Bangladesh:  Jilā Kāunsil, 1965), 151–​4; Muḥammad ʿĪsá Shāhidī, “Nufūdh-​i fārsī dar minṭaqa-​yi Chītāgang, Bangāldish,” Nāma-​yi Pārsī, no. 2 (1375): 89–​111. 21. Haq and Karim, “Ārākān rājsabhāẏ bāṃlā sāhitya (1600–​1700)”; Satyendranath Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature, Visva-​Bharati Annals 9 (Santiniketan, India:  Visva-​Bharati, 1959); Amr̥talāl Bālā, Ālāoler kāvye Hindu-​Muslim saṃskr̥ti (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bāṃlā Ekāḍemī, 1991); d’Hubert and Leider, “Traders and Poets at the Mrauk U Court.” 22. See infra, the last section of Chapter 2. 23. Although I do use the term “translation” throughout the present monograph, “textual transposition,” because of its wider conceptual scope, reflects better how I approached Ālāol’s text. The terminology offered by the domain of transtextuality, and hypertextuality within it, offers the possibility to locate Ālāol’s texts within a larger set of textual practices than translation studies would do. However, the stark distinction formulated by Genette between hypertextuality and “metatextuality” (i.e., commentaries) does not allow us to conceive of Ālāol’s texts from the sole perspective of hypertextuality. See Gérard Genette, Palimpsestes: La littérature au second degré, Points 257, reprint (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1982), 11–​12; Genette, Palimpsests: Literature in the Second Degree, trans. Channa Newman and Claude Doubinsky, Stages 8 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997), 4. 24.  Thibaut d’Hubert, “‘Bhāṅgiẏā kahile tāhe āche bahurasa’:  Madhyayuger kavi Ālāoler anuvād-​paddhati,” Bhāvnagar 1 (2014): 59–​76.

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during which he derived his material exclusively from Persian adab literature (texts oriented toward an ideal refinement of thought, word, and deed) and mathnawīs (long poems consisting of distichs rhyming AA, BB, CC.  .  .  and dealing with any subject, epic, mystical, or didactical). The works he translated between 1651 and 1671 are Padmāvat, originally composed in Avadhi in 1540 by Malik Muḥammad Jāyasī (d. 1542);25 Tuḥfa-​yi naṣāʾiḥ [A Gift of Guidance], an ethical treatise in Persian verse, originally composed in 1393 by Yūsuf Gadā;26 and Haft paykar [Seven Beauties] and Sharafnāma [Book of Nobility], the first part of the Iskandarnāma [Book of Alexander], two mathnawīs composed in 1197 and 1196–​1202 by Niẓāmī Ganjawī (d. 1209). Ālāol also composed poems based on works whose authorship is not known: the dāstān [story] of Sayf al-​Mulūk wa Badīʿ al-​Jamāl [Sayf al-​Mulūk and Badīʿ al-​Jamāl], treated in various ways in North Indian literature since the seventeenth century,27 and the story of Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī [The Truthful Maynā, Lor and Candrāṇī]. The first part of the latter work was composed by Daulat Kājī, Ālāol’s predecessor in the courts of the Muslim dignitaries of Mrauk U.  The language of Ālāol’s texts is highly Sanskritized, with Arabic and Persian loanwords used to treat specific religious topics and depict certain aspects of court protocol. Ālāol’s oeuvre is representative of the multilingual adab (i.e., Islamicate cultural ethos) that developed around the Bay of Bengal during the seventeenth century. To compose his text, Ālāol used the traditional Bengali pā̃cālī, which is a fluid form of narrative poetry that allows the inclusion of short lyric poems and technical digressions. Ālāol included several such digressions, in which he quoted from Sanskrit didactic literature on prosody [chandas] and lyrical arts [saṅgīta]. There are also fragments of treatises on lyrical arts and a rare specimen of vernacular work of lexicography that bear Ālāol’s name. Sufism makes an important contribution to the courtly literature produced by Ālāol. Padmāvat and Tuḥfa-​yi naṣāʾiḥ were composed by authors affiliated with the Chishtī Sufi order, and Ālāol himself was initiated in the 25. Thomas De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust: Poetry and History of the Padmāvat by the South-​Asian Sufi Poet Muhammad Jāyasī (Amsterdam: Leiden University Press, 2012). 26. Simon Digby, “The Tuḥfa i Naṣā’iḥ of Yūsuf Gadā: An Ethical Treatise in Verse From the Late-​Fourteenth-​Century Dehlī Sultanate,” in Moral Conduct and Authority: The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam, ed. Barbara Daly Metcalf (Berkeley:  University of California Press, 1984), 91–​123. 27.  Christopher Shackle, “The Story of Sayf al-​Mulūk in South Asia,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Third Series, 17, no. 2 (2007): 115–​29.

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Qādirī order by the Islamic judge (qāḍī) of Mrauk U. The poet was also familiar with regional yogic practices that were part of the Sufi religious idiom of southeastern Bengal.28 His last work, Sikāndarnāmā, was never completed, which may indicate that either Ālāol’s patron or the poet himself passed away around 1671. Nothing is known about the exact date or circumstances of the poet’s death.29 Seen from Bengal, Ālāol’s works represent a very original contribution to the Bengali poetical tradition by the diversity of his models, the courtly nature of his work, the expression of an authorial persona that was virtually absent before him, and, most important, what I have called the extension of the paradigm of composition and performance, which is an added value to poetical speech as bearing a multiplicity of semantic layers carefully crafted by the poet and unfolded by the perceptive reader–​auditor.30 Unlike that of the previous poems constituting the Bengali poetic tradition, the value of a text did not lie solely in its narrative qualities and the skills of the performer. The text was made an object of scrutiny and one could even say of philological investigation. This experiment was short-​ lived and too closely connected to the multilingual court milieu of Arakan. When this environment collapsed, his texts were still copied and read, and his poetry was seen as a model of vernacular eloquence, but the state in which the texts were transmitted shows the cultural gap between Ālāol and his readers of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Another crucial aspect of Ālāol’s discourse and views on the realm of poetry is the virtual absence of hierarchy among languages. The Hindavi poet Jāyasī is considered as a kavi-​kula-​guru (a master among all poets), and he is given as much praises as the classical Persian poet Niẓāmī and the Sanskrit poets Kālidāsa (ca. fourth century) and Bhavabhūti (ca. seventh century). Moreover, Ālāol, unlike some of his contemporaries, never 28.  Tony K. Stewart, “In Search of Equivalence:  Conceiving Muslim-​Hindu Encounter Through Translation Theory,” History of Religions 40, no. 3 (2001): 260–​87; Shaman Hatley, “Mapping the Esoteric Body in the Islamic Yoga of Bengal,” History of Religions 46, no. 4 (2007): 351–​68. 29. A Muslim gentleman from Arakan claimed to be one of Ālāol’s direct descendants and provided a genealogy and indications regarding the location of the poet’s tomb near Mrauk U. See “Ālāol sambandhe kaẏekṭi nūtan kathā,” in Ābdul Karim Sāhityaviśārad racanāvalī, ed. Abdul Ahsan Chaudhuri, vol. 1 (Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 1997), 246–​47. 30.  Thibaut d’Hubert, “Patterns of Composition in the Seventeenth-​ Century Bengali Literature of Arakan,” in Tellings and Texts:  Music, Literature and Performance Cultures in North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Katherin Brown, 423–​43 (Cambridge, UK:  Open Books Publishers, 2015) and infra, Chapter 5 in the present monograph.

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apologized for using the Bengali literary idiom to compose texts on Islamic topics. This attitude toward languages is consistent with the poetics of his works, which is not solely based on the resources of the Bengali tradition, but also implies a familiarity with the other linguistic–​literary traditions present in the adab of the elite of Arakan’s capital. As I  mentioned earlier, Ālāol’s poetics was not transmitted in its entirety to the next generations, but this flattened understanding of literary multilingualism (i.e., which does not imply a linguistic hierarchy) was still cultivated in some milieus in the region of Chittagong during the following two centuries. The gradual disappearance of this very specific kind of literacy can be explained by several phenomena, such as the spread of standardized curricula, the pressure of reformist movements in the nineteenth century to reject the Arakanese past of Bengali Muslims, and the predominance of nationalist cultural narratives; this historical moment and such a polyvocal political and cultural entity could obviously not fit in essentialist national discourses.31 Thanks to the efforts of basically one man, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad,” and a few other individuals concerned with the need to preserve a fading regional tradition, it is today possible to access the literature preserved on the Bangladeshi side of the frontier.32 But there still remains a lot to be done to correctly edit those texts and collect the few manuscripts that remain scattered in the rural areas of Chittagong, and potentially of Myanmar.33 So far, the scholarship on the Bengali literature of Arakan has tended to consider this corpus the product of a Bengali diaspora, rather than of the original expression of the Bengali-​speaking Muslims of the former kingdom of Arakan.34 Such an approach entailed the almost-​complete neglect of the multicultural environment in which the texts were produced, and it tended to encourage interpretations exclusively from within the world of Middle Bengali literature, which ignored the original source texts and the other intellectual traditions of Arakan. This revealed a very poorly productive method, and, as a matter of fact, it is no overstatement to say that

31. See, for instance, Francesca Orsini, “How to Do Multilingual Literary History? Lessons From Fifteenth-​and Sixteenth-​Century North India,” Indian Economic & Social History Review 49, no. 2 (2012): 225–​46. 32. Abdul Karim, “Sahityaviśārad,” Ābdul Karim Sāhityaviśārad racanāvalī, ed. Abdul Ahsan Chaudhuri, 3 vols. (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1997). 33. Ba Tha, “Roewengya Fine Arts,” The Guardian, Rangoon, February 1961, 20–​22. 34. Sharif, Bāṅālī o bāṅlā sāhitya, 197.

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today virtually no original scholarship is produced on this immensely rich material.

Studying Middle Bengali literature My work, although it is grounded in history, is primarily concerned with poetics and how to read Middle Bengali literature. Its aim is to provide a possible template for the study of vernacular poetics in the multilingual context of South Asia. Middle Bengali literature has mostly been studied from a purely linguistic and textual critical perspective (especially in the first decades of modern Bengali historiography) and then to write the religious and social history of Bengal.35 Very few attempts were made to combine those approaches and put aesthetics and poetics at the center of the interpretation.36 Moreover, the study of Bengali literature has been strongly shaped by a quest for identity, whether communal or national, and therefore efforts were made to isolate it from other linguistic trends current in premodern Bengal.37 The formation of Bengali literature was seen as a reaction either to Brahmanism or to orthodox Islam and the languages associated with

35. See, for instance, Mahasweta Sengupta, “Problems in Bengali Literary Historiography,” Social Scientist 23, no. 10/​ 102 (1995):  56–​ 69; Dipesh Chakrabarty, “Romantic Archives:  Literature and the Politics of Identity in Bengal,” Critical Inquiry 30, no. 3 (2004): 654–​82. 36.  Although the author’s endeavor is praiseworthy, Lutphar Rahmān’s Bāṃlā sāhitye nandanbhāvanā:  Prācīn o madhyayug (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Bangla Academy, 2009) constitutes a rather unsuccessful attempt to provide a comprehensive study of Middle Bengali poetics and aesthetics. This monograph mostly reproduces received understandings of Middle Bengali poetry, and it omits productively exploring the rich terminology and metadiscourses on the practice of poetry that Middle Bengali poets formulated in their texts. 37. A major exception to this tendency to isolate Bengali literature from other trends is found in the works of Sukumar Sen (1900–​1992). One of the best linguists of his time, Sen had a very nuanced approached to the linguistic diversity on which Middle Bengali literature was formed, but his understanding of the Muslim tradition was rather limited. In the domain of Bengali Muslim literature, scholars like Momtazur Rahman Tarafdar (1928–​1997), Ghulam Samdani Qurayshi (1929–​1991), and Raziya Sultana remarkably contributed to our knowledge of the Hindavi and Persian backgrounds of Middle Bengali poetry. As far as my understanding of their otherwise major contribution goes, scholars who were trained in both Indic and Islamic languages (i.e., Sanskrit, Middle Indo-​Aryan languages, Persian, and Arabic) such as Muhammad Shahidullah (1885–​1969) and Muhammd Enamula Haq (1902–​1982) did not really mobilize the full range of their competences to study Middle Bengali literature in its multilingual context.

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them: Sanskrit, Arabic, Persian, and, later, Urdu.38 In this attempt to carve a space for the vernacular and its history, the multilingual intertextuality that characterizes most Middle Bengali texts was purposely put aside. This resulted in the loss of crucial interpretative tools for the reading of those texts. The present book provides a first attempt at reading Middle Bengali texts using the full range of sources that participated in their conception and reception. In addition to a more relevant understanding of the texts themselves, an important outcome of this endeavor is the opening of Bengali historiography to other trends of South and Southeast Asian literatures.39 How to retrieve a unified literary idiom formed in a context of multilingual literacy? Bringing to the surface the multiliterate background of a literary tradition, although it is a necessary task, presents the risk of missing the coherent system that it constitutes. To do so, we must move away from theories of cultural syncretism or binary readings of communal–​secular interpretations of Bengali Muslim literature40 and pay attention to the poetics of the texts (and not assumed religious and political agendas) and the discourse of the poet on his art and aspirations.41 The scholars who wrote the only monographs devoted to Ālāol in English and Bengali are Satyendranath Ghoshal and Amritalal Bala.42 Both authors surveyed the content of Ālāol’s works from a historical and cultural perspective. Considering the very poor understanding of the history of Arakan and eastern Bengal that we had prior to the recent studies of P. Gutman, J. P. Leider, M. Charney, and S. van Galen, contextualizing

38.  Momtazur Rahman Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, 1494–​1538 A.D.:  A Socio-​Political Study, 2nd ed. (Dhaka, Bangladesh: University of Dhaka, 1999). Interestingly, he was the author who most emphasized this discourse on cultural–​linguistic competition, but he was also the last scholar who was actually well trained in Persian, Sanskrit, Prakrit, Hindi, and Urdu and he did use them in his interpretative works—​see his excellent Bāṃlā romāṇṭik kāvyer Āoẏādhī-​Hindī paṭabhūmi, reprint (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Jātīẏa Sāhitya Prakāś, 2009). 39. See infra, Chapters 6 and 7. 40. Stewart, “In Search of Equivalence.” 41. Sheldon Pollock, “The Cosmopolitan Vernacular,” The Journal of Asian Studies 57, no. 1 (1998): 29–​34; Sheldon Pollock, “Introduction,” in Literary Cultures in History: Reconstructions From South Asia, ed. Sheldon Pollock (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 1–​36. 42.  Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature; Amr̥talāl Bālā, Ālāoler kāvye Hindu-​Muslim saṃskr̥ti. To which we may add the following work that offers a reading of Padmāvatī from the perspective of Persian Sufi poetry: Abu Musa Mohammad Arif Billah, Influence of Persian Literature on Shah Muhammad Sagir’s Yūsuf Zulaikhā and Alaol’s Padmāvatī (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Abu Rayhan Biruni Foundation, 2014).

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Introduction

13

Ālāol’s works was not an easy task, and the result was rather superficial and of little interest for anyone willing to interpret them to the light of the social and political context. On the cultural side, Ghoshal put forward the contribution of Muslims to the birth of a secular literature in Bengal. This reading was motivated by an ideologically biased reading of Ālāol’s texts that were seen as an alternative to the religious literature written by Hindu authors. Ghoshal’s views are the result of a very superficial understanding of Hindu and Muslim Middle Bengali literature, which ignores the striking tendency to desacralize divine characters in Hindu narratives43 and the fact that Muslim romances are means for religious and spiritual teachings very much rooted in the doctrines of Islam.44 Bala opted for syncretism and attempted to show how Ālāol consciously tried to bring together Hinduism and Islam in his poetry.45 Once again we have the result of the amalgamation of linguistic and religious identities and the misunderstanding of the status of Persian, Sanskrit, and Bengali in seventeenth-​ century Arakan. Another misunderstanding, which also occurred in the case of Avadhi romances, has to do with the exoticization of Hindu culture through regionalized [deśī] aesthetics. Hindu culture became part of an imaginaire only remotely related to the actual Hindu society of the time. It became the realm of a metaphorical idiom, which, I would argue, was hardly concerned with actual religious dialogue.46 Ālāol makes very clear his religious opinions that are in no way syncretistic. Both scholars put forward the “human” dimension of his works and thus display a partial understanding of “humanism” when commenting on it. Foregrounding Ālāol’s works as “humanistic” has some truth in it, but not in opposition to a literature focusing on divine matters, and more in terms of intellectual open-​endedness and, in the field of arts, of a taste for experiments and the creation of new idioms.47

43. W. L. Smith, Rāmāyaṇa Traditions in Eastern India : Assam, Bengal, Orissa (Stockholm: Department of Indology, University of Stockholm, 1988); Philippe Benoît, “Le Rāmāyaṇa de Vālmīki et le Rāmāyaṇa de Kṛttibās. Recherches comparatives en littératures sanskrite et bengalie,” PhD dissertation (Paris: Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris III, 1994). 44.  Aditya Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic:  An Indian Islamic Literary Tradition, 1379–​1545, ed. Wendy Doniger (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012). 45. Asim Roy, The Islamic Syncretistic Tradition in Bengal (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983); Amr̥talāl Bālā, Padmāvatī samīkṣā (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Sāhitya vilās, 2008). 46. Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic; De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust, 2012. 47. Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature.

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The corpus I propose to study offers ways to start afresh this reading of Middle Bengali texts. As I argue in Chapter 5, Ālāol ran various experiments with the traditional formats and genres. He did those interventions on the inherited generic models in a very self-​conscious way, which allows us to reconstruct, not only the empirical aspects of his style, but also the discourse he had on his own art. The way Ālāol’s texts are anchored in their historical contexts through explicit and implicit references to the culture and politics of “secondary courts” in Arakan in the mid-​seventeenth century, combined with the explicit intertextuality of his works, makes of his oeuvre an ideal point of entry to think about Middle Bengali poetics from within.48 As one could expect, the result of this endeavor contains its idiosyncrasies and one cannot extend all conclusions to the entire corpus of Middle Bengali literature, but it provides a landmark, both historically and conceptually, to extend such interpretative methods and reflections to other Middle Bengali texts. As I mentioned earlier, Middle Bengali literature was mainly studied for linguistic and social–​historical purposes, and the main contribution of this book is the recourse to a different interpretative approach that focuses on the notion of tradition, not as the vague term used to designate any pre-​ Enlightenment knowledge system, but rather as the dynamic process of transmission of generic models. The term tradition, as I use it throughout the book, implies the recourse to a methodology mapping the intertextual nexus in which each text is located.49 The modalities of those intertextual relations and of the interventions made by the author are governed by specific knowledge systems that are partly recorded in didactic texts, partly derived from the formal features of traditional models, and partly transmitted through the performance of the texts. I therefore pay equal attention to structural features and questions of intentionality (here treated in connection with courtly sociability).50

48. “Secondary courts” are the courts of dignitaries, and I use the term in contrast with the “royal court.” For further details on those two types of court and the kinds of literary patronage they entail, see infra, Chapter 2. 49. Regarding tradition as a “world of ideas in which intertextual relationships are generated” [lieu ideal ou s’etablissent les rapports intertextuels] see Paul Zumthor, Essai de Poétique Médiévale (Paris:  Éditions du Seuil, 2000), 22; Zumthor, Toward a Medieval Poetics, trans. Philip Bennett (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992), 50. 50. Daud Ali, Courtly Culture and Political Life in Early Medieval India (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Sheldon Pollock, The Language of Gods in the World of Men: Sanskrit Culture and Power in Premodern India (Berkeley:  University of California Press, 2006);

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The high level of historicization of my reading of Ālāol’s texts is not due to some absolute disciplinary position that I  would try to impose or defend regarding whether premodern literature should or can be read historically.51 The way an author and a text engage with time changes from one text to the other, and consequently our method must change in each case. A philological approach to literature does not, at least as I understand it, imply the systematic imposition of historical interpretative schemes, but it demands that the philologist assesses as precisely as possible if and how a text engages with time and its historical context. History and the relative positioning of an author and the author’s text in the chronological unfolding of the tradition are one aspect of the semantic content of a work, but they are not always present in the same way. What I want to contribute with my study is thus a finer understanding of the historical reading of premodern Bengali literature and a redefinition of the philological methods used to read those texts. I want to question the assumed naïveté of this literature and depart from the idea that premodern vernacular texts almost passively captured the aesthetic aspirations and social reality of their time.52 The historian of Bengali literature Sukumar Sen bestowed a crucial importance on the geographical spread of texts and genres, which condition our context-​sensitive recourse to intertextuality.53 A text does not only need to be written in Bengali to participate to the traditional background of another Bengali text. The study of the geographical spread of Bengali manuscripts clearly shows that, with a few exceptions, texts circulated within very limited areas.54 This geographically fragmented picture of Bengali literary culture—​which is much more complex than the usual East–​West Bengal dichotomy—​reflects the political reality of premodern Bengal and the constraints of natural geography on networks of communication.55

Allison Busch, Poetry of Kings :  The Classical Hindi Literature of Mughal India, South Asia Research (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011). 51.  Velcheru Narayana Rao, David D. Shulman, and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, Textures of Time: Writing History in South India, 1600–​1800 (Delhi: Permanent Black, 2001). 52.  Ahmad Sharif, Madhyayuger sāhitye samāj o saṃskr̥tir rūp (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Samaẏ Prakāśan, 2000). 53. See S. Sen’s preface in Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature. 54.  For instance, all the manuscripts of Ālāol’s works were found in eastern Bengal, in Chittagong and Comilla. 55.  Tirthankar Roy, “Where Is Bengal? Situating an Indian Region in the Early Modern World Economy,” Past & Present, no. 213 (November 1, 2011): 115–​46.

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Unsurprisingly, the texts that are found all over the Bengali-​speaking area are early pā̃cālīs (namely the Kr̥ttivāsī Rāmāyaṇ [ca. fifteenth century CE] and the Śrīkr̥ṣṇavijaẏ [ca. 1470s]) composed during periods of territorial and administrative expansion of the Bengali sultanate with its capital in Gauda—​which is located near Malda in West Bengal, right on the border between India and Bangladesh.56 Outside those brief moments of political unity, Bengal’s history is characterized by what one may call the “ṭāʾifa effect.” At the other end of the Muslim world, in Al-​Andalus, the eleventh century witnessed a period of cultural efflorescence, which was explained by historians as being the result of the political fragmentation of the Iberian Peninsula that occasioned a multiplication of the centers of literary production.57 The tumultuous political history of Bengal from the fall of the Ḥusayn Shāhī dynasty from 1538 onward favored the development of regional literary traditions. These literary traditions relied on common earlier models, which explains the maintaining of prosodic forms such as the paẏār and tripadī, and the use of Brajabuli (a literary language derived from Old Maithili) in lyric poetry. But other than that we see very few horizontal forms of intertextuality (i.e., from one Bengali text to another). This also appears in the total absence of what could be considered a canon of Middle Bengali poetry—​each text somehow reinvented the tradition. Writing a history of Middle Bengali literature today thus requires a reformulation of notions of tradition, history, and cultural geography. These methodological considerations all aim at providing an effective framework for the study of the poetics of Middle Bengali texts. The visible decline in the study of Middle Bengali literature in recent times is certainly due to the interpretative dead ends reached by previous scholarship in this domain and it is due time to offer new ways to enliven our understanding of those texts.58 Hopefully, the present monograph will contribute to challenging received knowledge on Middle Bengali literature and invite readers to engage with a corpus, the study of which reaches far beyond concerns of regional literary history. 56. Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, 1494–​1538 A.D., 33–​95. 57.  Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh, “Introduction,” in After Timur Left:  Culture and Circulation in Fifteenth-​Century North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014), 22–​23; Pierre Guichard and Bruna Soravia, Les royaumes de Taifas: Apogée culturel et déclin politique des émirats andalous du XIe siècle (Paris: Geuthner, 2007). 58.  See the chapter titled “Madhyayuger bāṃlā sāhityacarcā:  biś śataker prekṣite” in Sanatkumār Naskar, Prāgādhunik bāṃlā sāhitya:  Paripraśna o punarvivecanā (Kolkata, India: Diẏā Pāblikeśan, 2012), 560–​684.

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Introduction

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Overview of the contents of the book The first chapter is concerned with setting a frame for a unified understanding of a composite literary tradition. I start by giving a general overview of how the Bengal–​Arakan continuum has been defined in terms of both geographical and cultural features and its place in the Bay of Bengal as a zone of commercial and cultural exchanges. I then turn to the formation of an Arakanese Islamicate idiom in official documents (coins and inscriptions) from the foundation of Mrauk U in 1430 up to Ālāol’s lifetime, in the mid-​seventeenth century. After the study of the official use of an Islamicate idiom, I identify the centers in which Bengali literature was produced in Arakan during approximately the same period. I distinguish two different trends in the Bengali literature of Arakan: One is represented by the works of rural or provincial authors, and the other by texts produced and consumed—​at least in a first phase—​by urban audiences and readerships. In doing so, I try to highlight the shared features of those two corpuses, as well as what clearly allows us to distinguish one set of texts from the other; the main distinctive feature being the function of multilingual literacy in the composition and reception of the texts. Chapter 2 focuses on urban literature and the milieu of the Bengali-​ speaking dignitaries of Mrauk U. I provide a bird’s-​eye view of the cosmopolitan society of Mrauk U, and I try to locate Bengali-​speaking Muslims in this environment. Gradually narrowing down the focus on Ālāol’s immediate entourage, I  observe the economy of the secondary courts that he attended. These gatherings were organized by Bengali-​speaking Muslim dignitaries who worked for the king of Arakan’s administration. I analyze how Ālāol described the relationship of his patrons with the royal court and how the notion of “grandeur” [mahimā/​mahattva] was used by the author to articulate the various aspects of his own activity as a court poet. In the last section of this chapter, I focus on a story found in one of Ālāol’s poems, which I read as a mise en abyme of his activity as a man of letters that provides insights into the way he conceived of patronage and the function of poetic speech and eloquence in a courtly context. Chapter 3 looks at Ālāol’s early literary career and the evolution of his concerns and style during a period that stretches over ten years, between 1651 and 1661. It is the occasion to highlight connections between themes treated in his poems and contemporary events that marked the end of the Golden Age of Arakan. To keep track of his aesthetic and poetic choices, I translate and analyze short lyric poems inserted in his otherwise

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narrative texts. This allows us to follow the themes and stylistic features that characterize each period of his literary career to offer both textual and contextual motivations to interpret the orientation of his oeuvre. The overarching argument that ties together Chapters 3 and 4 lies in the shift from lyricism and cultural polyphony to didacticism and the exclusive recourse to Persian literary models. The political crisis of 1661 that was triggered by the arrival in Arakan of Mughal Prince Shāh Shujāʿ (d. 1661)  who was fleeing away from his brother Awrangzeb’s (r. 1658–​1707) army, marks the beginning of major shifts in Ālāol’s literary activities. In Chapter  4, I  follow the thread of Ālāol’s poems’ stylistic evolutions during the decade spanning from 1661 to 1671—​the date of the composition of Sikāndarnāmā, Ālāol’s last work. This period is characterized by the progressive degradation of the relationships between the Bengali Muslim elites and the Buddhist Arakanese ruler that deeply modified the configuration of the literary gatherings in Mrauk U, as well as the aspirations of their members. In my analysis I trace how these changes affected the poet’s recourse to the romance and epic genres, as well as to lyric poetry. The first section of Chapter 5 goes one step further toward the analysis of Ālāol’s speech by focusing on the modes of performance of his works. Here I  argue that the traditional Bengali pā͂cālī (i.e., versified narrative poem) was partially redefined as it became a part of the Indo-​Persian mode of sociability of the majlis (social venue). Words, their ornaments and semantic depth—​in contrast with plot—​became the subject of hermeneutic inquiry to serve both mundane and spiritual ends in the courtly context. The second part of the chapter is a systematic exploration of Ālāol’s ars poetica. It focuses on the terminology used by the poet to speak about his practice of literature. I look at the multilingual traditional background of the poet to assess the range of his models and the scope of the terms that he uses in his technical digressions. Tracing the genealogies of Ālāol’s terminology is only one part of my approach; the other—​and somehow more necessary—​part is to draw the outline of his poetics as a coherent system for his works. In a linguistic tradition virtually lacking theoretical literature on poetics, the interpretation of his discourse and the reconstruction of his ars poetica constitute a necessary attempt at reading Middle Bengali literature on its own terms. In the final chapters of the book, I take a step back, using the conclusions that I reached about the background and nature of Ālāol’s poetics. I  use those observations as a lens to look at cultural trends that spread

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eastward and southward from Hindustan during the Indo-​Afghan and early Mughal periods (ca. mid-​fifteenth to the first half of the seventeenth centuries). I explore the genealogy of some fundamental aspects of Ālāol’s poetics: narrative poetry and the romance genre, and vernacular lyrics and Sanskrit saṅgīta-​śāstra [the discipline of lyrical arts] in the making of connoisseurship in regional courts. The Afghan rule in North India has been seen as a major moment in the making of a local Islamicate cultural ethos and of development of multilingual literary cultures in South Asia. I observe the legacy in Bengal and the Deccan of the multilingual literary culture that was fashioned at the courts of the Lodis (1451–​1526) and of other regional polities during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. I come back on what constituted the multilingual literary culture of those courts and focus on the historical imaginaries of Indo-​Afghan authors, the nature of courtly sociability, and the gradual development of romance as a cross-​linguistic genre. I then turn to eastern South Asia more specifically and study the way courtly lyrics and Sanskrit musicological literature contributed to the formation of a supraregional vernacular poetics. I argue that both the spread of Indo-​Afghan romances and vernacular connoisseurship in lyrical arts eventually converged in the Bengali Muslim literature of Arakan in the seventeenth century. Such a comparative approach to seemingly disconnected traditions is not merely meant to solve a historical puzzle, but rather it should highlight the epistemological framework that allowed those trends to come into being and invite us to read poetical and theoretical works with a better knowledge of the literary canons and conceptual realms that informed their creation. It is also an attempt to trace the fate of regional courtly cultures during a period predominantly associated with the spread of Mughal courtly models.

02

1

The Formation of Bengali Literature in Arakan (ca. 1430–​1638)

Setting a frame for a unified understanding of  a composite tradition The challenge of introducing the Bengali literary tradition of Arakan is that one has to retrieve the unity of a political and cultural region as well as the unity of a literary tradition. One way to take up this task is to look at the geographical features that facilitated the formation of those units. Thus I start by introducing what has been called the Bengal–​Arakan continuum. In the framework of this cultural continuum, we observe the emergence of an Islamicate political idiom in Arakan alongside a Sanskritized one; at the same time, we see an expansion of the kingdom’s military power in the region. To obtain a coherent picture of the way in which this idiom was formed, I gather the fragmentary data available to us and use them to draw a background for the development of the local Muslim elite and their patronage of Bengali texts in the seventeenth century. I then map the centers of literary production in the region, focusing on those located within the boundaries of the polity. I give an overview of the discernible internal categories belonging to the Bengali literary tradition of Arakan and highlight their main trends in terms of genre and theme. I  also argue that in Arakan, an earlier Bengali Muslim literary trend took shape within the continuity provided by provincial patronage of vernacular works during the period of the independent sultanate of Bengal (1204–​1574).

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The Bengal–​Arakan continuum and the Bay of Bengal network system This chapter’s overview of the presence of Islam and of Bengali Muslim literature in Arakan’s cultural history must be framed by attention to the geographical features of the region. I am not making any general claim about the role of the natural environment in the formation of literary traditions. Rather, the relevance of geography in the present case became obvious when I  observed the space in which the narratives of Arakan’s poets take place, the spread of the manuscripts as physical artifacts, and the networks—​commercial and religious—​in which the corpus must be located to comprehend the full extent of its cultural ethos. The territory covered by the kingdom of Arakan can be divided into four parts.1 The central zone was constituted by the plains of the rivers Mayu, Kaladan, and Lemro.2 This region is traditionally called Dhaññavatī. The very name of this heartland of historical Arakan conveys its function: It was the land “rich with grains.” The location of the capital city, Mrauk U, was ideal for the cultivation of rice because the waters were fresh, unlike those in the lands closer to the coast.3 The second portion of Arakan, according to the traditional scheme, included the big islands of Cheduba and Ramre. Arakanese sources refer to this area as Meghavatī or Rammavatī. The third part was called Dvārāvatī, and was located to the south of Sandoway.4 Finally, the western part of the kingdom included the region of Chittagong; this region was itself divided into three portions centered on the river systems of the Karnafuli, Sangu-​Matamuhuri, and Bakkhali. 1. For a detailed introduction to the traditional geography of Arakan and its place in the monsoon system of the Bay of Bengal, see Galen, “Arakan and Bengal: The Rise and Decline of the Mrauk U Kingdom (Burma) From the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Century A.D.,” PhD dissertation (Leiden, The Netherlands: Leiden University, 2008), 14–​32. 2. Jacques P. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie: son histoire politique entre le début du XVe et la fin du XVIIe siècle (Paris: École française d’Extrême-​Orient, 2004), 500. 3. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 20. 4. This is the only region that is referred to by its traditional name in the Bengali literature of Arakan. Daulat Kājī (fl. 1637) relates that the king and his court went to a hunting party in Dvārāvatī. Even if Dhaññavatī (literally “The land rich with grains”) is not used by Bengali authors, in his eulogies Ālāol qualifies the kingdom of Arakan as “full with grains and fish” [śasya-​matsya-​pūrṇita], which echoes the traditional Pali name. Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, ed. Debnath Bandyopadhyay, reprint (Kolkata: Sāhitya Saṃsad, 1995), 8; Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no. 185/​ā 32, maghi 1216/​1854 AD, fol. 3r, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad” collection, Dhaka University Library.

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Interestingly, the three towns established on the banks of those three rivers played a role vis-​à-​vis the kingdom of Arakan: Chittagong was the principal seaport and entrepôt during the Mrauk U period, Chakrashala was an important Arakanese center in the early sixteenth century, and Ramu, besides being an asylum for many Arakanese after the Burmese invasion of 1784, witnessed a revival of the Bengali literary tradition in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.5 Therefore, despite Chittagong’s relative marginality in comparison with the other three regions, its administrative, economic, and cultural centers are historically connected to the Arakanese rule in southeastern Bengal. The kingdom of Arakan spread over the coastal strip of land that was bounded on the northeast by the mountains of the Arakan Yoma. This natural barrier made inland communication with Ava, the capital of upper Burma, difficult.6 Such relative isolation contributed to the evolution of Arakan’s distinctive religions and to its unique artistic and political histories.7 The region rested in a continuum with the plains of Chittagong and was thus open to westward communication. Its opening on the Bay of Bengal served as another interface. Human activities in the Bay of Bengal were conditioned by the cycles of the monsoon. The specific path of the monsoon in the Bay of Bengal resulted in the constitution of an area that shared common seasonal patterns for sailing, returning, and closing maritime trade. In the southern part of Bengal, we see the development of major seaports such as Tamluk (in the ancient period) and Chittagong (from at least the fifteenth century onward).8 These ports played a crucial role in 5.  For the history of Chittagong, S.  B. Qanungo’s study remains the most comprehensive reference on the topic. He based his study on a wide array of Bengali, Persian, and European sources. Suniti Bhushan Qanungo, A History of Chittagong (Chittagong, Bangladesh: Dipankar Qanungo, 1988). There is no study of the Bengali literature produced in Ramu in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Information on these authors can be gleaned from A.  Karim and A.  Sharif’s works. See Abdul Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts in Munshi Abdul Karim’s Collection, ed. Ahmad Sharif, trans. Syed Sajjad Husain (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Asiatic Society of Pakistan, 1960); Ahmad Sharif, ed., Madhyayuger rāg-​tāl-​nāmā (Dhaka:  Bangla Academy, 1967); Bāṃlār sūphī sāhitya, 2nd ed. (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Samaẏ Prakāśan, 2003); Bāṅālī o bāṅlā sāhitya. 6. Jacques P. Leider, “La route de Am. Contribution à l’étude d’une route terrestre entre la Birmanie et le golfe du Bengale,” Journal Asiatique 282 (1994): 335–​70. 7. Pamela Gutman, “Ancient Arakan: With Special Reference to Its Cultural History between the 5th and the 11th Centuries,” PhD dissertation (The Australian National University, 1976); Gutman and Yu, Burma’s Lost Kingdoms. 8.  T. N. Ramachandran, “Tāmraliptī (Taṁluk),” Artibus Asiae 14, no. 3 (1951):  226–​ 39; Stephan van Galen, “Arakan at the Turn of the First Millennium of the Arakanese Era,” in

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the formation of synchronized cultural trends in the area surrounding the Bay of Bengal. They also stood as gateways through which goods and ideas diffused from the centers of the Gangetic plains to Southeast Asia. Historians of trade have shown that the Bay of Bengal emerged as a specific network system around the beginning of the second millennium.9 We distinguish between the pre-​emporia era of the maritime Silk Road that stretched between the Red Sea and the China Sea and a subsequent period in which emporia developed along the route that modified the patterns of the network.10 During the first centuries of the second millennium, three political entities would radically modify economic and diplomatic exchanges in the Bay: the Chola Empire in South India, Shrivijaya in Java, and the Pala kingdom of Bengal. H.  Kulke stressed the Tamil–​ Shrivijaya political relations in light of contemporary Chinese chronicles.11 Because of rich epigraphic records, it is by far the most well-​documented part of the history of the Bay of Bengal in this period. The role of the ports of Bengal appears secondary in H. Kulke’s analysis; in it, the emphasis is on transversal exchanges from South India to insular Southeast Asia. The artistic and religious history of Java and southern Vietnam completes this picture. There we find prominently Tantric Hindu and Buddhist cultural features originating from the Pala kingdom. Through war, trade, and pilgrimage routes, the networks of the Bay of Bengal tightened. With the political decay of the large empires and kingdoms of the early second millennium, the emporia that were located on a long maritime route became centers (or main entrepôts) of smaller political entities. Even though scholars often stress the diplomatic and religious relations between the Deccani sultans and Iran, Golkonda’s commercial activities were turned toward the Bay of Bengal networks. With the arrival of the Portuguese and, subsequently, the other European companies in

The Maritime Frontier of Burma: Exploring Political, Cultural, and Commercial Interaction in the Indian Ocean World, 1200–​1800, ed. Jos Gommans and Jacques P. Leider (Amsterdam; Leiden, The Netherlands: Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen; KITLV Press, 2002). 9. Om Prakash and Denys Lombard, eds., Commerce and Culture in the Bay of Bengal, 1500–​ 1800 (New Delhi: Manohar: Indian Council of Historical Research, 1999); Rila Mukherjee, Pelagic Passageways: The Northern Bay of Bengal Before Colonialism (Delhi: Primus Books, 2011). 10. Subrahmanyam, “Persianization and ‘Mercantilism,’ ” 48–​53. 11.  Hermann Kulke, “Rivalry and Competition in the Bay of Bengal,” in Commerce and Culture in the Bay of Bengal, 1500–​1800, ed. Om Prakash and Denys Lombard (New Delhi: Manohar: Indian Council of Historical Research, 1999), 17–​35.

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the commercial landscape, we see how closely the establishment of these entities’ factories and political strategies depended on existing networks. The technological advancement of Western fleets rendered the traditional sailing seasons less restrictive and intensified exchanges within the Bay. We then observe two phenomena: a competition between local sailors and European companies’ traders that motivated the development of alternative seaports (such as Masulipatnam), and religious and political embassies relying on these local sailors’ services.12 The political shift from agrarian inland to coastal states relying upon trade and tax collection was accompanied by religious changes such as the adoption of Islam by the new political elites or the reformation and renewal of the Theravada Buddhist Sangha in Sri Lanka, Arakan, and Burma.13 During the fifteenth century, we witness the emergence of what I  would call the vernacular kingdoms of the Bay of Bengal and the formation of several supraregional culture languages: Dakani in the Deccan, Bengali in eastern South Asia, and Malay in the Indonesian Archipelago.14 Chittagong and Mrauk U became preeminent in this network around the turn of the fifteenth century. The two ports display features typical of the Luso-​Persian era of Bay of Bengal history (ca. the sixteenth through the first half of the seventeenth century CE), and they had distinct functions in the circulation and trade of goods. Commercially, Chittagong was the main entrepôt of Arakan, and in terms of cultural–​ political geography, it was perceived as the doorway to Bengal. Early Portuguese maps describe Chittagong as the “Large Haven” [Porto Grande] or even the “City of Bengal.” From the Arakanese perspective, it epitomized the region as a political zone and justified the claims found in official documents regarding the “twelve cities of Bengal.”15 From 12.  Jinadasa Liyanaratne, “Notice sur une lettre royale singhalaise du XVIIIe siècle conservée au Musée de l’Homme à Paris,” Bulletin de l’Ecole française d’Extrême-​Orient 73, no. 1 (1984): 273–​84; Subrahmanyam, “Persianization and ‘Mercantilism.’ ” 13. T. Frasch also sees a millennarist discourse and causes internal to the Buddhist tradition for the formation of a Theravada ecumene during this period. Tilman Frasch, “The Making of a Buddhist Ecumene in the Bay of Bengal,” in Pelagic Passageways, ed. Rila Mukherjee (New Delhi: Primus Books), 383–​405. 14.  For further references see Galen, “Arakan at the Turn of the First Millennium of the Arakanese Era,” 153–​4. 15. The term is used in Arakanese chronicles. In Wimala’s Rājawaṅ (1536) it designates the part of Bengal under Arakanese control before the exile of King Naranu (/​Nara Mit Lha). Chittagong figures as the sixth city (Cac ta koṅḥ) of this list in the Arakanese Maṅḥ rājākrīḥ cātamḥ. See Jacques P. Leider, “The Min Rajagri Satam of Mahazeya-​Thein:  Making a

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the Mughal perspective, Chittagong was not the main city of Bengal. The political center was Gauda, which included modern West Bengal and western Bangladesh as far as Dhaka. We thus have two contrasting views of Chittagong in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries: the Mughal one, in which Chittagong was a zone on the outskirts of Bengal and remained outside of the Mughal province [ṣūba] until 1666,16 and the Arakanese view, in which Chittagong was almost metonymous for Bengal as a whole.17 This dichotomy maintained its relevance at least until the nineteenth century, at which point many aspects of the regional Bengali Muslim cultural identity were still embedded in the Arakanese past of the region and remained alien to Mughal culture.18

The formation of an Arakanese Islamicate political idiom circa 1430–​1630 Unlike in other places along the Indian Ocean maritime Silk Road, there is no trace of Muslim settlement in Arakan during the pre-​emporia era. It is only in the thirteenth century that southeastern Bengal appears in Arabic

‘History’ for the King,” in Traditions of Knowledge in Southeast Asia, vol. 1 (Rangoon: Myanmar Historical Commission Golden Jubilee Publication Committee, 2004), 100–​20; “These Buddhist Kings With Muslim Names: A Discussion on the Muslim Influence in the Mrauk-​ U Period,” in Études birmanes en hommage à Denise Bernot, ed. Pierre Pichard and François Robinne, Études thématiques 9 (Paris: École française d’Extrême-​Orient, 1998), 195. 16.  Alam and Subrahmanyam, “Southeast Asia as Seen From Mughal India,”Archipel 70, 223–​4; Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged,” 188–​91. The eighteenth-​ century historian of Bengal, Ghulām Ḥusayn Zaydpūrī, used the term marzbān (literally lord-​marcher) when mentioning the king of Arakan. Riyāḍ al-​salāṭīn: tārīkh-​i Bangāla, ed. ʿAbd al-​Ḥaqq ʿĀbid, Bibliotheca Indica. New series (Calcutta: Maṭbaʻ-​i Bīptist Mishin, 1890), 218; The Riyaz̤u-​s-​Salāt̤īn:  a History of Bengal, trans. Maulavi Abdus Salam (Calcutta:  The Asiatic Society, 1902), 222. 17.  Jacques P. Leider, “On Arakanese Territorial Expansion:  Origin, Context, Means and Practice,” in The Maritime Frontier of Burma, ed. Jos Gommans and Jacques P. Leider (Amsterdam ; Leiden:  Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen; KITLV Press, 2002), 127–​50; Galen, “Arakan at the Turn of the First Millennium of the Arakanese Era”; “Arakan and Bengal,” 102. 18. In the nineteenth century, the descendents of Mughal-​era settlers in Chittagong actively engaged in reforming the literary culture of Muslims in Chittagong and condemned their attachment to the works composed during the Mrauk U period. This picture is conveyed by the works of the scholar Ḥamīd Allāh Khān, who was born in the early nineteenth century and wrote a history of Chittagong in Persian that was published in 1871. In addition to Persian works on regional history and natural sciences, Ḥamīd Allāh Khān wrote several books in Bengali to reform the customs of Chittagongian Muslims. See Shahed Ali, Bāṃlā sāhitye Caṭṭagrāmer avadān, 151–​4; Sahsarami, Khidmatguzārān-​i fārsī dar Banglādish, 265–​70.

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travel accounts, and we must wait until the fifteenth century to witness a substantial Muslim presence in Arakan. To explain the visible process of Persianization that occurred in courtly life during the Mrauk U period, modern historians have stressed the role of the king of Ava’s invasion of Arakan and the subsequent exile of Arakanese King Nara mit lha (ca. 1404–​1434) to the neighboring sultanate of Bengal.19 Some sources relate that the king regained the throne thanks to the military support of the sultan of Bengal. The building of the Santikan Mosque in Mrauk U is also believed to have occurred in this period, but the construction technique indicates that it was built in the first half of the sixteenth century.20 Accounts of the foundation of Mrauk U and the nature of Nara mit lha’s exile in Bengal were carefully studied by J.  Leider, but it is difficult to reconstruct a coherent narrative from the three Arakanese accounts available.21 Nevertheless, the presence of such an event occurring in the early fifteenth century bears testimony to some kind of political rapprochement between the Buddhist kingdom and the independent sultanate of Bengal. Such a rapprochement is significant not only because it marked the inauguration of a new political–​cultural idiom at the regional level, but also because it agreed with the historical dynamic of the Bengal–​Arakan continuum in the longer term. Before and after this event, taking refuge in the neighboring kingdom was customary for rulers and petty chiefs of Bengal and Arakan, and one should not see this moment as a watershed in the cultural history of either region.22 We must wait two centuries for the formation of a Bengali Muslim literature among Arakan’s rural and urban administrative elites. Nevertheless, other artifacts document the development of an Islamicate literacy and 19. Subrahmanyam, “Persianization and ‘Mercantilism.’ ” 20. Emanuel Forchhammer, Report on the Antiquities of Arakan (Rangoon: Superintendent Government Printing, 1891), 39. 21. Leider, “These Buddhist Kings With Muslim Names”; Jacques P. Leider and Kyaw Minn Htin, “King Maṅḥ Co Mvan’s Exile in Bengal:  Legend, History, and Context,” Journal of Burma Studies 19, no. 2 (2015): 371–​405. 22.  During the period under scrutiny, we have several examples of rulers or members of royal families who fled and took refuge either in Bengal or in Arakan. In 1613, after being defeated by the Mughals, Anantamāṇikya of Bhulua took refuge in Arakan. Similarly, the son of the Arakanese governor of Chittagong and nephew of King Maṅḥ Rājāḥ Krīḥ “Salīm” attempted to make an alliance with the Mughal governor and sent his children to Jahangirnagar (Dhaka). Mīrzā Nathan, Bahāristān-​i-​Ghaybī: A History of the Mughal Wars in Assam, Cooch Behar, Bengal, Bihar and Orissa During the Reigns of Jahāngīr and Shāhjahān, trans. Moayyidul Islam Borah (Gauhati, Assam:  The Government of Assam, Dept. of Historical and Antiquarian Studies, Narayani Handiqui Historical Institute, 1936), 89, 98; Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 208–​13.

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political idiom.23 Starting from the last decades of the sixteenth century, the Arakanese kings minted coins bearing trilingual versions of their titles in Arabic, Sanskrit, and Arakanese.24 This practice lasted until the rule of Sīrisudhammarājā (r. 1622–​1638), which is also a period of nascent Bengali literature in the Dhaññavatī area. Since scholars began to research the history of Arakan, this phenomenon has provoked many debates about the significance of the fact that those coins’ texts adopted the codes of Perso-​Arabic political culture. Was it a sign of political submission toward Bengal? Did the rulers convert to Islam? We now have enough material to provide nuanced answers to those questions. Literary, epigraphic, and numismatic evidence does not support the theory that Arakan submitted to Bengal during the several decades following Nara mit lha’s return to the throne. Similarly, saying that the kings of Arakan converted to Islam would be totally inaccurate. The adoption of Muslim names was a gesture oriented outward and was not necessarily the consequence of deep cultural changes occurring at the core of the political elite. With the exception of Salīm Shāh/​Sīrisudhammarājā, Muslim Bengali sources give Sanskritized versions of the rulers’ Pali titles (e.g., Sīricandasudhammarājā became Śrīcandrasudharma).25 The Perso-​Arabic names, the Sanskritized names, and the translated titles of the kings were signs of the integration of the

23.  Here I  understand the term “Islamicate” as it was used by P.  Wagoner:  “First Islamicization refers to a political strategy, by means of which indigenous elites attempt to enhance their political status and authority through participation in the more ‘universal’ culture of Islam. Second, this participation is effected through the adoption of certain Islamic cultural forms and practices, which—​given the political nature of the process—​largely pertain to the broad sphere of secular culture, as opposed to the narrower domain of formal religion.” See “‘Sultan Among Hindu Kings’: Dress, Titles, and the Islamicization of Hindu Culture at Vijayanagara,” The Journal of Asian Studies 55, no. 4 (1996):  853–​5. In the case of Arakan and other polities around the Bay of Bengal, Sanjay Subrahmanyam spoke of “Persianization,” a notion that largely overlaps with Wagoner’s Islamicization. In the present monograph, either of these terms would be relevant. Subrahmanyam, “Persianization and ‘Mercantilism,’  ” 45–​79. 24.  Michael Mitchiner, The Land of Water:  Coinage and History of Bangladesh and Later Arakan, Circa 300BC to the Present Day (London:  Hawkins, 2000), 139. For a discussion about the use of the titles found on these coins in Bengali literature, see Thibaut d’Hubert, “The Lord of the Elephant: Interpreting the Islamicate Epigraphic, Numismatic and Literary Material From the Mrauk U Period of Arakan (ca. 1430−1784),” Journal of Burma Studies 19, no. 2 (2015), 341–​70. 25. Salīm Shāh is actually the name of Maṅḥ Rājā Krīḥ on Arakanese coins. The use of this name for Sīrisudhammarājā is only attested from Portuguese and Bengali sources (e.g., Padmāvatī: śilima sāhāra vaṃśa: yadyapi haïla dhvaṃsa: [ . . . ]). Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 332, n. 29; Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, ed. Muhammad Abdul Qayyum and Raziya Sultana (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 2007), 6. It is noteworthy that

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kingdom into the commercial and diplomatic networks of eastern South Asia and the Bay of Bengal. Today, one might term it a matter of public relations with foreign political powers and with the Muslim subjects of the kingdom. Arakan witnessed a phase of territorial expansion until the seventeenth century.26 The adoption of an Islamicate and Sanskritized political idiom—​the latter being a sign more of continuity than of innovation—​ was a way to make Arakan more visible and recognizable to its immediate neighbors on land (Afghan and Mughal Bengal, and Tripura) and across the Bay of Bengal (Golkonda and Aceh). A bilingual inscription in Arakanese and Persian dated Ramaḍān 900/​ June 1495 provides a unique window into the administrative and political language of the early phase of the Mrauk U period.27 The inscription, which is badly damaged, was found at the site of the capital city. A reconstructed text of the inscription tells us about the status of the Muslim cultural ethos in Arakan. The name of Buddhist King Ram Oṅ appears in its Islamicate form of Nāṣir Shāh (Arak. Nasisā), son of Manṣūr Shāh.28 He ruled from approximately 1493 to 1495. The inscription records the donation of a land to an individual named Kāshā’ī Faqīr (Arak. Kāci Pokki). A list of witnesses bearing the title śrī pātra (Pers. sir pātar) is provided, and the inscription mentions the imām of a mosque who endorsed with his signature the testimony of two of the witnesses. The qāḍī ʿAṭā Malik Naṣīr recorded the grant and signed it. Defining the ethnic and religious affiliations of the individuals involved in this transaction is not easy. Despite the use of Persian, there is no Arabic the Sanskritized version of the king’s name does not render the Buddhist term dhammarājā. “L’adoption du terme dhammarājā dans les titres royaux entre 1622 et 1706 nous semble [ . . . ] digne de considération par sa connotation religieuse.” Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 290. If Ālāol remains elusive regarding the obedience of the Arakanese king, Daulat Kājī is much more explicit: rosāṅga nagara nāma svarga-​avatārī | tāhāta maga vaṃśe krame buddhācārī ||[The city called Rosang (i.e., Mrauk U) is like heaven on earth, in which [rules] the Mag lineage, practitioners of Buddhism by descent.] Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 4. 26. Leider, “On Arakanese Territorial Expansion.” 27. A tentative transcription and translation of the inscription based on an unclear picture was published by the renowned scholar of Persian in Bengal, A. B. M. Habibullah (1966). Thanks to a recent picture and a rubbing of the inscription kept in the Mrauk U museum, M. Alam, J. Leider, and I prepared a new transcription that greatly improved our understanding of the text. See d’Hubert, “The Lord of the Elephant,” 367–​9. 28. The Arakanese only gives his title of “lord of the white elephant” [chaṅ phrū syaṅ]. The Arakanese forms of those names are given in Leider, “These Buddhist Kings With Muslim Names,” 208.

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invocation of the sort that we typically find in epigraphic records of the same period in neighboring Bengal.29 The absence of any preliminary invocation evinces that the king who ordered the grant to be inscribed was not a Muslim ruler. It seems that the witnesses are either Hindu or Buddhist, that the recipient of the grant is Muslim (maybe the term faqīr appended to his name indicates that he was a religious figure), and that the Muslim qāḍī recorded the entire transaction. The mention of the imām of the mosque seems to refer to Muslim religious authorities as well. The witnesses whose names are introduced by the honorific title śrī pātra are certainly dignitaries at the service of the king. It is noteworthy that the qāḍī, whom we also see in Ālāol’s milieu, was mediating between affairs internal to the Muslim community and the local administration.30 This inscription shows that the constitution of a local, composite Arakanese culture was already well developed in the last decades of the fifteenth century.31 Some aspects of the organization of Arakan during the Mrauk U period recall the emerging port-​states of the Indian Ocean network.32 The capital city was divided into ethnic quarters, it hosted a large market, tax collection constituted a significant part of the income of the royal household, and an 29.  See the following surveys of stone and coin inscriptions from Bengal:  Abdul Karim, Corpus of the Muslim Coins of Bengal, (down to A.  D. 1538) (Dacca:  Asiatic Society of Pakistan, 1960); Corpus of the Arabic and Persian Inscriptions of Bengal (Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, 1992); Mohammad Yusuf Siddiq, Riḥla maʿa al-​nuqūsh al-​kitābiyya al-​islāmiyya fī bilād al-​Banghāl:  dirāsa tarīkhiyya ḥaḍāriyya (Damascus:  Dār al-​fikr, 2004); Epigraphy and Islamic Culture:  Inscriptions of the Early Muslim Rulers of Bengal (1205–​1494) (London; New York: Routledge, 2016). 30. Ālāol’s predecessor was also a qāḍī, and the poet refers to the kājīra deoyāna [the judge’s court] in an anecdote inserted in an authorial colophon at the end of the third chapter of Tohphā. Ālāol’s spiritual master, Saiyad Masaüd (Sayyid Masʿūd), who initiated the poet to the Qādiriyya Sufi order, was the Islamic judge of Mrauk U [rosāṅgera kājī]. Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, ed. Muhammad Abdul Qayyum and Raziya Sultana (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 2007), 415; “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, ed. Muhammad Abdul Qayyum and Raziya Sultana (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 2007), 314. Compare with the comments of R. Eaton on the role of local administration in the rise of written vernaculars in the Deccan. Richard M. Eaton, “The Rise of Written Vernaculars:  The Deccan, 1450–​1650,” in After Timur Left: Culture and Circulation in Fifteenth-​Century North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014), 111–​29. 31.  Outside Mrauk U, in Chittagong, a composite administrative nomenclature was used among the local Muslim elites. Śā’bārid Bārid Khān, who belonged to the local dignitaries of Chakrashala who came from Ḥusayn Shāhī Gauda and settled in the region of Chittagong in the mid-​fifteenth century, mentions titles such as khõẏājā-​giri (Per. khwāja “a man of distinction” + Arak. krīḥ “great”). Śā’bārid Khān, Śā’bārid Khāner granthāvalī, ed. Ahmad Sharif (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1966), cha-​ṭha. 32. For a short overview of the main characteristics of such seaport states, see Subrahmanyam, “Persianization and ‘Mercantilism,’ ” 59. Subrahmanyam takes the example of Melaka.

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Islamicate political idiom was used for internal and external affairs.33 But it would be wrong to consider the Muslims of Arakan in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries a community of foreign merchants only.34 Bengali Muslims—​from the peasants deported from southern Bengal and resettled in Dhaññavatī to the highest dignitaries of the court—​were present at virtually all levels of Arakanese society.35 Moreover, their regional identity was formed within the Bengal–​Arakan cultural continuum. Their familiarity with both the regional and supraregional spheres alongside the skill with which they read the outside world enabled the Muslim regional elite to prosper.36 In seventeenth-​century accounts, one cannot fail to notice the potential for diversity within Arakan’s Muslim society itself. This diversity is proclaimed by Ālāol, who gave an extensive list of ethnonyms referring to various kinds of Muslim individuals present in Mrauk U under the reign of Satuiḥdhammarājā (r. 1645–​1652): Various individuals [coming from] various countries, informed about the delights of Rosang [i.e., Mrauk U], came under the king’s shade: Arabs, Egyptians, Syrians, Turks, Abyssinians, Ottomans, Khorasanis, Uzbeks, Lahoris, Multanis, Hindis, Kashmiris, Deccanis, Sindhis, Assamese and Bengalis, [ . . . ] Many sons of Shaykh and Sayyid, Mughal and Pathan warriors.37 For a classic study of one of such seaport, see Denys Lombard, Le Sultanat d’Atjéh au temps d’Iskandar Muda, 1607–​1636, Publications de l’École française d’Extrême-​Orient 61 (Paris: École française d’Extrême-​Orient, 1967). 33. Persian was on one of the languages of the Arakanese chancellery as attested by their epistolary relation with the Mughals and with private merchants. Syed Hasan Askari, “The Mughal-​Magh Relations Down to the Time of Islām Khān Mashhadi,” in Indian History Congress. Proceedings of the Twenty Second Session 1959 Gauhati, ed. George Moraes, V. G. Hatalkar, and V. D. Rao (Bombay: Bombay University Press, 1960), 201–​13; Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 211. 34. Schouten observes that few among the Muslims living in Mrauk U were born there, and “therefore they were very submissive toward the Arakanese superior power” [daarom zijn ze zeer onderdanig tegen de Arakanese hogere machten]. Wouter Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, 161–​2; Gautier Schouten, Voiage de Gautier Schouten aux Indes orientales, 258. 35.  Leider, “These Buddhist Kings With Muslim Names,” 202–​ 4; Jacques P. Leider, “Présentation et Commentaire,” Aséanie 3, no. 1 (1999): 133–​6. 36. d’Hubert, “Pirates, Poets, and Merchants.” 37. nānā-​deśī nānā-​loka : śuniẏā rosāṅga-​bhoga : āisanta nr̥pa-​chāẏā-​tala | ārabī misrī śāmī : turakī hābaśī rūmī : khorāsānī ujbegī sakala || lāhurī mūltānī hindī : kāśmirī dakṣiṇī sindhī : kāmarūpī

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This passage has often been quoted to show that Mrauk U was a cosmopolitan capital.38 But the way in which this microcosm is described by Ālāol also reveals that his worldview is organized consciously. The poet does not gather the whole Muslim community by saying that “Muslims” are present in Mrauk U, but, rather, he gives precise names related to particular places. He does not merely name these places in a random order; he starts from the ones farthest afield (Arabia, Egypt, Syria, Central Asia, and Ethiopia), then gives the nearer Hindustani and Deccani areas (Lahore, Multan, Kashmir, Deccan, and Sindh), and finally introduces the regional area with Assam and Bengal.39 Ālāol is utterly conscious of the subtleties of the diversity surrounding him. It seems that simple religious identity is not enough to describe the kinds of people present in the place he lives. The Bengali Muslim poet expresses here a fact key to understanding the modalities of circulation and communication in Arakan during this period: One’s status depends on whether one is from the far Ottoman Empire, from the nearer Hindustan, or from the regional area of Bengal.

āra baṅgadeśī | [ . . . ] bahu śekha-​saiẏad-​jādā : mogala-​pāṭhāna-​yoddhā : [ . . . ]. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” 2007, 7.  This passage composed in 1651 should be compared with S.  Manrique’s description of the tax-​free market that took place after the coronation of Sīrisudhammarājā in 1635: “After the coronation of the twelve Kings many days were passed in carrying out all the heathen ceremonies mentioned. The Court was full of men from various foreign countries whom the exemption from all duties on merchandise, granted in such times of festivity, had induced to assemble there. They came in numerous vessels loaded with every sort of rich merchandise, and hailed, not merely from neighbouring countries, such as Bengala, Pegu, and Martaban, but also from the empires of Siam, known as Sornau, and the kingdoms of Champa and Camboja. Ships had also come from various parts of India, as from the kingdoms of Masulipatam, Negapatam, and the Maldive islands, attracted to this duty free market. Nor had ships failed to come from the rich island of Sumatra, such as Greater and Lesser Java, Achem, Macassar, and Bima. So numerous were the different classes of dress and language, such the varied customs at the Capital, that the eye was kept busy distinguishing the different nationalities by their apparel, and the eye satisfied, the brain took up the task in speculating on how all these nations lacked any real knowledge of their Divine Creator, all following some form of Paganism or Maumetism, through which all were lost” (emphasis mine). Manrique, Travels of Fray Sebāstien Manrique, 1629–​1643,379–​80. 38. See, for instance, the epigraph in Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “And a River Runs Through It: The Mrauk-​U Kingdom and Its Bay of Bengal Context,” in The Maritime Frontier of Burma : Exploring Political, Cultural, and Commercial Interaction in the Indian Ocean World, 1200–​1800, ed. Jacques P. Leider and Jos Gommans (Amsterdam; Leiden, The Netherlands: Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen; KITLV Press, 2002), 107. 39. Similarly, he specifies the names of what is usually collectively designated by the term firingī (Portuguese, French, Dutch, etc.). Concerning the perception of the world by Ālāol as compared with that of Rānīrī, a contemporary Hadhrami author from Aceh, see d’Hubert and Wormser, “Représentations du monde dans le golfe du Bengale au XVIIe siècle: Ālāol et Rānīrī,” 15–​35.

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By observation of the status of Bengali Muslims in Arakan, it will become clear that they could take advantage of their positions as regional intermediaries between the local Arakanese Buddhist power and the Muslim cosmopolitan outer world.

Bengali Muslim literature in Chittagong and the Dhaññavatī area So far, I  have drawn on material from artifacts and texts produced in the capital city to reconstruct the background of the Bengali literary tradition in Arakan. Throughout this study, I  explore the urban cultural environment of Arakan, and therefore, to give a more complete idea of the literary tradition and its many social layers, I provide a brief survey of the texts produced outside the capital city. Unsurprisingly, the centers of literary production in Arakan follow the pattern of the economic geography of the kingdom. Other than the international emporium of the capital city, two regions witnessed the formation of Muslim Bengali literacy: One was Chittagong, and the other was the former center of Arakanese power in southeastern Bengal, Chakrashala. After the conquest of Chittagong by the Mughals in 1666, the zamīndārī of Ramu, near modern Cox’s Bazar, became the center of revival for the urban literature of Mrauk U. From extant literary sources, it seems that eastern Bengal—​and the region of Chittagong in particular—​is the birthplace of Bengali Muslim literature. Behind the composition of Bengali texts in the sixteenth century we find Muslim officers who were descendants of Hindus recently converted to Islam and who patronized a vernacular courtly corpus.40 By observing the genealogies of officers and spiritual masters referred to in early Bengali texts from the region, we can discern a pattern of migration 40.  See Appendix 4.  The independent sultanate, especially the Ḥusayn Shāhī dynasty (1493–​1538), is often presented as a thriving period for both Hindu and Muslim Bengali literature. The significance of the regionalized dimension of those phenomena is often downplayed in favor of a broader discourse on the emergence of a Bengaliness opposed to both the Sanskrit Brahmanical culture and the foreign Persianate elite. This quote from M. R. Tarafdar’s seminal study on Ḥusayn Shāhī Bengal sums up this view: “The Bengali language and the birth of Bengali literature symbolized the triumph of the native culture over the Brahmanical one. The Husain Shahi period marks the culmination of this sociological process. In the Mughal period, the vernacular language greatly helped Brahmanism in transforming itself when it felt the necessity of entertaining the new set of socio-​religious ideals bred in the bones of the nation. Persian which was closely connected with the life of the court, does not seem to have had any direct impact on the ordinary people, nor could it produce literature of any importance in our period” (emphasis mine). Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, 1494–​1538 A.D., 252–​3.

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from Gauda to eastern Bengal during the sultanate period around the fourteenth or fifteenth century.41 One family in particular seems to have given a crucial impetus to the vernacular tradition:  Rāstī Khān and his descendants, Parāgal Khān and Chuṭi Khān.42 This lineage of eastern Bengali officers patronized the adaptation of the Mahābhārata into the regional literary idiom. The translation project was performed by two members of the scribal cast: “Kavīndra” Parameśvar Dās (fl. 1515–​1519) and Śrīkara (i.e., Śrīkaraṇa) Nandī. It is noteworthy that a comparable project was undertaken at the courts of Naranārāyaṇa (r. 1544–​1587) and Śukladhvaja (d. 1571) in Kāmarūpa (northern Bengal and Assam) during the same period.43 Judging from the large amount of extant manuscripts, Kavīndra’s poem became immensely popular in eastern Bengal.44 According to Enamul Haq, its fame among the Muslim population of eastern Bengal motivated Saiẏad Sultān to write a counter epic titled Nabīvaṃśa [The Line of the Prophets]. The passage in which Saiẏad Sultān states that his endeavor is a consequence of the spread of the Hindu epic is present in the authorial colophon of one manuscript that is not traceable today.45 But it would indeed signify an interesting trajectory for the development of vernacular literature in the provincial courts of Bengal’s sultanate and subsequently in the rural and urban areas of Arakan.46 41.  This is precisely how Ḥamīd Allāh Khān explained the origins of “Rakhangī” (= Ben. rosāṅgī = rohiṅgyā = Arakanese) Muslims in the southern part of the Chittagong region. See Appendix 4. 42.  Kavīndra Parameśvar Dās, Kavīndra-​Mahābhārat, ed. Kalpana Bhowmik (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1999); Sukumar Sen, Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās, 6th edition, vol. 1 (Kolkata: Ānanda Publishers, 2000), 208–​11. 43. Sen, Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās, 2000, 1:217. 44. One manuscript was also found in Assam, which led Dimbeswar Neog to formulate the hypothesis that Kavīndra was a court poet of Naranārāyaṇa. Dimbeswar Neog, New Light on History of Asamīyā Literature From the Earliest Until Recent Times, Including an Account of Its Antecedents (Dispur, India:  Xuwanī Prakās [Beauty Publications], 1962), 134–​6. The explicit reference to his patron Parāgal Khān in the text goes against this claim. Kavīndra Parameśvar Dās, Kavīndra-​Mahābhārat, 331–​32. 45.  The colophon is quoted by Md. E.  Haq in his Bāṃlā Muslim sāhitya, but it does not appear in A.  Sharif’s edition. Muhammad Enamul Haq, Muslim bāṃlā sāhitya, 2nd ed. (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Mowla Brothers, 1998), 96; Saiẏad Sultān, Nabīvaṃśa, ed. Ahmad Sharif (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1978). For a comprehensive study of Saiẏad Sultān’s works, see Ayesha Irani, “Sacred Biography, Translation, and Conversion:  The Nabīvaṃśa of Saiyad Sultān and the Making of Bengali Islam, 1600–​Present,” PhD dissertation (University of Pennsylvania, 2011). 46.  The continuity between the provincial literary patronage of Bengali by the descendants of Rāstī Khān is confirmed by the fact that Muhāmmad Khān, Saiẏad Sultān’s disciple and author of several poems, was also from this lineage. See Irani, “Sacred Biography, Translation, and Conversion,” 23–​6, 74.

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Specialists disagree on the matter of Saiẏad Sultān’s origins. Some claim that he would have been from Habiganj in Sylhet; others argue that he hailed from Chakrashala in Chittagong.47 But there is no doubt about the fact that his texts were copied and circulated in Chittagong—​and, to a lesser extent, Comilla—​and that his disciples were all from the Chittagong area.48 The works of Saiẏad Sultān also include treatises on yogic practices and padas—​or short lyric poems—​composed on the theme of the love between Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa. The only genre that he did not pioneer in the Bengali Muslim tradition of Chittagong is romance. During the seventeenth century, many authors claimed to be either disciples or descendants of Saiẏad Sultān. He was himself the disciple of Saiẏad Hāsān, a Sufi master from the region of Gauda, in western Bengal, who settled in Chittagong during the period of the Ḥusayn Shāhī campaigns against Tripura (ca. 1513–​1517).49 Saiẏad Sultān lived in Chakrashala, an old seat of Arakanese power in a region that shows signs of the early formation of a Bengali Muslim elite who served the Arakanese king.50 A late source indicates that the Sufi master was himself recognized as a charismatic figure by the Arakanese power and that he received a horse and a sword from the Buddhist ruler. The sword and a descendant of that very horse became emblems of local political power during the struggle of a zamīndār against the Mughal rule in the eighteenth century.51 With the exception of these later accounts, the texts of Saiẏad Sultān do not provide modern readers with any information about the political context of their composition. If I  qualify this literature as being rural it is not only because these authors did not live in urban centers or because their language was relatively less elaborate. It is rather the absence of reference to the courtly values cultivated by the provincial elites and the dignitaries of the capital that makes those texts nonurban and, therefore, nonurbane.52 47. Irani, “Sacred Biography, Translation, and Conversion,” 44–​64. 48.  Sharif, Bāṅālī o bāṅlā sāhitya, 2:364–​61; Irani, “Sacred Biography, Translation, and Conversion,” 417–​49. 49. Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, 1494–​1538 A.D., 56–​62. 50. Śā’bārid Khān, Śā’bārid Khāner granthāvalī, 1966, ca–​ṭha. 51. Sharif, Bāṅālī o bāṅlā sāhitya, 2:379–​80. 52. On urbanity and rusticity in the Sanskrit poetry of Sena Bengal and early Middle Bengali literature, see Jesse Ross Knutson, Into the Twilight of Sanskrit Court Poetry: The Sena Salon of Bengal and Beyond (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014).

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The Sufism of authors like Saiẏad Sultān and his disciples does not claim any connection with the doctrine of the great orders such as the Chishtiyya, the Suhrawardiyya, the Qādiriyya, or the Naqshbandiyya. The authors do not claim any kind of affiliation except with their own spiritual masters. Sufi brotherhoods were historically more often associated with urban centers and religious and political networks in which the rural literati of Arakan were not included.53 The texts composed by Chittagongian authors deal mainly with religious topics and target the newly converted population of the region. The sixteenth and seventeenth centuries marked the beginning of the spread of Islam in eastern Bengal. Therefore the literature produced during this period is characterized by proselyte overtones. The privileged subjects are the lives of the prophets, accounts of the battle of Karbala, and a combination of exoteric and esoteric teachings on Islam. To this list we should add the ritualistic texts and manuals on divination that illustrate the pragmatic concerns of the readership. Except for some religious treatises in which the authors use deliberately obscure terminology, the style of the texts is straightforward, with only a few instances of ornate poetry. The authors claim in their prologues that they draw upon Arabic and Persian models, but they very rarely mention their sources explicitly. Their tone is very often apologetic when it comes to justifying their recourse to the regional language.54 The usual argument is that Arabic and Persian should not be the only means of acquiring knowledge on Islam and that one should not overlook the meaning of religious texts because of a limited grasp of these languages.55

53. For a detailed account of the history of Sufism and a survey of the Persian sources on Sufi brotherhoods in premodern Bengal, see Abdul Latif, The Muslim Mystic Movement in Bengal, 1301–​1550 (Calcutta: K. P. Bagchi, 1993). In his study of the spread of Islam in Bengal, R. Eaton provided a critical account of the development of Sufism in the urban centers of the sultanate period in Bengal. Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760, 71–​94. The dichotomy between urban [/​ṭarīqa] and rural Sufism—​characterized by its absence of clear affiliation to a given brotherhood—​is reflected in Md. E. Haq’s now-​obsolete categories of “Sufism of the brotherhoods” and “Sufism pertaining to popular Islam.” Muhammad Enamul Haq, “Sufism in Bengal,” in Muhammad Enamul Haq Racanāvalī, ed. Monsur Musa, vol. 4 (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1991), 7–​455. 54. Sharif, Madhyayuger sāhitye samāj o saṃskr̥tir rūp, 60–​7; Raziya Sultana, Ābdul Hākim, kavi o kāvya (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1987), 162–​9; Momtazur Rahman Tarafdar, “The Cultural Identity of Bengali Muslims as Reflected in Medieval Bengali Literature,” in Essays in Memory of Momtazur Rahman Tarafdar, edited by Perween Hasan and Mufakharul Islam (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Center for Advanced Research in the Humanities, Dhaka University, 1999), 442–​3. 55. Strangely enough, historians of Bengali literature keep quoting a Sanskrit śloka condemning the use of Bengali to render the content of the purāṇas and itihāsas in order to explain

63

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Scholars used to consider this corpus the result of a syncretistic religious phenomenon, but a closer look at those texts reveals a complex rhetoric of subversion of Hindu mythology that serves to establish Islam as the only valid path to salvation.56 The best-​known example is Saiẏad Sultān’s Nabīvaṃśa, in which Kr̥ṣṇa is included among the prophets of Islam between Abraham and Moses. Sultān’s intention was not to reconcile both traditions in one narrative. He starts with the postulate that Kr̥ṣṇa is a prophet [avatāra/​nabī] of God, but that he failed his mission on earth. The messenger thought himself to be God incarnated; he slept with the cowherds’ wives and imposed his own worship.57 Despite some recent groundbreaking studies, the contents of Chittagongian Muslim literature remain largely to be studied.58 Beyond discussions regarding the claims of the authors themselves (in prologues

the apologetic tone of Bengali Muslim authors in their works. The Sanskrit stanza—​which I could not trace from any premodern source—​goes: aṣṭādaśa-​purāṇāni rāmasya caritāni ca | bhāṣāyāṃ mānavaḥ śrutvā rauravaṃ narakaṃ vrajet || [The one who listens to the eighteen Purāṇas and the stories of Rāma in the vernacular language shall go to the Raurava hell]. For instance, the quote is present in Sharif, Madhyayuger sāhitye samāj o saṃskr̥tir rūp, 62, and Naskar, Prāgādhunik bāṃlā sāhitya, 81. A. Roy also discusses the issue and refers to the dichotomy between ashraf and atraf that he transposes in the context of premodern linguistic usages. Roy, The Islamic Syncretistic Tradition in Bengal, 75–​83. 56. A negative view of what scholars saw as “syncretism” is provided by the seminal study of Md. E. Haq, “Sufism in Bengal,” 7–​455. A positive reading of the phenomenon is provided by A. Roy’s The Islamic Syncretistic Tradition in Bengal. For a critique of syncretistic readings of premodern Bengali Muslim literature see Stewart, “In Search of Equivalence.” A closer analysis of the religious idiom of Chittagongian authors was provided in Hatley, “Mapping the Esoteric Body in the Islamic Yoga of Bengal.” See also Irani, “Sacred Biography, Translation, and Conversion,” 97–​113. 57. See France Bhattacharya, “Hari the Prophet –​An Islamic View of a Hindu God in Saiyid Sultan Nabi Vamsa,” in Essays in Memory of Momtazur Rahman Tarafdar, ed. Parween Hasan and Mufakharul Islam (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Dhaka University, 1999), 193–​208; Irani, “Sacred Biography, Translation, and Conversion,” 299–​339, 498–​535. 58. In addition to the scholars who edited those texts—​mainly Md. E. Haq and A. Sharif, who rarely provided glossaries or close readings of the sometime exceedingly obscure texts they edited, we can refer to the works of S. Hatley and A Irani that I already mentioned. F. Bhattacharya also provided an annotated French translation of the Sufi treatise on yoga titled Yoga-​kalandara. David Cashin provided a pioneering, but in many respects unsatisfying, study of the Sufi treatises of eastern Bengali and an English translation of Āli Rājā’s Jnāna-​sāgara. See Sharif, Bāṃlār sūphī sāhitya; France Bhattacharya, “Un texte du Bengale médiéval: Le yoga du kalandar (Yoga-​kalandar),” Bulletin de l’Ecole française d’Extrême Orient 90, no. 1 (2003): 69–​99; Āli Rājā, The Ocean of Love: Ali Raja’s Āgama/​Jñāna Sāgara, trans. David G. Cashin (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1993); David Cashin, The Ocean of Love: Middle Bengali Sufi Literature and the Fakirs of Bengal (University of Stockholm, 1995); Carol Salomon, “Review of: The Ocean of Love: Middle Bengali Sufi Literature and the Fakirs of Bengal by David Cashin,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 118, no. 4 (1998): 554–​8.

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and colophons) about their affiliations with local religious figures, few scholars have attempted to study the terminology and traditional models of this corpus. For instance, in the field of Sufi treatises, a comparison between the texts of a master and those of his disciple tends to raise questions about the homogeneity of the tradition. Take the Suratnāmā of Hājī Muhāmmad (ca. early seventeenth century CE) and the Nūrnāmā of Muhāmmad Śaphī (ca. mid-​seventeenth CE), his disciple:  Although the texts address similar topics, they treat their subjects completely differently. The treatise of the master is more in line with the classical Persian Sufi discourse and uses its terminology, whereas his disciple’s text draws on yogic practices and is aesthetically closer to the regional literary canons. The two dimensions of tradition—​that is, as explicit claims of affiliation and as an empirical reality—​seem to contradict each other. Further research will provide a clearer understanding of what constitutes the coherence of this corpus.59 Śā’bārid Khān and Daulat Ujīr Bahrām Khān, who lived in the mid-​ sixteenth and mid-​ seventeenth centuries, respectively, are two poets hailing from the regional nobility who served the Arakanese rulers.60 Śā’bārid Khān, who lived in Chakrashala, authored the poems Vidyāsundar, Rasula-​vijaẏ, and Hāniphār digvijaẏ. Daulat Ujīr composed Lāẏlī Majnu and Imām-​vijaẏ. The formats and the themes of those poems are very different from one another. Vidyāsundar, for instance, combines Sanskrit prose and Bengali verses. Its subject comes from the Sanskrit Vidyāsundaropākhyāna, traditionally ascribed to Vararuci (ca. fourth century BCE) and related to the famous Caurapañcāśikā attributed to Bilhaṇa (eleventh century CE, Kashmir/​Deccan).61 His other texts address the life of the Prophet Muḥammad and those of the members of his family. Lāẏlī Majnu is based on a famous love story that inspired many Persian authors, Niẓāmī Ganjawī (1141–​1209 CE, Caucasus)—​one of Ālāol’s models—​first among them. Imām-​vijaẏ is another poem about the battle of Karbala.

59.  Hājī Muhāmmad, “Suratnāmā,” in Bāṃlār sūphī sāhitya, ed. Ahmad Sharif (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Samaẏ Prakāśan, 2003), 109–​47; Muhāmmad Śaphī, “Nūrnāmā,” in Bāṃlār sūphī sāhitya, ed. Ahmad Sharif (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Samaẏ Prakāśan, 2003), 150–​61. 60. Bāhrām Khān, Lāẏlī-​Majnu, ed. Ahmad Sharif (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1957); Bāhrām Khān, Imām-​vijaẏ, ed. Ali Ahmad (Dhaka Khān,: Kendrīya Bāṃlā-​Unnayan Borḍ, 1969); Śā’bārid Khān, Śā’bārid Khāner granthāvalī. 61. Bilhaṇa, Phantasies of a Love-​Thief: The Caurapañcāśikā Attributed to Bilhaṇa, trans. Barbara Stoler Miller, Studies in Oriental Culture 6 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971).

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If we want to understand how the literary styles of Mrauk U developed, Śā’bārid Khān provides a convenient link between the literary culture of Bengal and the subsequent literary tradition of Arakan. If Saiẏad Sultan and the poets of Chittagong were responding to the Hindu epic pā̃cālī tradition, in which poetical refinement and prosodic variety played minor roles, then Śā’bārid Khān seems to locate himself in the regional courtly literary tradition. His version of Vidyāsundar is contemporaneous with that of Śrīdhara, a court poet of ʿAlā al-​Dīn Fīrūz Shāh of Bengal (r. 1532) of the Ḥusayn Shāhī dynasty (1493–​1538).62 Although we find no explicit reference to Śrīdhara’s text in Śā’bārid Khān’s poem, the very close textual parallels show that we are dealing with the reproduction of a courtly practice among the local Muslim nobility, which was, at that point, shifting allegiance from the Bengali sultans to the politically and economically thriving Arakanese rulers. The presence of Sanskrit is also a sign of the courtly nature of his poem, not so much because of the cultural prestige of Sanskrit in general, but specifically because Sanskrit was then an integral part of the multiliterate curriculum of the regional Muslim and Buddhist elites of Bengal and Arakan. Literature in the gatherings of the rural gentry was not restricted to the edifying entertainment of the religious epics. Vidyānsundara humorously depicts a sociability that revolves around the eloquent use of speech. This kind of text is itself the product of courtly literary games, and the verses are embedded in a narrative that depicts this courtly setting. Texts such as the Caurapañcāśikā and Vidyāsundara were instrumental to the spread of courtly culture in the late medieval period and to the development of provincial centers of literary production. The vernacular versions of the texts under discussion also have dramatic and lyric components that suggest an elaborate mode of performance. The Sanskrit prose passages highlight the theatrical dimension of the text, and the authors inserted songs composed in various meters. Śā’bārid Khān even labeled his text a nāṭyagīti, or “dramatic lyric.”63 62. Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, 1494–​1538 A.D., 266–​8. 63. A few decades earlier, the dignitary of Pratāparudra (1497–​1540) of Orissa, Rāmānanda Rāya, who is credited the paternity of the Brajabuli tradition and who subsequently became an important figure of Gauḍīya vaiṣṇavism, called his play a saṅgītanāṭaka [lyric drama]. As a matter of fact, in terms of genre, the Jagannāthavallabhanāṭaka is an experimental piece of literature at the crossroads of classical Sanskrit drama, lyric poetry in the vein of Jayadeva’s Gītagovinda, and vernacular texts like the Śrīkr̥ṣṇakīrtan or Śrīdhar’s Vidyāsundar. Rāmānanda Rāya, Śrīśrīla-​Rāmānandarāya-​kavisārvvabhaumena praṇītam Śrīśrījagannāthavallabha-​nāṭakam, ed. Purīdāsa, Śrīśrīgauṛīẏa-​gaurava-​grantha-​guṭikā (Maẏamanasiṃha:  Sa. Caturdhurī, 1947); Rāmānanda Rāya, The Jagannātha-​Vallabha

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As will become clear from Ālāol’s works, saṅgīta [lyrical arts] was the main śāstric discipline—​alongside lexicography and prosody—​that was cultivated among Bengali Muslims during the Indo-​ Afghan period (1451–​1612).64

Literary cultures in Bhulua Before introducing the only (but highly informative) text produced in the Dhaññavatī area, it is necessary to include in our literary geography of eastern Bengal the chiefdom of Bhulua, which lies in today’s Naokhali region.65 Surprisingly, the small chiefdom of Bhulua played host to one of the most prolific cohorts of Sanskrit court poets and poet–​kings in seventeenth-​and early eighteenth-​century Bengal. Bhulua appears in Mughal historical records and some travel accounts because of its Hindu landlord [bhuyā̃] Lakṣmaṇamāṇikya (ca. 1600–​1611) and because of its economic activity; it was a marketplace at the crossroads of Mughal Bengal, Tripura, and Arakan. In the history of the foundation of the polity, we find the same kind of eastward migration that we saw earlier, but this time from the region of Mithila around the fourteenth century. The members of the ruling dynasty of Bhulua were members of the scribal cast [kāyastha],66 a fact that demonstrates the importance of this social group to the cultivation of Sanskrit and vernacular literatures in the early modern period. Despite the remote location of Bhulua, it seems that the dynasty preserved cultural connections with Mithila and with northwestern India, where one of Lakṣmaṇamāṇikya’s plays, the Vikhyātavijaya,

Nāṭaka: A Study with Introduction and Translation, trans. Rajalaxmi Swain (Delhi: Bharatiya Kala Prakashan, 2002); Sukumar Sen, A History of Brajabuli Literature: Being a Study of the Vaisnava Lyric Poetry and Poets of Bengal (Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1935), 25–​8. 64. As demonstrated in the last chapter of the book, a larger argument can be made about the role of saṅgīta as the locus of the combination among Sanskrit, vernacular and Persian cultures in the courts of Hindustan, the Deccan, and eastern South Asia. 65.  Dinesh Chandra Bhattacharyya, “A Forgotten Family of Royal Poets:  The Sura Kings of Bhulua,” Bengal, Past and Present 48, no. 1 (1934):  17–​ 22; Dulal Kanti Bhowmik, “Contribution of Māṇikya Dynasty of Bhuluā to Sanskrit Literature,” Journal of the Department of Sanskrit, Rabindra Bharati University, Calcutta 4 (1989–​1990):  84–​91; Dulal Kanti Bhowmik, “Rājā Rudramāṇikya: kavi o kāvya,” Sāhitya Patrikā 32, no. 3 (1406): 119–​ 46; Candramāṇikya, Bhuluẏārāj Candramāṇikyer Apadeśaśatakam, ed. Kalpana Bhowmik (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1993); Raghunātha “Kavitārkika,” Kautukaratnākara, ed. Dulal Kanti Bhowmik (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Dhaka University, 1997). 66. Bhattacharyya, “A Forgotten Family of Royal Poets,” 17.

04

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was meant to be performed.67 Bhulua also cultivated diplomatic relations with its powerful Arakanese neighbor; Anantamāṇikya, the successor of Lakṣmaṇamāṇikya, is said to have taken refuge in Arakan when the Mughals invaded his chiefdom in 1611.68 Like Tripura and Arakan, Bhulua contained a substantial Muslim population, and we find two Bengali Muslim authors who lived there in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: Ābdul Hākim (ca. 1600−1670) and Śekh Sulāẏmān (ca. sixteenth century).69 Ābdul Hākim lived in the village of Babupur; we do not know much about his life, other than that his father’s name was Rājjāk and his spiritual master was a certain Muhammad Śāhābuddīn.70 Ābdul Hākim’s texts sit halfway between the rural literature of Chittagong and the urban poetry of Mrauk U.  The author also addressed a rural audience whose education in religious matters he wished to improve. His oeuvre comprises a wide array of themes and genres.71 Alongside the genres represented in Chittagongian literature, we find epic romances based on Persian mathnawīs and dāstāns; these include Isuph-​ Jalikhā, a translation of the narrative Persian poem of ʿAbd al-​Raḥmān Jāmī (d. 1492), the renowned Timurid polymath writer from Herat in present-​ day Afghanistan.72 Unlike the Chittagongian authors, Ābdul Hākim explicitly quotes from Arabic and Persian sources such as Saʿdī’s (ca. 1210–​1257) Būstān, al-​Hidāya fī sharḥ al-​bidāya of Burhān al-​Dīn Abū al-​Ḥasan ʿAlī al-​ Marghīnānī (d. 1197, Fergana), and Tuḥfa-​yi naṣāʾiḥ (1393) of Yūsuf Gadā; the latter two books were also studied in Mrauk U during the same period.73

67. Bhattacharyya, “A Forgotten Family of Royal Poets,” 20. A local story about the origin of the kingdom even relates that the name Bhulua comes from bhūl huyā [we made a mistake], which were the words pronounced by the Śūra king after getting lost in the jungle of eastern Bengal. Raghunātha “Kavitārkika,” Kautukaratnākara, 11, n. 3. 68. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 101–​2. 69. About the presence of Muslim dignitaries and chiefs at the court of Bhulua, see Frans Janszoon van der Heiden, Le naufrage du “Terschelling” sur les côtes du Bengale: 1661, trans. Henja Vlaardingerbroek and Xavier de Castro, Collection Magellane (Paris:  Chandeigne, 1999), 142–​3. 70. Sultana, Ābdul Hākim, kavi o kāvya, 46–​50. 71.  Ābdul Hākim, “Durre majliś,” in Ābdul Hākim racanāvalī, ed. Raziya Sultana (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Dhaka University, 1989), 309–​468. 72.  Thibaut d’Hubert, “La réception d’un succès littéraire persan dans les campagnes du Bengale:  Une traduction de Jāmī par le poète Ābdul Hākim,” Bulletin d’Études Indiennes 24–​25 (2006–​2007): 121–​38. 73. Ālāol, “Tohphā,” 412–​32.

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Ābdul Hākim is certainly the most self-​aware rural author of eastern Bengal. He also adopts the apologetic discourse of Chittagongian authors about the use of Bengali in addressing religious matters. His introduction to the ritualistic text titled Nūrnāmā [The Book of Light]—​another version of the Persian text adapted by Muhāmmad Śaphī that was mentioned previously—​became famous during the language movement of 1952, and the verses in which he advocated for recourse to Bengali language became proverbial in modern Bangladesh. His language is highly Sanskritized, and his approach to textual transposition is very similar to Ālāol’s. Another aspect of Hākim’s texts that connects him to the neighboring authors of Chittagong is the moralistic tone of his oeuvre and his critique of Vaiṣṇavism. Like that of Saiẏad Sultān, the focus of his critique of Vaiṣṇavism is on sexual continence and avoiding adultery [paradāra].74 In Isuph Jalikhā, he treated this subject in a narrative way by transforming the prophet Yūsuf into an anti-​Kr̥ṣṇa; he takes on a more straightforward and didactic attitude toward the topic in a work (adapted from the Persian) titled Durre majliś (Per., Durr al-​majālis, The Pearl of Gatherings). The other Muslim author of Bhulua—​his dates are not ascertained—​is Śekh Sulāẏmān, who evinces a similar concern for conjugal morality in his Achiatnāmā (Per. Waṣīyat-​nāma, The Book of Precepts). The text is a partial adaptation of the Waṣīyat-​nāma-​yi paighambar [The Prophet’s Book of Precepts], which contains counsels delivered by the Prophet to ʿAlī, but the Bengali translator chose to focus on the passages about conjugal life and the behavior of women.75 The beginnings of Muslim Bengali literature in Chittagong and Bhulua in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are characterized by the ritualistic and edifying nature of texts adapted and translated from the Persian. The proselytic context of the tradition’s formation underpins the religious and moral bent of the texts. The authors are almost invariably apologetic about their recourse to the vernacular language and its alphabet, which they qualify using the term hinduẏānī or “related 74.  Literaraly paradāra means “another’s wife,” but in Middle Bengali literature it stands for paradāra-​gamana, “going to another’s wife, adultery.” See s.v. “Paradār” in Muhammad Abdul Qayyum and Razia Sultana, Prācīn o madhyayuger bāṃlā bhāṣār abhidhān (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 2007) and Ghulam Murshid ed., Bāṃlā ekāḍemī vivartanmūlak bāṃlā abhidhān (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 2014). 75.  Khandkar Muzammil Haq, Madhyayuger bāṃlāẏ muslim nītiśāstra kathā (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1987), 95–​6.

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to practices characteristic of the Hindus.”76 Because of the claim to a regional expression of Islam, this period witnesses the development of a regional Islamic literary idiom. Perso-​Arabic loan words are scarcely used, and the authors refashion the terminology of existing religious systems such as Nāthism and (non-​Gauḍīya) Vaiṣṇavism for their own purposes. Similarly, yoga and tantric sound–​letter symbolisms are reinterpreted to frame the expression of Islamic praxis and gnosis.77

Mardān’s (fl.  1622–​1638) Sādhur vacan [The Merchant’s Promise] For the period under discussion, we know of only one author who seems to have lived neither in rural Chittagong nor in the urban environment of Mrauk U. His name is Mardān, and he lived in the village of Kanchi, which Ahmad Sharif suggests was a village of Arakan, somewhere between Chittagong and Mrauk U.78 Mardān lived during the reign of Sīrisudhammarājā (r. 1622–​1638), whom he mentions in his prologue.79 He dedicated his poem to Saiẏad Ibrāhīm, his spiritual master about whom nothing else is known. Muhammadd Enamul Haq and Abdul Karim, and Ahmad Sharif after them, chose to title this poem Nasibnāmā [The Book of Destiny], but the title given in the text itself is Sādhur vacan [The Merchant’s Promise].80 The circumstances surrounding the composition of his text—​it

76. Irani, “Sacred Biography, Translation, and Conversion,” 169–​71. 77. Stewart, “In Search of Equivalence”; Hatley, “Mapping the Esoteric Body in the Islamic Yoga of Bengal.” 78. Ahmad Sharif, “Śatero śataker Rosāṅgarājyer kavi Mardān racita Nasibnāmā,” Sāhitya Patrikā 39, no. 2 (1402): 147–​222; Haq and Karim, “Ārākān rājsabhāẏ bāṃlā sāhitya (1600–​ 1700),” 99–​101. I follow here Ahmad Sharif’s choice to spell his name “Mardān” although in the manuscript it is written as “Mardan/​ Maddan/​ Maddhan.” Mardān, “Nasibnāmā [Sādhur vacan],” ms. no.  238, maghi 1180/​1818 AD, fol. 2v, 3r, 13r, and 16r, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad” collection, Dhaka University Library. 79. Mardān, “Nasibnāmā [Sādhur vacan],” fol. 1r; Sharif, “Śatero śataker Rosāṅgarājyer kavi Mardān racita Nasibnāmā,” 150, 154. 80. The title Nasibnāmā was conjectured by Md. E. Haq and A. Karim. The colophons in the text give Sādhura vacana [The Merchant’s Speech/​Promise]. Ahmad Sharif says he used the manuscript of Abdul Karim’s collection that he collated with another incomplete manuscript for which he does not provide any reference. The first line of his edited text fills in the blank of the incipit given in the catalogue: nasibanāmā pañcālikā śuna nara-​gaṇa | The actual title [i.e., The Merchant’s Speech/​Promise] highlights the social milieu of the characters and the role of speech, human agency, and fate in the narrative—​all topics that I see as characteristic of Bengali literature in Mrauk U. Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts,

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was written at the command of his spiritual master [pīr]—​and his style, which is rather colloquial and simple, are common among Chittagongian authors. His poem’s themes and narrative motifs link him to the later courtly poets of Mrauk U. Mardān candidly depicts the everyday life of his characters and provides an insider’s view into rural Arakan in the early seventeenth century. Here is a summary of the work that should give a taste of the narrative style of Arakan’s Bengali poetry: The frame story of the poem takes place “halfway toward the South, in a kingdom called Asi [i.e., Aceh], where king Nuruddin ruled.” Two merchants, good friends, make a mutual promise to marry their offspring. One of them is bankrupt and becomes very poor, and his friend eventually refuses to marry his daughter to the poorer man’s son. The bankrupt merchant then asks advice from his wife who reminds him the eternal law of karma: “One who experiences the fruits of his acts never succeeds in changing their outcome.”81 To illustrate her advice, the wife tells the story of a merchant of the kingdom of Asam, a father who encourages his four sons to earn their livelihoods by themselves rather than enjoy mere inheritance of his wealth.82 She then tells another tale: In Egypt, the son of a schoolmaster falls in love with a female student. Taken by surprise by one of the city’s guards, he escapes certain death by impalement thanks to the dedication of a faithful friend. Convinced by his wife’s arguments, the merchant, resolved to change the course of his destiny through his own actions, goes to meet with his friend.

240–​2, ms. no.  238; Mardān, “Nasibnāmā [Sādhur vacan],” fol. 1r; Sharif, “Śatero śataker Rosāṅgarājyer kavi Mardān racita Nasibnāmā,” 154. 81.  jāra jei karmaphala bhuñja[e jei jana] | ati kaṣṭa kale karma na jāe khaṇḍana || Mardān, “Nasibnāmā [Sādhur vacan],” fol. 2v. A.  Sharif’s text has karmalekhā for karmaphala. The reading of the manuscript seems to be the right one, because the point of the present argument is to demonstrate the superiority of the divine decree [karma-​lekhā] over the fruits of action [karma-​phala]. In this debate the woman represents the Hindu–​Buddhist doctrine of karma, and the king argues in favor of the divine decree. This certainly reflects the fact that Muslim men often married Buddhist women in Arakan. Sharif, “Śatero śataker Rosāṅgarājyer kavi Mardān racita Nasibnāmā,” 158. 82. purbbe je āsama rājā chila sādhu-​vara | rājā khāna nāme sapta diṅg[āra] iśvara|| [In the past the king of Asam was a distinguished merchant, his name was Rājā Khān and he was the owner of seven vessels]. Mardān, “Nasibnāmā [Sādhur vacan],” fol. 2v. Ḍiṅgās are big boats for maritime trade, so this Asam probably does not refer to the region of Assam. This story is obviously inspired by the first tale of the first chapter of Kalīla wa Dimna—​probably through one of its Persian renderings (i.e., Kāshifī’s Anwār-​i suhaylī or Abū al-​Faḍl’s ʿIyār-​i dānish).

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But he fails, and so goes to meditate on his fate in a mosque, the atmosphere of which the poet describes as follows: Some were seating at a gathering, Some recited the kalima and others prayed, Some told stories and others listened, Some drank bhāṅg and meditated on God.83 In the mosque is King Nuruddin disguised as a fakir. Noticing the sad mood of his subject, he inquires about the cause of such despair. The merchant tells him everything about his setbacks and that he wishes to put an end to his life. The king tells him the story of Gorip Hācan, who, despite the awkwardness of the situation and out of confidence in divine fate, gave his daughter to a tiger and became rich. The king, still dressed as a beggar, reveals the moral of the story: Merchant, see how impossible it is to change anyone’s fate cast by destiny.84 The fakir asks for the merchant’s daughter’s hand. The merchant goes to gather some advice from his wife, who answers him with the following sentiment: [Fakirs] have no goods and don’t care about establishing a household, they drink bhāṅg and keep whining all the time!85 The husband, who is convinced of the fakir’s sincerity, invokes the divine decree; he tells the story of Prince Nachirat Śāhā, who failed to escape marriage to a beggar, because it was prescribed by destiny.

83. keha 2 basiẏāche kariẏā samāja | kehae kalimā [pa]re kehae namāja || kehae prasaṅga kahe kehae chunae | kehae bhāṅga dāru khāi prabhuka dhiẏāe || Mardān, “Nasibnāmā [Sādhur vacan],” fol. 12v. Generally speaking bhāṅg means “hemp” (i.e., cannabis indica), but also the edible or drinkable intoxicating preparation made with hemp. 84.  dekha sādu jāra jei nibānda-​likhana | khaṇḍāite tāhāke na pāre kana jana || Mardān, “Nasibnāmā [Sādhur vacan],” fol. 15v. 85. dhana [nāhi] basati tāhāra nāhi mana | bhāṅga dāru khāiẏā jhurae sarbbakhana || Mardān, “Nasibnāmā [Sādhur vacan],” fol. 15v.

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The wedding between Nasirā, the merchant’s daughter, and the fakir is settled and—​thanks to the king’s money—​lavishly celebrated. The merchant’s former friend, seeing this newly acquired wealth, goes to find the Islamic judge [kājī] of the town and complains that the merchant did not honor his original promise. The judge then tells a story about the prophet Moses, king of Egypt, that illustrates once again the power of the divine decree. Because the two extant manuscripts of the poem are incomplete, we do not have the final conclusion to this debate about the limits of human agency. The Nasibnāmā/​Sādhur vacan provides an introductory overview of the narrative poetry composed in the secondary courts of the Arakanese capital. The depiction of the mercantile milieu, the visible social issues, and the debates about morality or religion expressed through “illustrative tales” [upamā]—​that are themselves intended to be matters of further deliberation—​are all features of the works of the urban poets Daulat Kājī, Māgan Ṭhākur, and Ālāol.86

Summary This chapter provided a unified account of the larger cultural context in which the Bengali Muslim literary tradition was formed within the boundaries of the Arakanese kingdom. The first factor that I put forward is the long-​term geographical and cultural continuum constituted by coastal Myanmar and southeastern Bengal. The awareness of this continuum has faded away in the modern nation-​states’ historical narratives, but we see traces of this common past in many aspects of the cultural life of the region up to this day. Bengali Muslims were present in all layers of the society in the Arakanese kingdom, from the peasantry to the highest ranks of the administration. My account is based on recently discovered material and new interpretations of well-​known data on the basis of which I traced the development of an Islamicate political idiom. This development was followed by the formation of a vernacular literary idiom in both rural areas and urban centers. Muslim educational, religious, and legal institutions

86. See infra, Chapter 5 about the term upamā, edifying tales, and narrative commentaries in Ālāol’s works.

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were already established in the capital city in the late fifteenth century, and a local administrative and political multilingual idiom appears on coins, in inscriptions, and in later literary texts that mention the functions of Bengali Muslims in the previous generations. The map of the cultural centers for the production of Bengali literature also shows a great diversity of milieus in which texts were written. The themes that are taken up and the literary styles of the works also differ greatly from one context to another. I stress the role of the Arakanese context in the choices made by Bengali-​speaking authors in composing their texts and building a corpus of didactic and narrative works intended for newly converted village audiences and the courtly milieu of Mrauk U discussed in the next chapter. Despite the stylistic variety of the texts that are produced in rural and urban settings (or in courtly and noncourtly milieus) there are some common features that run through the works that were composed in Arakan between the sixteenth and late eighteenth centuries that give this tradition its unity. Among these features that allow us to speak of a Bengali literary tradition of Arakan, I  stress a self-​conscious attempt at shaping an Islamic regional idiom, the cultivation of some aspects of Sanskrit literary culture, and the narrative treatment of specific themes such as conjugal morality or loyalty in trade relationships. Also characteristic of this literary tradition is the contrast between a deep rooting of the authors in regional trends and a will to include their works in the wider cultural domain of the Bay of Bengal networks.

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Literary Urbanity in Mrauk U

Urban Bengali Muslim literature in Arakan The Bengali literature written in the capital of the kingdom shares some of the features described in the previous chapter on the rural, mostly religious texts from Chittagong and the Sanskritized, courtly texts of the provincial elite. Nevertheless, the urban literature of Mrauk U also displays undeniably new traits derived from the regional courtly culture of eastern South Asia. Bengali poets such as Daulat Kājī, Māgan Ṭhākur, or Ālāol engaged in new ways with the multilingual court poetry of eastern South Asia represented by Avadhi romances and Brajabuli lyrics. Moreover, the narratives of their poems uniquely mirrored the world of merchants and courtly sociability that characterized the thriving community of the Bengali-​speaking Muslims who lived in Arakan. As will become evident, in addition to celebrating their achievements, lifestyle, and ideals—​both spiritual and mundane—​the poets of Mrauk U, and Ālāol in particular, provided elaborate comments on the function of poetry in the economy of the sabhā [court, social venue] and the pragmatic ends of poetic speech. Daulat Kājī, who was a contemporary of Mardān (fl. 1622–​1638), seems to have inaugurated the courtly Bengali poetic tradition of Mrauk U.1 As his name, which actually is a title (Per. dawlat qāḍī) meaning “judge of the state,” indicates, he occupied an administrative position in the kingdom. Ālāol refers to him by the title daulat ujīr (Per. dawlat wazīr, state

1. About Daulat Kājī, see Haq and Karim, “Ārākān rājsabhāẏ bāṃlā sāhitya (1600–​1700),” 43–​58; Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature,13–​58; Daulat Kājī, Lor-​ Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, egāro-​ṣolo. See also Mahuẏā Ṣannigrahī, Alocanār āloẏ Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satīmaẏnā (Kolkata: Grantha Vikāś, 2011).

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minister or treasurer).2 He frequented the gatherings of the chief of the cavalry, Āśraph Khān, who was a powerful dignitary of the court of Sīrisudhammarājā (1622–​1638). Āśraph Khān even became prime minister of the kingdom for some time. He was also a wealthy merchant who obtained the monopoly on rice exportations in 1637.3 Āśraph Khān commissioned a poem on the theme of a popular tale from Hindustan: the story of Lor and Maẏnā. Daulat Kājī chose the Avadhi poem of Sādhan, originally composed in 1480, which he adapted in the regional language.4 The poem narrates how King Lor—​married to Queen Maẏnāvatī—​goes to elope with Queen Candrāṇī, wife of King Vāmana, after listening to the description of her charms. While her husband is away, Maẏnā experiences pangs of separation from her beloved husband. The poet depicted her grief in a song of the twelve months [bāramāsyā]. Unfortunately, Daulat Kājī passed away before he could finish the poem; it was his successor, Ālāol, who took up the task of completing the poem many years later, in 1659. The poetry of Daulat Kājī clearly foreshadows Ālāol’s oeuvre and acts in contrast to the texts I have mentioned so far. Daulat Kājī was an urbane poet with a refined style, and his text partakes of the aesthetics of Brajabuli lyrics. He is also the first poet to include a long prologue—​fashioned after the model of Persian mathnawīs—​in which he gives a wealth of details about the patron, his court, and his relationship with the Buddhist king.5 Institutional Sufism also appears:  The poet mentions Āśraph Khān’s

2. kāvye ājñā dila karma daulata ujīre | Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, ed. Muhammad Abdul Qayyum and Raziya Sultana (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 2007), 147. 3. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 218–​19. 4. The Avadhi text and a Bengali translation of Sādhan’s poem are provided in Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 143–​85. There is no reference to the prototype of Avadhi Sufi romances composed by Maulānā Dāʾūd in Daulat Kājī’s text. About Dāʾūd’s Cāndāyan, see Naseem Akhtar Hines, Maulana Daud’s Cāndāyan: A Critical Study (New Delhi: Manohar Publishers & Distributors, 2009); Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 59–​108. 5. Unlike Ālāol, who never highlights the religious obedience of the Arakanese king beyond passing similes involving the person of the Buddha, Daulat Kājī unambiguously refers to the fact that Sīrisudhammarājā belonged to a dynasty of Buddhist kings: tāhāta maga-​vaṃśe krame buddhācārī | nāme śrīsudharmarājā dharma-​avatārī || [There, in the Mag (i.e., Arakanese) dynasty of Buddhist descent is (the king) called Śrīsudharmarājā (= Sīrisudhammarājā), the embodiment of Law on earth.] The poet is equally self-​conscious when it comes to the religious affiliation of his patron and the presence of Hindus in the royal court. See Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 4.

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connection to the Chishtiyya order.6 What we have here is not the locally rooted Sufism of the rural area of Chittagong, but a cosmopolitan brotherhood present in all the urban centers of Hindustan and the Deccan.7 The second author who dwelled in Mrauk U played a crucial role in launching Ālāol’s literary career: Māgan Ṭhākur (fl. 1651–​1656).8 A poem titled Candrāvatī, kept in a single incomplete manuscript, contains several authorial colophons bearing the name Koreśī Māgan. Ahmad Sharif demonstrated that the dignitary of the Arakanese court by the name of Māgan Ṭhākur and the poet Koreśī Māgan were one and the same.9 He relates some interesting information about the history of Māgan’s family. His ancestors allegedly came from Arabia and stayed sometime in Gauda before settling in Chakrashala; this account corresponds to the general migration pattern of Muslim elites to the eastern frontier of the Bengal sultanate discussed in the previous chapter. His father joined the service of the Arakanese king, and Māgan succeeded him in his responsibilities. He had a son named Bhikan, who has been identified as the author of a pada whose signature line contains this name.10 After Māgan’s death, one of his sons, called Sujāul, and Mujāhed, a nephew, killed an Arakanese officer and fled to settle back in Chakrashala. Ālāol’s texts inform us that Māgan inherited his father’s position and estate, and that he became “first dignitary of the great queen” after Satuiḥdhammarājā’s death in 1652.11 Māgan’s poem relates the adventures of Vīrbhān, prince of Bhadrāvatīnagar, who went on a quest for the beautiful Candrāvatī, princess of Sarandvīp. Candrāvatī hears about Vīrbhān’s beauty and falls desperately in love. Her female companion, Citrāvatī, draws a portrait of Candrāvatī and puts it next to the prince while he is asleep. When he wakes

6. dharmarāja pātra śrī[yuta] āśrapha khāna | hānāphī mojhāba cisti khānadāna || Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 5. 7. Latif, The Muslim Mystic Movement in Bengal, 1301–​1550; Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760; Eaton, Sufis of Bijapur, 1300–​1700. 8.  A.  Sharif, Bāṅālī o bāṅlā sāhitya, 203; Māgan Ṭhākur, Candrāvatī, ed. Ahmad Sharif (Dhākā, Bangladesh: Bāṅalā Ekāḍemī, 1967). 9. This identification of Māgan Ṭhākur with Koreśī Māgan has been refuted by the historian of Chittagong, Abdul Haque Chowdhury. See Mohammed Ali Chowdhury, Bengal-​Arakan Relations, 1430–​1666 A.D. (Kolkata: Firma K.L.M., 2004), 177, n. 64. 10.  Yatindramohan Bhattacharya, Bāṅgālāra vaiṣṇavabhāvāpanna padamañjuṣā (Calcutta: Kalikātā Viśvavidyālaya, 1984), 284–​5.

musalmān

kavir

11.  Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, ed. Muhammad Abdul Qayyum and Raziya Sultana,7–​8.

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up, he sees the portrait of this beauty and resolves to go find her wherever she is. He goes through many ordeals and, although the text is incomplete, one can predict the reunion and wedding of the two lovers. Despite the concision of the poem, Māgan manages to use many motifs present in the Avadhi romance tradition, starting with seeing (or hearing about) the beloved’s beauty secondhand.12 The text also shares several motifs and typical characters found in the cycles of the Sanskrit kathā literature and the Thousand and One Nights (marvelous underground cities, giant snakes, demons, and the like). Candrāvatī is continuous with both Mardān and Daulat Kājī’s poems. Māgan’s poem shares references to merchants and maritime trade with the Nasibnāmā/​Sādhur vacan. The impact of the Avadhi romance on the organization of his narrative links it to Daulat Kājī. His simple language, with its evidence of dialectal influences, is closer to that of Mardān than to that of Māgan Ṭhākur. Nevertheless, some passages—​for instance, the episode with a demon who asked riddles, in which the poet displays a courtly eloquence and ingenuity—​recall the style of Ālāol, his protégé and master in the domain of poetry.13 But it is with the latter’s Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl, the first part of which was commissioned by Māgan himself around 1656, that Candrāvatī shares the most narrative features.14 We have observed that the frame story of the Nasibnāmā takes place in Āsi, which I identify with the sultanate of Aceh, located on the northern shores of Sumatra. The milieu of the merchants—​already a central component in maṅgal-​kāvya literature—​is typical of the literature composed in the Dhaññavatī area, especially in original compositions such as the

12. For the motif of “love without seeing” [adr̥ṣṭakāma] in Avadhi romances, see Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 76, 91. In the Middle Bengali treatise on poetics titled Rasakalpavallī, this motif is treated in the sixth chapter: śravane darśane rāga dui ta prakāra | [Passion is of two kinds: (induced) through vision or audition.] Rāmagopāl Dās and Pītāmbar Dās, Rāmagopāl Dās-​viracita Rasakalpavallī o anyānya nibandha, Pītāmbar Dās-​viracita Aṣṭarasavyākhyā o Rasamañjarī, ed. Harekrishna Mukhopadhyay et al. (Calcutta: Calcutta University, 1963), 71. 13. Māgan Ṭhākur, Candrāvatī, 49–​54. 14.  Because Avadhi and Middle Bengali romances were all drawing from a limited set of generic motifs (see infra, Chapter 6), the ones that are common to both Māgan’s Candrāvatī and Ālālol’s Saẏphulmuluk are present in other poems as well—​and even in folk tales that are well beyond the scope of the Islamicate vernacular romance tradition under scrutiny. However, both poems contain sequences of similar motifs set within the framework of a subcategory of epic romance that clearly draws from Islamic ʿajāʾib literature and see travels. For a summary of the plot and a discussion of the poem in the context of Arakan’s literature, see the introduction in Māgan Ṭhākur, Candrāvatī.

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Nasibnāmā, Candrāvatī, or the story of Ratanakalikā in Ālāol’s Satī Maẏnā (ca. 1659). The Bengali Muslim dignitaries who patronized vernacular literature, following the example set by Āśraph Khān, were also involved in long-​distance trade. The capital city was exposed to a steady stream of foreigners from all ports of the commercial networks of the time. In the Deccan, the sultanate of Golkonda was one of the major commercial partners of Mrauk U.  A  comparison of the literary production of Golkonda with Arakan’s Bengali literature discloses obvious synchronisms that reflect the formation of a vernacular Islamicate cultural ethos around the Bay of Bengal.15

Locating Bengali Muslims in  the social landscape of Mrauk U We can trace the outline of the formation of an Islamicate political idiom in Arakan, but despite the few titles that we cross in the autobiographical and genealogical accounts of some early Bengali texts from Arakan, it is only with Daulat Kāji and Ālāol’s texts, as well as European accounts of the seventeenth century, that we can reconstitute the structure of Arakanese society during the Mrauk U period. The Arakanese chronicles and a few isolated texts dealing with the administration of the kingdom also provide data that can be crosschecked to obtain a more complete picture of the society. Hierarchy, social mobility, and material prosperity are omnipresent in Ālāol’s works from his prologue to his treatment of the story that he translated and composed. Before analyzing his discourse on speech and civility in the gathering [sabhā], we must have a clear notion of who attended these gatherings, what their functions were in Arakanese society, and how their identity as a milieu in the cosmopolitan environment of Mrauk U was composed. The organization of the society as we are presenting it here is neither exhaustive nor definitive. The systematic description of Arakanese social nomenclature began only recently and it contains many dark areas. The relative hierarchy is sometimes difficult to ascertain and the functions covered by most titles are unclear. I attempt to keep intact the terms that are found in sources from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries, but one

15. d’Hubert, “Pirates, Poets, and Merchants,” 47–​74; d’Hubert and Wormser, “Représentations du monde dans le golfe du Bengale au XVIIe siècle: Ālāol et Rānīrī,” 15–​35.

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should keep in mind that certain titles implied different functions over time.16 Arakanese society in the seventeenth century was divided among the nobles [Arak. sū koṅḥ; Ben. mahanta loka] and the subjects [Arak. prañ sū tui; Ben. prajā].17 Among the nobles, there was a distinction among the members of the royal family—​those who occupied the highest positions, and those whom the Arakanese sources call amats [Ben. amātyas], who were counselors and members of the royal household. The amātyas could also be part of the royal family or belong to other prestigious Arakanese lineages; they could even be Bengali-​speaking Muslims of various ethnic backgrounds. The puṇṇas, or Hindu court pandits, constituted another group of high status. Some of the puṇṇas were from western Bengal (Shantipur) and made their transit via Manipur, whereas others were Arakanese.18 They were specialists in ritual and astrology, and they contributed to the maintenance of Sanskrit culture in Mrauk U.

16. The title laskara ujīra is a good example of the fluidity of the functions a single title may imply. Borrowed from the administrative nomenclature of the Bengal Sultanate, its interpretation for that period is already problematic. According to Md. Mohar Ali the sar-​i lashkar wa wazīr was the chief of the army of a province, whereas the lashkar wazīr was attached to the central administration as a person in charge of the army’s expenses. In Manrique’s account, it is clear that the lashkar wazīr is the head of the cavalry, but in Daulat Kājī’s poem he seems to be closer to the rāja-​sainya-​mantrī [minister in charge of the king’s army] and his responsabilites even clearly correspond to the duties of the “prime minister” (Arak. prañ cuiḥ krīḥ). According to the prologue of the Śariẏatnāmā, an eighteenth-​century treatise on Islamic practices composed in Chittagong, the first lashkar wazīr of Mrauk U was a certain Burhānuddīn, who created the first cavalry in Arakan. Muhammad Mohar Ali, History of the Muslims of Bengal, vol. 1b (Riyadh: Imam Muhammad ibn Saʼūd Islamic University, 1985), 122–​4; Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 54; Syed Ejaz Hussain, The Bengal Sultanate:  Politics, Economy and Coins, A.D. 1205–​1576 (New Delhi:  Manohar, 2003), 22; Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 377, 384. 17. The expression mahanta loka and the adjective mahanta are very often encountered in Ālāol’s texts to talk about the patrons and the members of the gathering. It also echoes the use of the term mahattara in epigraphic records from ancient Bengal. This basic distinction between the ordinary people and the nobility was very strongly felt by new comers. Wouter Schouten stresses the pompous way in which nobles were going around in the streets of Mrauk U and the etiquette that everyone had to follow in their presence. A lack of knowledge in this matter even created an incident that he relates in his memoire. Lewis S. S. O’Malley, District Gazetteers, Faridpur, vol. 20 (Calcutta: Bengal Secretariat Book Depôt, 1913), 19; W. Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, ed. Michael Breet and Marijke Barend-​van Haeften (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 2003), 120–​23; G. Schouten, Voiage de Gautier Schouten aux Indes orientales,. Commencé l’an 1658 et fini l’an 1665, vol. 1 (Amsterdam: Pierre Mortier, 1708), 168. 18.  Jacques P. Leider, “Specialists for Ritual, Magic, and Devotion:  The Court Brahmins (Punna) of the Konbaung Kings (1752–​1885),” Journal of Burma Studies 10, no. 1 (2005): 159–​202.

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In accordance with the etymological meaning of amātya, the “members of the royal household” shared a physical proximity with the person of the king and were considered to be part of an extended royal family.19 Wouter Schouten (1638–​1704) relates that nobles also used to wear distinctive clothes, which he describes as follows: The royal dignitaries, the counselors, the nobility, and all the people of some importance wear a thin garment [kabaja] of white cotton that tightly covers their arms, chest, and stomach. On this garment, they wear a long dress of white cotton with buttons around the arm that closes on the chest, where it is attached with ribbons. They have aprons that hang low and cover their belly and their thighs. Another snow-​white garment is tied up around their hips and loins and gathered in many folds and tied on the stomach. It looks exactly as if they were carrying a big load of fabric. They walk in the streets with a superior look on their face and are followed by many servants in order to display their prosperity. Men have, like women in our country, long hair and braids in the back of their head, tied up with beautiful ribbons made of very fine cloth.20 The list that opens this depiction certainly indicates the nobility, among which were the amātyas. If we consider dress codes to be markers of specific identities, wearing these kinds of garments would be a way of displaying one’s belonging to the local nobility rather than having some religious or ethnic identity. This way of dressing, for instance, was the choice made by Māgan Ṭhākur, Ālāol’s first patron, who was allegedly of Arabian descent and who spoke Bengali as well as many other languages. When describing him Ālāol says that his “head was bound by a beautiful Arakanese turban” [sundara magadha-​pāga mastaka veṣṭita].21 The internal hierarchy among the amātyas is still hard to define, but we can observe several levels of authority. The highest rank among the amātyas was that of “prime minister” [Arak. prañ cuiḥ krīḥ/​ Ben. pradhāna amātya]. He was the one who was in charge when the king was absent from 19. D. Ali, Courtly Culture and Political Life, 44. 20. W.Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, 159; G. Schouten, Voiage de Gautier Schouten, 1:250–​51. 21.  Ālāol, Padmāvatī, ed. Debnath Bandyopadhyay, vol. 2 (Kolkata:  Paścimavaṅga Rājya Pustaka Parṣat, 2002), 16; compare with Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 8.

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the capital.22 Then we find the members of the privy council, which gathered about fifteen dignitaries. The lowest rank consisted of the amātyas who were in charge of specific domains of the administration of the kingdom. To these categories we should add the heads of the villages from the rural areas who attended the great council.23 Among the subjects, there were “royal subjects” [Arak. maṅḥ kywan] and “ordinary subjects” [kywan]. The royal subjects were bound to the king and had to accomplish chores and services or pay a set amount of money [Ben. rāja-​dāẏa] to free themselves temporarily from those duties.24 As a “royal horseman” [Ben. rājāsoẏāra], Ālāol was in this category of maṅḥ kywan and was therefore under the authority of the lashkar wazīr (i.e. the chief of the cavalry). We do not know how long he remained in the cavalry. He probably did not hold this position when he was teaching “literature, singing and lyrical arts” to “the many children of the nobility.” The mention that he makes of the troubles [jañjāla] that were caused by the payment of the royal obligation at the very end of his career in 1671 indicates that he remained a maṅḥ kywan for his entire life.25 Amātyas of the second and third ranks—​officers of the army and tax collectors—​presided over the gatherings that Ālāol attended. All of the dignitaries who patronized Ālāol were denoted by the generic terms amātya and pātra. We also encounter other, more specific titles and some details on the nature of these dignitaries’ activities that provide a great deal of information about their functions at the Arakanese court. Solemān, who commissioned Satī Maẏnā, was a mahāpātra [high dignitary] and was in charge of the treasury [bhāṇḍāra]. Therefore Solemān was certainly the daulata ujīra/​dolo uḥ cīḥ [finance minister] of Candasudhammarājā (r. 1652–​1684) around 1659.26 The role of Saiẏad Muhāmmad, the patron

22. Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 6; Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 53. 23.  See Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 374–​7. A  similar system of privy council formed by the urban nobility and a bigger council including the rural chiefs is mentioned by Heiden regarding the neighboring kingdom of Bhulua. Heiden, Le naufrage du “Terschelling” sur les côtes du Bengale, 142–​3. 24. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 387, n. 83. 25. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 313–​14. 26. Ālāol also uses daulat ujīra/​dawlat wazīr to talk about his predecessor in the secondary courts of Arakan. The Chittagongian author of Lāẏlī Majnu, Bahrām Khān, also bore the title of daulata ujīra. In the latter case he may have occupied this function at the provincial level, as “finance minister” of the Arakanese anauk bhuran [the king of the West], who was typically a member of the royal family. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 385.

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of Saptapaẏkar (ca. 1660), is not clear because of the different spellings of his title that have been found in manuscripts.27 Modern interpreters of Ālāol’s works unanimously claimed that he bore the same title as Māgan’s father: rāja-​sainya-​mantrī [minister of the king’s army].28 However, in some manuscripts, the title sainya-​mantrī does not appear; rather, one finds ṣaṇḍa-​mati, which could mean “counselor in charge of the eunuchs” (Skt. ṣaṇḍha˚ “eunuch” + ˚mati [Skt. mantrin-​] “counselor, minister”).29 Does this title refer to one of the two counselors mentioned by Daniel Havart (ca. 1650–​1724), an agent of the Dutch East India Company, the Vereenigde Oost-​Indische Compagnie (VOC), in his list of the members of the privy council? It is most probable that Māgan Ṭhākur himself held this position at the court. His most precise title was mahādevī-​mukhya-​pātra [first

27. For instance in facsimile no. 30, fol. 32r, Bangla Academy, Dhaka, Bangladesh, the title of the patron is written as santāmati; facsimile no. 33 (no folio number), Bangla Academy, Dhaka, Bangladesh: śanamati; ms. no. 500, fol. 6v, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārada” collection, Dhaka University Library: chanyamati; ms. no. 497, fol. 2r: sunnamati; facsimile no. 4, fol. 79v, Bangla Aacademy, Dhaka, Bangladesh: saṇṇamati, and fol. 71v: saṇḍamati. 28. Another title for “minister of the king’s army” was baṛa ṭhākura (literally. “great lord”). Once again, even though it refers to Māgan’s father, it is not a proper name, but a title. We can equate it with the Assamese title baṛa ujīra used to designate the general of the army in the Ahom burunji. Md. Mohar Ali suggests that it is derived from the title lashkar wazīr found in the nomenclature of the Bengal Sultanate and later in Arakanese administration. M. M. Ali, History of the Muslims of Bengal, vol. 1b, 723–​24. 29. According to Manrique, eunuchs, or mō lip in Araknese, were Indian Muslims. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 387. Some rebels from the hills were also made prisoner and turned into eunuchs. Michael W. Charney, “Rise of a Mainland Trading State: Rahkaing Under the Early Mrauk-​U Kings, C. 1430–​1603,” Journal of Burma Studies 3, no. 1 (1998): 20. Havart puts the eunuchs at the end of the list of the restricted royal council. Here is what he wrote about them: “The court is furthermore served by a number of eunuchs, of whom two are important. One eunuch is the king’s chamberlain and treasurer and the other is charged with the supervision of the farmers in the neighbouring villages, he is also master builder [architect] of the king and supervisor of all the [construction] works in the country.” Quoted in Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 54. It is noteworthy that Ālāol in his eulogy wishes the prosperity of his “sons and grandsons” [putra pautra]. If we consider that Māgan was a eunuch himself this may be surprising. In the Islamic world, eunuchs could adopt children (see the entry “Khaṣī” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition). The story of the miraculous birth of Māgan and the choice of this name could hint at a similar status for his father. Another option would be that the person in charge of the royal eunuchs may not have been one himself, as it was apparently the case with the pheita hanchapa/​hanjaba in the neighboring kingdom of Manipur. Saroj Nalini Parratt, The Court Chronicle of the Kings of Manipur: The Cheitharol Kumpapa : Original Text, Translation, and Notes, Vol. 1, 33–​1763 CE, Royal Asiatic Society Books (London; New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2005), 73 and no. 2, 74. About Bengal and the trade of eunuchs, see Gavin Hambly, “A Note on the Trade in Eunuchs in Mughal Bengal,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 94, no. 1 (1974): 125–​30.

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dignitary of the great queen]. His direct association with the queen and his duties as the manager of her wealth since her childhood match with Havart’s comments regarding the two eunuchs of the privy council, who were the “chamberlain and treasurer of the king.”30 Another Solāẏmān commissioned the translation of Tuḥfa-​yi naṣāʾiḥ, but his functions were different. He was a dignitary (pātra) about whom the poet states that he was “truthful in his duties of emissary” (dautya-​ satya). Once again, the terminology is too vague to allow us to identify this title with others that have been found in sources that are written in different languages, but it doubtless shows that Solāẏmān was an emissary or some sort of diplomat who served the Arakanese king’s interests.31 Based on this handful of evidence, we can assume that he was an amātya of the third rank. The patron of the second part of Ālāol’s Saẏphulmuluk (ca. 1670), Saiẏad Musā, was also called a pātra; the poet adds that the king bestowed upon him the duty of “superintendent” [adhikārī] of “the fire-​arm bearers” (agni-​astra-​dhārī). The precision of the poet’s vocabulary suggests that Saiẏad Musā was not a “minister of the king’s army,” but, rather, that he was a high-​ranking officer in the army. We can conjecture that he was head of the artillery.32 Nabarāj was Ālāol’s last patron and he was the majlis, that is, the tax collector, of Mrauk U’s harbor and the representative of the foreign merchants.33 To this role we can add the rather surprising function of witness to the oath pronounced by Candasudhammarājā during

30. Māgan and Solemān were probably the two “eunuchs” of the council during the period of regency (1652–​1656) of Candsudhammarājā’s rule. See the previous note. 31. Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 412–​13. 32.  According to M.  Charney, the presence of Bengali Muslims in the army was closely linked to their skills in using firearms. Charney, “Rise of a Mainland Trading State,” 22–​3. 33. S. Subrahmanyam suggests that the majlis was the equivalent of the khān-​i majlis of the Bengal Sultanate. His function was to collect taxes on commercial transactions occurring in the port of Mrauk U. Galen adds that the manjlis/​majlis was the representative of the foreign merchants in the capital city. These two functions were complementary: The majlis had to report the king about the activities of foreign merchants and collect the taxes imposed by the king. Subrahmanyam, “And a River Runs Through It,” 217. Ālāol’s text is very clear about the fact that majlis was a title received by his patron from the king: śrīmanta nabarāja ātula mahattva | majalisa pāiẏā yadi haila mahāmātya || [When the noble Nabarāja whose grandeur is unequaled/​obtained the (rank of) majlis, he became great amātya.] Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 314. Nabarāja/​Navarāja may also refer to his professional activity. This name is not found anywhere else, but it may well be construed as nau-​rāja (literally “king of the boats”) that would be a local rendering of the Persian nākhudā (< nāw-​khudā, literally “lord of the boat,” i.e., “captain”).

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the coronation of 1652. The text in which this event is described is found in only one manuscript and it is incomplete.34 Before discussing the figure of the patron and what constituted the gatherings, it is necessary to highlight the involvement of those dignitaries in long-​distance trade in the Bay of Bengal. The function of majlis is clear proof of the role of Bengali Muslims as the main intermediaries between the local authorities and merchants from abroad.35 But the dignitaries holding other positions—​ones that did not necessarily imply trade activities—​were equally involved in the mercantile trade of northern Hindustan and the Bay. Daulat Kājī relates in his prologue that Āśraph Khān’s fame spread far and wide thanks to “traveling merchants” [pathika baṇijāra] who sang his praises from Bihar up to Aceh.36 Western sources also stress the prominent role of Muslim individuals in the foreign trade of Arakan.37 From the records of the VOC, we know that around the time when Daulat Kājī was writing in 1637, the lashkar wazīr of Mrauk U—​most likely Āśraph Khān—​managed to obtain a monopoly on rice trade from the king. At that point, rice was the most lucrative product of Arakan’s foreign trade.38 In 1653 in a treaty signed with Candasudhammarājā, the Dutch required that “the VOC will not be forced to buy goods at inflated prices from people they do not want to trade with, like it happened in the time of the lashkar-​ wazir and later.”39 The omnipresence of the “foreigners” [paradeśīs] and

34. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 287; Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 313. 35.  The praises of the majlis by the members of his gathering found in Ālāol’s prologue illustrate his role as an intermediary:  svadeśa videśa pūrṇa tohmā kr̥tināma | [The fame of your accomplishments fills this country as well as foreign lands.] Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 314. About the recourse to Bengali language in the transactions of Europeans with the Arakanese court, Galen mentions that in 1653 the VOC had two translators:  Manuel de Mense, aka Pamiara, who spoke Arakanese and Bengali, and Joost de Roovert, who knew Bengali. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 15, 179. W. Schouten also relates that they had to obtain the permission from local Muslim officer of the Bandel, the kotwal (kutwāl) in order to visit the capital city. W. Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, 154; G. Schouten, Voiage de Gautier Schouten, vol.1, 243. 36.  deśāntarī pravāsī panthika baṇijāra | deśe kīrti yaśa ghoṣe jāẏa saṃsāra || uttara dakṣiṇa dike pratiṣṭhā viśeṣa | āci kuci mācīna pāṭanā nānā deśa || Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 6. 37. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 204–​29. 38. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 218–​19. 39. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 178–​79.

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the patrons’ thoughtfulness toward them derive from their involvement in foreign trade. The description of the arrival of “emissaries,” who are actually merchants, to the court of Candasudhammarājā is certainly further proof of Ālāol’s connections with this mercantile milieu.40 From the analysis of their titles and a comparison with Dutch sources, both of which shed light on the mercantile activities of the Muslim dignitaries of Arakan, we reach the conclusion that Ālāol’s patrons were second-​ or third-​rank amātyas and that they were an interface between local power and supraregional networks. The scope of their activities consisted of the management of the royal household’s wealth by virtue of the position of mahādevī-​mukhya-​pātra, the administration of the finances of the kingdom as daulat ujīr or majlis, and the administration of the army as chief of the artillery. Deeper knowledge of the standing of Ālāol’s patrons in Arakanese society will grant us a deeper understanding of his texts. These patrons’ pragmatic interests were translated through Ālāol’s poetical idiom and partly governed his choices of literary models and themes.

The royal dignitary as patron and host The most detailed portrait of the amātya in Ālāol’s works is found in the depiction of Māgan Ṭhākur. Ālāol introduces him as the son of the “minister of the king’s army,” whose name was Baṛa Ṭhākur (literally “the great lord”). King Narapati (r. 1638–​1645) is said to have bestowed the charge of managing the princess’s wealth upon Māgan in light of his remarkable qualities. At the king’s death in 1645, the princess Ratanākumārī became the “first queen” [mukhya-​pāṭeśvarī];41 she chose the dignitary who had been in charge of her wealth since her childhood to be her “main dignitary” [mukhya-​pātra].42 Padmāvatī’s portrait of Māgan includes all of the 40. d’Hubert and Wormser, “Représentations du monde dans le golfe du Bengale au XVIIe siècle: Ālāol et Rānīrī”; d’Hubert and Leider, “Traders and Poets at the Mrauk U Court.” 41. The name of the princess does not appear in Ālāol’s text. He mentions her as a kanyā [young girl], and then yaśasvinī nārī [glorious woman], mukhya-​pāṭeśvarī (literally “principal lady of the throne”) and mahādevī [great queen]. We may notice the likeness between Ratanākumārī and Ratanakālikā, the name of the female protagonist of the original secondary tale that the Bengali poet inserted in Satī Maẏnā. About the succession of Narapati, the marriage of Oṅ Kyo Cam—​the future Satuiḥdhammarājā—​with his younger sister Ratanākumārī, see Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 283–​4. 42. The title mahādevī-​pātra-​vara [distinguished dignitary of the great queen] is also used in one signature line. Ālāol, Padmāvatī, ed. D. Bandyopadhyay, vol. 2,227; the verse is absent in “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 11. The same title of mukhya-​pātra/​mukhya-​amātya or

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features of the ideal patron, according to Ālāol, who composed the praises of his other patrons in the same vein.43 First and foremost, the poet’s patron had to be close to the king and his family. In Māgan’s case, there was a quasi-​filial affection between the patron and the royal family: Ālāol relates that “when [the queen] saw the dignitary of her childhood, Ratanākumārī felt a great affection [bahu sneha bhāvi]” and she appointed him as her main dignitary.44 Ālāol then praises the beauty and attractiveness of the noble man; he even composes a short nakha-​śikha, or poetic description, of the charms of each part of his body that prefigures those of the nāẏaka and nāẏikā [male and female protagonists, respectively] in his poems.45 He does not omit praising the moral virtues and intellectual capacities of his patron:  Māgan masters many languages, namely, Arabic, Persian, Arakanese, and Hindavi; he is a connoisseur of poetics and allied treatises; as a patron, he is generous [dātā] and truthful (satyavādī); he has conquered his senses [jitendrīya]; he is free from hatred [ahiṃsaka] and egotism [āpta-​śūnya]; his nobility is great [maryādā adhika]. Ālāol then departs from this conventional enumeration of the patron’s qualities to stress his thoughtfulness toward foreigners and honorable members of the Muslim community in Mrauk U (olamā, saiẏad, and śekh). It is amid the aforementioned community that Ālāol is seen as an authoritative figure. The poet reuses the terminology that he employs when describing Māgan’s relation with the royal family, except that this time Māgan is the provider:  He delivers boons (prasāda) and satisfies

mahādevī-​mukhya-​pātra qualifies Māgan in the prologue of Saẏphulmuluk. “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no. 185/​ā 32, maghi 1216/​1854 AD, fol. 5v, 83r; “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 456, 537 (the latter instance differs from the text of the manuscript and does not mention the queen:  rosāṅgera rāja-​pātra śrīyuta māgana). The poet does not use any other title that would suggest some other administrative position in the kingdom. His activities were tied to the queen, and it is not accurate to claim that Māgan occupied the rank of “prime minister or chief minister of the kingdom.” Chowdhury, Bengal-​Arakan Relations, 180–​1. 43. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 7–​9. 44.  Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 7.  In Saẏphulmuluk the affection and esteem of the queen toward Māgan are expressed in the following verses: “After seeing his dedication toward the king and his skills in the kingdom’s businesses, the queen took care of him as she would of a son and tested his qualities.” Saiẏad Muhammad Khān is said to be “the imperishable treasure of the king” [rājeśvara-​akhaṇḍa-​sampada]. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 200. 45. About nakha-​śikhas in Ālāol’s poems, see infra, Chapter 5.

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those who come to him by appointing them to specific positions within the community and by offering presents. To conclude, Ālāol composes “a commentary on the name” [nāmera bākhāna] of Māgan (a name that literally means “request, supplication”) by referring to the metalanguage of Sanskrit prosody as found in Piṅgala’s Chandaḥsūtra.46 This part of the patron’s praise is not reiterated in the other prologues to Ālāol’s poems. In this portrait, Māgan draws his grandeur from his close relationship with the royal family and his position at the court on the one hand and from his preeminent role in the local Muslim community on the other. According to the milieu in which he is located—​that is, the royal court or the Muslim community—​Māgan is a courtier or the master of the assembly. Let us focus for some time on the communal gathering and on what I term the “secondary courts” of the Arakanese capital. The gatherings [sabhās] of Ālāol’s patrons took place in their private homes, which were probably outside the walls of the Golden Palace.47 The sabhās were held at night and consisted of various activities: Some attendees played games; others sang and played instruments or discussed topics such as poetics, the contents of various treatises, and spiritual matters. Food was served, and the meal was followed by the reading of texts that provided subjects for further discussion [prasaṅga]. The attendees were either other nobles who were close to the royal household or individuals who were revered among the Muslim community of Mrauk U [pradhāna je muchalmāna jatha], which included the Islamic judge [kājī], spiritual masters [pīra], foreign merchants [paradeśī sādhu-​ sadāgara], and soldiers [yoddhā].48 Daulat Kājī also mentions the presence

46. On references to Piṅgala and metrics in Ālāol’s discourse on poetry, see Chapter 5. 47. eka dina sisya cholemāna mahāsaẏa | pirere āsiẏā nila āpanā ālaẏa || [One day the noble disciple Solemān/​went to his pīr and brought him to his own house.] Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” fol. 6r.Compare with “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 457. eka dina ḍāki āmā āpanā ālae | bahu jatne kariā kahilā mahāsae || [One day, this great man called me to his house and told me with the utmost care ( . . . ).] Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” fol. 84r. Compare with “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,”in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 538. In the prologue of Sikāndarnāmā, the use of the Persian word mehmānī, which may be translated as “hospitality,” also points to the domestic nature of those gatherings: ekadina majalisa kari mehamānī | mahā mahā musalmāna bhuñjāila āni || [One day, the Majlis, displaying hospitality,/​invited all the notable Muslims (of Mrauk U) and fed them.] “Sikāndarnāmā,” 2007, 314. 48. Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” fol. 5v. This distich is not in Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 457. Ālāol seemed to clearly perceive the Muslims of Mrauk  U as a distinct community in which his patrons stood as authoritative figures, sometimes even representing the Muslim community at the royal court. Here are some examples

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of Hindus of all four social groups [varṇas]. In Wouter Schouten’s account, we learn that the Dutch were sometimes invited to the houses of Muslim inhabitants of Mrauk U. He relates the case of a Muslim called Babbarabab, who spoke Portuguese and Dutch, whom he befriended and with whom he regularly met to talk about the contents of the biblical and Islamic scriptures.49 It is therefore not impossible that Dutch and Portuguese individuals attended the gatherings that have been described by Ālāol. The sabhās of Ālāol’s patrons benefited from the host’s prestige within the royal court, but they were not restricted to the local nobility; they also welcomed foreigners who were in Mrauk U for a limited period of time. It is significant that the gatherings took place at the edge of the royal household and, despite the cultivation of courtly values, that the pyramidal hierarchy of the royal court and the exclusive authority of the master of the gathering were not reproduced. The presence of individuals of equal ranks and of alternative sources of authority (such as spiritual masters) generated different, more complex interactions within the sabhā. We will see that this potential for diversity among the audience is also represented in the rhetoric of the court poet.50 References to Islam and emphasis on the communal nature of these gatherings are two other distinctive features of Ālāol’s depiction of the secondary courts. I posited the term amātya as an alternative to specific ethnic and religious identities. In the case of the secondary courts of Ālāol’s milieu—​despite the diversity found among their attendees—​what seems to be highlighted by the poet is the adherence to Islam. It is by virtue of Ālāol’s being a ṭālib-​i ʿilm [seeker of knowledge] that he is introduced to

of the use of the term musalmāna in his prologues: bahu bahu musalmāna rosāṅge baisanta | sadācāra kulīna paṇḍita guṇavanta || [Many Muslims live in Mrauk U who are honest, of noble descent, and endowed with qualities.] “Padmāvatī,” Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 9. rosāṅga-​ deśe āchanta yatha musalmāna | mahāpātra majalisa sabāra pradhāna || [The great dignitary that is the majlis is the most prominent of all the Muslims who live in the land of Arakan.] “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 313. See also infra in this chapter for the multiple perceptions of the figure of the king by Hindus, Buddhists, and Muslims in the kingdom. 49. According to G. Schouten, the majority of the Muslim population lived in the Bandel—​ the port in the outskirts of the city, but there was also a mosque in the southeastern corner of the town and certainly a Muslim neighborhood surrounding it (see supra about the Santikan mosque). W. Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, 161; G. Schouten Voiage de Gautier Schouten, vol.1, 256–​7. 50.  For a discussion on the larger historical and cultural implications of such multipolar gatherings, see infra, Chapter 6.

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Māgan by the “Muslims of Rosang.”51 He stresses that his patrons belong to the lineage of the Prophet Muḥammad. Unlike Daulat Kājī, Ālāol does not point to the presence of Hindus in the sabhā.52 His lack of reference to them does not preclude the actual presence of representatives of other religions in the assembly, but it evinces the fact that religious diversity was not an essential component of the identity of such gatherings. Ālāol’s texts partook of the culture of the royal household and potentially aimed at a public beyond the Muslim elite of the capital city, but the identity that was cultivated by Ālāol and his milieu required an explicit reference to the Islamic faith. The patrons’ roles as amātyas and as eminent figures of the Muslim community serve as the two axes around which Ālāol’s literary identity evolved throughout his career in Mrauk U. The two identities imply the existence of different sets of values:  pragmatic and worldly on the one hand and oriented more toward moral behaviors and spirituality on the other. During the first decade of his career the court poet used all of the means at his disposal to reconcile in his poetic idiom these two facets of his patrons’ identities. But we will see that Ālāol did not always wish to reconcile the two identities and that his oeuvre reveals a gradual retreat in the religious sphere. This reorientation was made possible by the peripheral position of the sabhā within Arakanese elite society.53

The secondary courts of Mrauk U The social location of the gatherings that Ālāol attended may tell us something about the expectations of his audience, but a proper contextualization of his literary works also needs to take into account the ideal of sociability that was associated with such gatherings. In other words, the study of positive factual data such as the nomenclature and social statuses of the actors of the sabhā should not make us forget the ambivalent dynamics of the 51. For a discussion on the notion of search for truth [ṭalab al-​ʿilm] in the early Islamic period, see Leonard T. Librande, “The Need to Know:  al-​Ājurrī’s Kitāb farḍ ṭalab al-​ʿilm,” Bulletin d’études orientales 45 (1993): 91–​7. 52. This difference may be due to the fact that Āśraph Khān was prime minister (Arak. praṅ cui: krī/​pradhāna amātya) and that he was presiding over the royal court during the king’s absence as stated by Daulat Kājī in his prologue. His sabhā was not a secondary court and thus did not bear the communal dimension of Ālāol’s patrons’ gatherings. Daulat Kājī, Lor-​ Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 4–​11. 53. See infra, Chapters 3 and 4.

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main sources that we use to reconstruct the poet’s environment. Ālāol’s descriptions of the sabhā are made of traditional motifs that are supposed to perform a set of ideal behaviors. It is therefore important to identify those traditional models and to understand the rhetoric of these descriptions that are not meant to be merely informative. His descriptions tell us more about how things should be rather than how they actually were. This idealist rhetoric also explains the similarities between the sabhās of his patrons and those that are depicted in the body of the narratives: Both participate in the same traditional discourse and draw from the same stock of literary motifs. Despite the factual tone of the descriptions of the courtly settings in his prologues, the poetic text already began as the author relates the circumstances of the composition of the text. Although I stressed the value of the contextual elements that the poet brought into his texts, my interpretation must be driven by the internal rhetoric of the text, which has its own ends and is not a faithful reflection of the poet’s society. The interpretation of Ālāol’s poetic idiom becomes extremely complex because of the seeming homogeneity of his lexicon and the actual diversity of its intertextuality and semantic content. Regarding the lexicon, the homogeneity and regularity of his idiom conceals a rich semantic diversity; Sanskrit words are often hiding Perso-​Arabic or vernacular meanings. But this very feature also allows modern scholars to identify variations that affect the texture of his poems and that are markers of significant innovations or negotiations with a shifting cultural environment. Ālāol’s elaborate poetic idiom is perhaps the best proof of his conscious effort to produce a new, unified idiom that would not read as composite, despite the multilingual literacy that both its production and its reception would have entailed. The motivations behind the crafting of such a coherent idiom are found in his functions as a “court poet” of Arakan. Ālāol and his predecessor Daulat Kājī are seen by modern scholars as “court poets” [sabhā-​kavi], but there has been no clear definition of what it meant to be a court poet in the Bengali literary tradition. Of course, the term itself is a fair one: The terms sabhā and kavi, and reflections on what both of those entities meant for Daulat Kājī and Ālāol, are clearly formulated in the poets’ prologues and in their narratives. Ālāol scholars have typically treated the idea of courtliness as something obvious: For them, courtliness is first linked to the “feudal” context of seventeenth-​century Bengal and Arakan; courtly poetry features an emphasis on the praise of the patron and the display of erudition as an expression of elitist cultural behavior. When it comes to analyzing the contents of the poems themselves, they

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highlight their courtly context in relation to the worldliness of the poems’ themes and the way in which these themes are treated. Such interpretative approaches work primarily through preconceived associations and almost free themselves from actual text-​based analysis: Being part of the elite of a feudal society, the court poet’s literary production is concerned mainly with worldliness, the pursuit of pleasure, and intellectual refinement. Then come the two arguments regarding secularism and syncretism that were discussed in the introduction of the present book:  These features are seen as either an ideological extension of worldliness and materialism or a result of a spirituality—​Sufism—​that they regard as a phenomenon independent from the poet’s courtly setting.54 One scholar supported a view that disconnected Ālāol from his courtly milieu. Ahmad Sharif, in his history of Bengali literature, formulated a critique of the title of Abdul Karim and Enamul Haq’s monograph Bengali Literature at the Court of Arakan.55 The main problem, according to Sharif, was that Karim and Haq’s title suggested a direct relation between the Arakanese court and the literary production of Ālāol and the other poets of the kingdom. For Sharif, Daulat Kājī and Ālāol were “strangers” [paradeśī] in this land. They introduced themselves as such, and their patrons, although close to the Arakanese king, shared a similar status as foreigners in Arakan. Sharif then invites us to see them as “Bengali émigrés” [pravāsī bāṅālī]. He then drifts from a contextual analysis to prevent his readers from considering this corpus as partaking in the cultural history of Arakan, which, according to him, would deprive Bengal of a major part of its poetic legacy. We see, in his discourse, two conflicting approaches: one that is contextual and one that is linked to modern issues about the frontiers of the Bengali literary heritage. I  am not concerned here with the question of whether Ālāol should be seen as a “Bangladeshi” or a “Myanmar” poet. What is more problematic to me are the consequences of seeing Ālāol and his patrons as a community of émigré Bengalis. Their presence in Arakan and the roles that they played in Arakanese society were sine qua 54. Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature, 1; Bālā, Ālāoler kāvye Hindu-​ Muslim saṃskr̥ti, 381; Arif Billah, Influence of Persian Literature on Shah Muhammad Sagir’s Yūsuf Zulaikhā and Alaol’s Padmāvatī (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Abu Rayhan Biruni Foundation, 2014), 208–​11. 55.  Md Enamul Haq and Abdul Karim “Sāhiyaviśārad,” “Ārākān rājsabhāẏ bāṃlā sāhitya (1600–​1700),” in Muhammad Enamul Haq racanāvalī, ed. Monsur Musa, vol. 2 (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1993), 17–​142; A. Sharif, Bāṅālī o bāṅlā sāhitya, vol. 2, 197.

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non conditions to the existence of this corpus. That is, their works do not constitute the literary production of an émigré community that was preserving and reproducing a tradition as a way of maintaining their cultural identity in a situation of exile. Their literature was uniquely different from what was written in other parts of the Bengali-​speaking world and, as I argue in the final section of this chapter, its poetics and ethical content were shaped by the economy of the sabhās of Mrauk U. The texts were not meant to preserve an identity but to create one. However, Sharif’s distinction between the royal court and the courts of the patrons of Ālāol is perfectly relevant, and it is often omitted by those who refer to the “patronage of Bengali literature by the kings of Arakan.”56

The economy of the sabhā The premises of the works of previous scholars who interpreted Ālāol’s poems as courtly products are not fundamentally flawed, but much more must be said about the specific kind of courtliness we are dealing with in mid-​seventeenth-​century Arakan. Therefore, I propose a definition of courtliness that is based on the traditional models that Ālāol had in mind and on features that are more specific to his milieu. In the following pages, I  spell out the main components of courtly ethos in Ālāol’s discourse, define his model for the depiction of the royal court and confront it with his account of the Arakanese royal court. Finally, I return to the secondary courts of Arakan that were attended by Bengali Muslim merchants and dignitaries and that constituted the immediate milieu of the poet. The fundamental principles of courtliness in Ālāol’s discourse that constitute what I  would call the “economy of the sabhā” are grandeur [mahattva], distinction [śiṣṭatā], and social elevation, the latter idea being conveyed by the expression bhāgyodaẏa (literally “rise of fortune”). Nothing allows us to believe that Ālāol recited his poetry at the royal court: The king

56.  Although S.  Bhattacharya concedes the fact that “elite Muslim immigrants from Chittagong and other parts of south-​eastern Bengal” played a part in the commissioning of Ālāol’s text, she still considers that this “seventeenth century Bengali renaissance” was patronized by the Buddhist kings of Arakan. She further adds, “[ . . . ] what intention did the Arakanese King Satuidhammaraja (1645–​1652) have in mind when he invited Alaol to translate the story of Padmavati into Bengali?” Swapna Bhattacharya (Chakraborti), “Myth and History of Bengali Identity in Arakan,” in The Maritime Frontier of Burma :  Exploring Political, Cultural, and Commercial Interaction in the Indian Ocean World, 1200–​1800, ed. Jos Gommans and Jacques P. Leider (Amsterdam; Leiden, The Netherlands:  Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen; KITLV Press, 2002), 200–​1.

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is never present in the circumstances of the composition of the poem. Nevertheless, the way in which Ālāol articulates the royal eulogies with those of his patrons and depicts the circumstances of the poem’s commission clearly establishes a link between the composition of the poem and the figure of the king. I  would also argue that it does so in a way that is markedly different from a mere evocation of the “ruler of the time” [Per. shāh-​i waqt] that is typically found in premodern texts that were composed outside the realm of the royal court.57 We observe a causal relation that originates in the king’s grandeur [mahattva], from which is derived the exaltation of the qualities of his dignitary [amātya/​pātra], whose fame [kīrti, nāma] and glory [yaśa] are immortalized in the composition of a book [granthera granthana]. The very activity of the poet is thus the direct consequence of “royal grandeur” [rāja-​mahattva]. This carefully introduced causal chain shows that the poet acknowledges his debt to the king as the ultimate source of patronage and the poem as his contribution to the perpetuation of royal grandeur. Mahattva is the central principle in the economy of mutual satisfaction that holds Ālāol’s milieu together. Within this milieu, another principle is emphasized by the Bengali poet: distinction [śiṣṭatā]. To participate in the mahattva of the kingdom, one has to show his distinction—​the Sanskrit śiṣ-​ actually means “to distinguish” or “to separate”—​in the domains of speech and deference; one has to be ukti-​bhakti-​śiṣṭa [distinguished in speech and deference]. In the passage of the prologue from which this expression is taken, it is applied to the Brahmans, the Muslim saints, and the scholars of Fatihabad (which is where Ālāol originally came from). He himself hailed from a royal household, and he was the son of a dignitary [amātya] of the local Afghan ruler. The poet thus stresses the commensurability of those two courtly milieus and their shared recognition of refined speech and loyal fervor toward the other members of the court. His knowledge of the ways of the royal court [rāja-​nīti] saved him from a miserable condition as a slave working in the fields of Arakan, Tripura, or Java, and allowed him to join the royal service as a horseman.58 The cavalry in Arakan was almost purely a matter of royal 57. See, for instance, M. R. Tarafdar who clearly distinguished between poets who received direct patronage from the Sultans and Ḥusayn Shāhī administrators and those who simply mention the ruler in their prologues. Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, 1494–​1538 A.D., 254. 58.  Rājanīti here should not be understood as “political science.” Ālāol actually uses this term adverbially: “according to the ways of the royal court.” This adverbial usage of rājanīti is clearly expressed in the example drawn from Noẏājīs Khān’s Gule Bakāolī—​which is an instance of Ālāol’s influence on the poetry produced in Chittagong in later times: rājanīti

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prestige and did not play any role on the battlefield; the actual strength of the Arakanese army was its powerful flotilla. This position also implied a close proximity with the royal court itself, as the cavalry was kept within the walls of the royal palace.59 His prior education and the recognition of his qualities as a product of a royal household benefited Ālāol upon his arrival in the capital city. In his autobiographical accounts, this arrival can be seen as the first stage of the “rise of his fortune” [bhāgyodaẏa]. But he achieves true social elevation when the Muslims of Mrauk U see him as a “seeker of knowledge” [ṭālib-​i ʿilm]. He is then brought to Māgan Ṭhākur, who stands as one of the symbols of rāja-​mahattva. Ālāol’s joining the gathering presided over by Māgan confirms his social elevation; it is to describe this moment that the poet refers to his bhāgyodaẏa.60 The whole economy of social elevation through distinction is illustrated by one of Niẓāmī’s stories in Haft paykar. It is the tale of Thursday that is told to King Bahrām Gūr by the Iranian princess in the sandal pavilion.61 Ālāol chose to translate the names of the two allegorical characters Sharr [Bad] and Khayr [Good] as Śiṣṭa [Distinguished] and Aśiṣṭa [Not Distinguished]. The story shows that Śiṣṭa, despite the ill treatments of Aśiṣṭa, manages to reach the highest position in the kingdom thanks to his sincerity and the righteousness of his behavior. The terms chosen to translate the names of the characters were clearly motivated by the irresistible social elevation of Khayr. In Niẓāmī’s text, Khayr

praṇāma karilā śāhā āge | [He greeted the king according to the ways of the royal court.] Qayyum and Sultana identify it as a substantive, but it actually is an adverb. Qayyum and Sultana, Prācīn o madhyayuger bāṃlā bhāṣār abhidhān, s.v. “Rājanīti.” For various instances of the use of rājanīti in Ālāol’s works, see Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 62, 93, 94; “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” 43, etc. 59. W. Schouten repeatedly points to the scarecity of horses in Arakan and adds that horses, along with other rare animals, are kept within the walls of the royal palace. W. Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, 156, 162; G. Schouten, Voiage de Gautier Schouten, vol 1, 244, 258. For a description of the cavalry on a parade day, see Manrique, Travels of Fray Sebastien Manrique, 1629–​1643, vol. 2, 373. 60. bhāgyodaẏa haila mora vidhi-​parasana | duḥkha-​nāśa hetu tāna saṅgeta milana || [Fate was favorable to me and my good fortune rose;/​meeting with Māgan was the cause of the annihilation of all grief.] Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 9. 61. Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Haft paykar, ed. Ḥasan Wahīd Dastgirdī and Saʿīd Ḥamīdīyān, reprint, Mutūn-​i kuhan 9 (Tehran: Nashr-​i Qaṭra, 1380), 269–​92; Ganjawī, Haft paykar, ed. Bihrūz Tharwatīyān (Tehran: Muʾassasa-​yi Intishārāt-​i Amīr Kabīr, 1387), 291–​308; The Haft Paykar: A Medieval Persian Romance, trans. Julie Scott Meisami, World’s Classics (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1995), 198–​216; Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 283–​9.

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embodies the values of courtly ethics that the poet wanted to foster in his patrons. Ālāol associates his ideal of cultural distinction with social elevation; the goal of this process is to have access to the sabhā. In his personal trajectory, as well as in his patrons, physical proximity with the royal person is represented as a source of grandeur. The social dynamic that underlies Ālāol’s activities is organized around the royal figure and the court. It is thus necessary to consider him a court poet of Arakan who fully participated in the economy of the royal household’s grandeur. As we have seen earlier, it is not that Bengali Muslims were completely assimilated into Arakanese nobility; their otherness was crucial to their roles as cultural intermediaries. But in the discourse of this elite milieu as it appears in the Bengali texts they produced, we get a sense of the existence of a shared courtly ethos. The picture that we gather from the Bengali literature of Arakan is not that of a community in exile. Despite Ālāol’s status as a royal slave, Mrauk  U is presented as an El Dorado for Bengali Muslims, and rather than nostalgically recalling an idealized homeland, the poet strives to elaborate the appropriate literary idiom for this new milieu that was thriving in the shade of the Golden Palace. Ālāol described his direct environment through the prism of literary conventions that had been inherited from the Sanskrit and, to a lesser extent, Persian traditions. The poet inscribes his milieu in the traditional framework of courtly culture that had been established by classical Sanskrit authors and reproduced and modified several times by vernacular authors of the late medieval and early modern periods. From the effort to textualize the codes and organization of courtly culture in Sanskrit śāstra and kāvya literature ensued a specific terminology and certain conventional motifs. Recent works have provided a synthetic overview of classical Sanskrit courtly culture in the sabhā. It is based on this synthesis that I study Ālāol’s recourse to Sanskrit literary conventions and attempt to highlight less conventional features of his poetic account of the royal court.62 The royal court [rāja-​sabhā] constitutes a generic model that was modified when reproduced at other levels of the society and in milieus other than that of the royal household. To this worldly generic model of the rāja-​ sabhā one should add the divine model of the Indra-​sabhā—​the court of Indra, who is the king of gods. The Indra-​sabhā is omnipresent in Purāṇic 62. D. Ali, Courtly Culture and Political Life; Pollock, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, 162–​87.

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literature as well as in vernacular texts. It became a pan–​South Asian icon for kingship and was adopted in Southeast Asia as well.63 As Daud Ali rightly recalls, the sabhā takes place at a specific time in the king’s daily routine. In terms of physical space, it is an intermediary between the outside world of the town and the inner space of the palace [antaḥpura]. The organization and etiquette of the sabhā reflect the hierarchical relationships among its members. The king is surrounded by his wives, his guards, and bearers of the royal insignias, which are the fly-​ whisk [cāmara], the umbrella [chattra], and the betel box [tambūla-​karaṅka or tambūla-​sampuṭa]. In front of him are the princes and the amātyas [members of the royal household], his vassals [sāmantas], the administrators [adhikārins], and, finally, the bards and other persons whose duty is to entertain the king. Physical proximity with the master of the assembly [sabhā-​pati] regulates the importance of each individual within the hierarchy of the royal household. Two soldiers, the pratīhāras, keep the entrance of the sabhā and must make sure no undesirable enters the assembly hall.64 The sabhā is a venue where a variety of activities takes place. It is where the businesses of the kingdom are discussed; it is also a venue for entertainments. The orders of the king are proclaimed there, subjects submit their petitions, and vassal lords hand over their tribute. But it is also where treatises are read, commented upon, and debated, where poetic contests are held, and where the epics are recited and their content discussed. In later texts, banquets that are followed by musical and dramatic entertainments are also held in the royal assembly hall.65 It is through the physical organization of the sabhā and the activities that take place therein that the social status of the “members of the assembly” [sabhāsads, sabhyas] is defined. It is the master of the assembly who has the power to raise or lower the status of a person in the courtly milieu.

63. d’Hubert, “The Lord of the Elephant,” 341–​70. 64. D.Ali, Courtly Culture and Political Life in Early Medieval India, 113. Daud Ali bases his description on the Mānasollāsa (twelfth century CE). The Saṅgītaratnākara (thirteenth century) provides a slightly different setting in which artists are placed on the left-​hand side, next to the king. Śārṅgadeva, The Sangītaratnākara With Its Commentary by Chatura Kallinātha, ed. Mangesh Ramkrishna Telang, vol. 2, Ānandāśrama-​saṃskr̥ta-​granthāval 35 (Puṇyākhyapattana: Ānandāśramamudra]ālaya, 1896–​1897), 812. 65. Banquets seem to come later in the typical activities of the sabhā as they are described in Sanskrit literature. See Śārṅgadeva, The Sangītaratnākara, 111–​12. For the depiction of a banquet in a context closer to Ālāol’s place and time, see the prologue of the Sanskrit farcical play [prahasana] by Raghunātha “Kavitārkika,” Kautukaratnākara, 25.

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The courtiers must satisfy (Skt. root tuṣ-​) the master of the assembly in order to be gratified in return. In the sabhā, there is a constant competition in which each person must showcase his competence in a given domain of courtly culture. One must attract gifts [dānas] by means of his qualities [guṇas]. The social mobility that depends on the judgment of the master of the assembly is typically illustrated by the lowered [bhraṣṭa] dancer who broke the rhythm [tāla-​bhaṅga] in her performance in Indra’s court.66 The introduction of the semi-​divine being [yakṣa] in the famous opening stanza of Kālidāsa’s (ca. fourth century) Meghadūta [The Cloud Messenger] elegantly illustrates the parallel between demotion at the royal court of Kubera (following a malediction) and separation from a beloved:67 A yakṣa who had failed to his duty was deprived of his grandeur by his master’s year-​long curse made unbearable because of the separation from his beloved, settled in the hermitage of Rāmagiri, which was bathed in the cool shade of trees and whose waters were blessed by the bath of Janaka’s daughter.68 Within the corpus of Ālāol’s works, the royal sabhās are described in the prologues of the texts as well as in the narratives themselves. In the prologues, one has to distinguish between the royal assembly and the secondary assemblies of Ālāol’s patrons that were mentioned earlier in this chapter. Both follow the patterns of the Sanskrit model, but there is one crucial difference between them. In the royal sabhā, the economy of satisfaction is centered on the figure of the king, who is the ultimate source 66. See, for instance, Somadeva, Océan des rivières de contes, ed. Nalini Balbir, trans. Nalini Balbir et  al., Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 438 (Paris:  Gallimard, 1997), 258–​9, 335, 916. In the domain of Middle Bengali literature, see France Bhattacharya, “Étude comparée des maṅgalkāvya bengali:  Manasā et Caṇḍī,” habilitation thesis (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris III, 1989), 274–​5. 67. Note the use of the term mahimā that is echoed in Ālāol’s central notion of mahattva. The word is glossed as sāmarthya [efficacy, power] by the commentator Mallinātha. “Grandeur” is here seen as both the manifestation and the source of power—​hence the anxiety surrounding its fostering and preservation in Ālāol’s eulogies, but also, and most relevantly here, as an element of the plot of his narratives. 68.  kaścitkāntā-​viraha-​guruṇā svādhikārāt pramattaḥ śāpenāstaṃgamita-​mahīmā varṣa-​ bhogyeṇa bhartuḥ | yakṣaś cakre janaka-​tanayā-​snāna-​puṇyodakeṣu snigdha-​chāyā-​taruṣu vasatiṃ rāmagiryāśrameṣu || 1 || Kālidāsa, The Meghadūta of Kālidāsa. Text With Sanskrit Commentary of Mallinātha, English Translation, Notes Appendices and a Map, ed. M. R. Kale, 7th ed. (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2002), 2.

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of authority, but in the secondary courts, the hierarchy is flattened and we observe multiple sources of authority: the patron, his peers, Sufis, and other influential figures of the Muslim community. The royal eulogies generally constitute large sections of the prologues to Ālāol’s poems.69 It is typically located after the invocation to God and the praise of the Prophet and of his companions. It is metrically distinct from the first invocatory sections; the opening invocations are in paẏār and the royal praise is in tripadī meter. When an introduction to the author of the source text is provided, it is inserted between the invocations and the royal praise.70 Ālāol makes a distinction between the information that has been given by the source text on the original circumstances of the composition of the poem and the evocation of his own context. He also makes choices about what he keeps from the prologue of the source text. He may translate invocations, prayers, or comments on the nature of speech and poetic composition. Ālāol also adds information about the other works of the author of the source text, as he does in Saptapaẏkar and Sikāndarnāmā, where he talks about each poem of Niẓāmī’s Quintet (Khamsa).71 One way to look at the presence of royal eulogies is to consider them as conventional sections that update the content of the source text to the circumstances of the target text. The Bengali poet thus replaced one royal eulogy, which became irrelevant in his time and place, with another one that was immediately relevant to his audience. Here is how Ālāol puts it: When the Shaykh [i.e., Jāyasī] composed the book Padmāvatī, the lord of Delhi was king Sher Shāh. In that book [he praises] his boundless grandeur [mahimā], and I could not repeat all the Shaykh said [about it]. All these accounts are well known in the world, 69. The components of conventional descriptions of cities and royal courts are treated in the partially transmitted first kallola and in the third kallola of the Varṇaratnākara. Jyotirīśvara, Varṇa-​ ratnākara of Jyotirīśvara Kaviśekharācārya, ed. Babuā Mishra and Suniti Kumar Chatterji (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1998), xxiv–​xxvii. Such descriptions are also typically included in songs in the prologue of Maithili plays from seventeenth-​century Nepal. See for instance Rāmadeva Jhā, Jagajjyotirmalla (Nayī Dillī: Sāhitya Akādemī, 1995), 57–​8. 70. Sikāndarnāmā’s prologue is not structured on the same pattern because Ālāol decided to stay as close as possible to the structure of Niẓāmī’s poem. Regarding the reasons of this shift, see infra, Chapter 4, “1661: A political and poetical crisis.” 71. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 199; “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 316.

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why shall I repeat them? Therefore, leaving behind me all this blabbering, I shall rather sing the qualities of my own lord. Now, learned men, pay attention as I will sing the qualities of the king of Rosang [i.e., Mrauk U].72 In his last poem, Sikāndarnāmā (1671), Ālāol puts aside the praise of Nuṣrat al-​Dīn Bīshkīn, Niẓāmī’s patron, and states that “singing the grandeur of [his] own lord will bring [him] more satisfaction” and that “[he] shall sing with sound judgment the qualities of his king.”73 Let us now see how Ālāol uses this convention that he inherited from his Avadhi and Persian models to articulate his activity as a poet within the economy of the royal sabhā. The poet partakes in the grandeur of the kingdom through intermediaries: his patrons who work for the Buddhist king. The length and the more or less conventional content of the royal eulogy tell us about the nature of the relation between his patron and the royal household. For instance, Tohphā (1663), which is a treatise on the basics of Islam and good behavior and that addresses an exclusively Muslim readership, contains a very short royal eulogy of merely two lines. This eulogistic distich is meant to introduce the figure of the patron Solāẏmān, who is described as “dignitary whose knowledge is divine” [pātra divya-​jñāna].74 The brevity of the praise is symptomatic of the distance between Ālāol’s milieu and the royal court in the early 1660s. The long eulogies of Padmāvatī, Saẏphulmuluk, Saptapaẏkar, and Sikāndarnāmā, by contrast, evince the courtly nature of the texts; this mode is confirmed by the courtly epic and erotic themes that they take up. The longer the royal eulogy, the closer Ālāol and his milieu are to the core of the Arakanese royal household. In this regard, the first prologue of Saẏphulmuluk closely associates the milieu of Ālāol’s patrons with the activities of the royal court. Because we do not know the exact source of Ālāol’s poem in this case, it is not possible to say whether his royal eulogy replaces that of the source text. The absence of any preliminary remark suggests that the dāstān that he used to compose his poem did not contain any mention of the “king of 72. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 6. 73. niyāmī gañjavī śāhā kavi-​nr̥pa dhīra | kahichanta mahimā āpanā nr̥patira || se saba kahile mātra nāhi praẏojana | āpanā īśvara-​mahimāe tuṣṭa mana || tekāraṇe se saba vacana teẏāgiẏā | āpanā nr̥pati-​guṇa kaham viraciẏā || Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 312. 74. Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 412.

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the time.”75 The praise spreads over sixty-​one verses and differs in many ways from the other ones that he composed. In the other eulogies, Ālāol focuses on the physical, moral, and martial attributes of the king and on the might of his fleet, but in the prologue of the first part of Saẏphulmuluk, which was composed around 1656, he furnishes a more complete vision of the court and of the ruler’s policy.76 The kingdom as depicted in the royal eulogy is entirely centered on the figure of the king and the transactions that take place in his court. The poet skillfully uses the conventions of the panegyric style, and at the same time, by stressing the comings and goings of foreign emissaries and merchants at the court, he locates his description very precisely in the political and economic history of Arakan. The passage provides a picture of the royal court from the vantage point of the Bengali Muslim elite. The focal point of this picture is the interest in long-​distance trade that was shared by the Buddhist king and his Muslim dignitaries. In the poet’s representation of the royal figure, the king is responsible for social order and, more significantly for our purposes, for the repartition of the wealth that was generated by long-​distance trade. In this depiction, we find the classical figure of the king as master of the treasury that was derived from the tribute [rāja-​kara] that had been handed over by the vassal lords—​in the present case, the poet mentions the “people of the mountains” [parvatiẏā].77 The redistribution of riches by means of donations is said to “soothe the fire of torments” [nr̥patira dāna-​ jala : nibāila dukkhānala]. We find a mention, still in a conventional style, of the universal ruler—​the mahā-​cakravartī-​rājā in Sikāndarnāmā —​who “conquers all the kingdoms in the triple world” [yata lae rājya trimaṇḍala]. In contrast to those conventional images, the reference to the justice of the ruler and the acknowledgment of his authority by all of the subjects are

75. The anonymous Persian dāstān that was circulating in South Asia in the seventeenth century contained a prologue about the origin of the story and the court of Maḥmūd of Ghaznī that is not rendered in Ālāol’s version. See Josef Horovitz, “Saif al-​Mulūk,” Mittheilungen des Seminars für orientalische Sprachen an der königlichen Friedrich Wilhelms-​Universität zu Berlin 6 (1903): 52–​6. 76.  For a translation of this passage, see d’Hubert and Leider, “Traders and Poets at the Mrauk U Court,” 362–​5. 77. On the taxes paid by mountain tribes, see Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 288–​93. Ālāol also mentions the parvatiẏās in the description of the world in Saẏphulmuluk. d’Hubert and Wormser, “Représentations du monde dans le golfe du Bengale au XVIIe siècle: Ālāol et Rānīrī,” 26–​32, 30, n. 54.

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formulated in rather less expected ways. Ālāol’s discourse in this matter seems to reflect a vision of the king’s irenic influence over society. After he sat on the throne, peace was once again established by this Solomonic monarch, under whose rule the tiger and the goat drank at the same ghāṭ—​ and the word spread out in neighboring countries, which occasioned the return of disgraced [sthāna-​bhraṣṭa] courtiers. Ālāol praises the social harmony reigning in the kingdom in even more closely contextualized terms when he turns Candasudhammarājā into a multifaceted ideal of justice and wisdom among each of the main religious communities of Arakan. He becomes Yudhiṣṭhira or Vikramāditya for Hindus, Anushirwan for Muslims, and Buddha [Phrā] for the Arakanese Buddhists [Magī]. He is the de facto “incarnation of the law of truth” [satyadharmāvatāra].78 In this model, the unfailing justice of the king satisfies [tuṣṭa kar-​] the subjects—​ beginning with those of honorable lineage [kula-​sila]—​and inspires fervent deference [bhakti] in the vassal lords who send their tribute. To this picture, Ālāol adds a new element: maritime trade and the visit of emissaries from abroad [paradeśī rāebāras]. Here is a good example of Ālāol’s use of non-​Sanskritic lexical items: Unlike the more conventional passages in which the vocabulary is almost exclusively Sanskrit, Ālāol uses a Persian term [rāebāra < rāy-​bār] to describe a scene of specific relevance to the Arakanese courtly context. The presence of strangers who came from distant countries to rest “in the shade of the king” [nr̥pa-​chāyā-​tala] was already present in Padmāvatī’s royal eulogy, but in Saẏphulmuluk, the author exposes in detail the interactions between the king and those emissaries. At the center of those exchanges lies the ruler’s grandeur [mahimā, mahattva]. Grandeur relies upon the accomplishment of the classical royal ideal, and the comings and goings of the vessels [ḍiṅgās] of foreign emissaries are caused by the grandeur of the court that welcomes them. In Ālāol’s praise of Candrasudharma, the process of identifying conventional images with the context of the poet is obvious. The parallel is explicit when the poet compares the king and his entourage to Indra surrounded by celestial beings [gandharvas]. The line between mercantile and diplomatic affairs is blurred to keep the focus on the economy of the royal sabhā. The merchants [sadāgars (Per. sawdāgars), sādhus] at the beginning

78. hindu bale yudhiṣṭhīra : vikramāditya bira : maghe phorā hena jñāna | muchalmāna sabe bole : puni āilā khiti-​tale : nyāẏabanta na[o]‌seroẏāna || Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” fol. 3v. Compare with “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 455. Phorā/​phrā is the only Arakanese word Ālāol used in his entire oeuvre.

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of the passage become “emissaries” who have arrived to offer honorific presents [bheṭibāra] to the king. As a matter of fact, both merchants and ambassadors had to comply with the protocol requiring the exchange of presents. But what seems even more relevant to our discussion is the conservation of the courtly register and the focus on the king’s grandeur, rather than the economic prosperity of the kingdom or the development of foreign trade. The purpose is not to describe a commercial transaction: It is to display the grandeur of the court, its refinement, and its codes; the king distributes his good graces [suprasāda] and many marks of respect [mānya kari bahutara]. It is noteworthy that other than that of the emissaries, the only category of people mentioned is that of the dignitaries [amātyas]. They are lavishly dressed and placed according to their rank [jāra jei jugya sthāne baise harasita mane]. Impressed by such splendor, the emissaries then “go and sing at the top of their voice [the king’s] high deeds and qualities” [śatamukhe kr̥ti-​guna gāe] and arouse among their compatriots the desire to behold such wonderful sight.79 Ālāol, following the trend inaugurated by Daulat Kājī, does not only name the ruler of the time, but meticulously depicts the activities of the court. His descriptions, along with the exaltation of courtly values, show the strong courtly identity prevailing in his milieu that somehow bypasses religious identities. In this overarching set of values, the competences of the dignitaries and their abilities to contribute to the shared interests of the royal household were the main criteria for social recognition. The details provided by the poet testify to his familiarity with the physical space of the court in the Golden Palace, a place that was hardly accessible and that was, at the same time, the heart of a cosmopolitan kingdom. These two aspects of the Arakanese court—​the confined and the cosmopolitan—​were features that were self-​consciously rendered by the poet, who realized their significance maintaining the prosperity of his patrons as cultural brokers and the practice of his art as a court poet.

The functions of speech in the sabhā:  The story of Bhāratı̄catur Courtly scenes are present in the prologues as well as in the narratives themselves. The courtly codes that are described in the body of the poem are

79. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 454–​5.

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consistent with his prologues. Whether translated from Avadhi or Persian, the texts contain scenes that are characterized by detailed renderings of the court protocol that conditions interactions among the characters in the story. Ālāol is very scrupulous when it comes to depicting courtly etiquette. He even has a tendency to “fix” the comportments of the characters in the source narratives and make them comply with his ideal of proper behavior. Anyone who presents himself or herself to the court of a king or a prince or any other important person must greet him [kara-​joṛe, praṇām-​, bhāle bhūmi paraś-​, bhūmi cumb-​] and give a benediction [āśīrvāda] that is often accompanied by praise [stuti]. He speaks with deference [bhakti-​bhāve]; his speech ought to be a “sweet and melodious song” [madhura bhāratī] and it must satisfy [santoṣ-​] his interlocutor. Once his message is delivered, the person asks permission to take leave of his host and the latter, with a delighted heart [haraṣita mane] distributes his favors [prasād-​] in the form of gifts [dānas] and manifestations of respect [māna]. One can notice the almost exclusively Sanskritized lexicon that the poet employs to formulate courtly protocol—​even when the practice is actually translated from the Persian, as in bhūmi cumb-​(Per. zamīn bosīdan). Ālāol is remarkably regular in his description of courtly protocol, which is, of course, a basic way to distinguish the gentleman from the vulgar, the śiṣṭa from the aśiṣṭa. Let us now turn on the function of speech [vacana], and, more precisely, that of eloquent speech [bhāratī] in this protocol. Reflections around speech, its origin, its value, and its efficacy are often discussed by the poet. In Chapter 5, we explore those topics in further detail. For now, I want to address the issue of speech in the economy of the sabhā. Ālāol clarifies the conditions in which it is proper to speak in the assembly. First, learned men ought to speak publicly only if they are asked to do so:80 The words of a connoisseur who speaks without being questioned are like dirt and can be found anywhere. A learned man never takes the initiative to speak; it is proper to address only he who asked a question. This rule is already present in his model, Jāyasī’s poem, and it is a commonplace of courtly etiquette. Another of the poet’s models, Yūsuf Gadā,

80. yei guṇī bini jijñāsane kahe kathā | se vākya māṭira tulya haẏa yathā tathā || paṇḍite āpanā nā bākhāne kadācita | ye jane jijñāse tāne kahite ucita || Ālāol, Padmāvatī, ed. D. Bandyopadhyay, 2002, vol. 2, 22.

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discusses the matter more thoroughly in the thirteenth chapter of Tuḥfa-​yi naṣāʾiḥ. The Sufi from Delhi explains how one ought to speak in a gathering [majlis], how to greet someone, and even how to bless someone who has just sneezed. He also comments on the lowliness of gossiping and on the virtues of silence. He states that “[he] never saw in this world someone worthier than those who remain silent” [hargiz nadīdam dar jahān juz khāmoshān kas khūbtar].81 Ālāol follows his source text faithfully and adds just a few comments. Ālāol’s terms show his intention to provide his audience with a norm by which to evaluate [parīkṣ-​] the cultural refinement [bhavyatā] of members of the assembly. In this passage, the Bengali author keeps the word majlis—​ instead of translating it as sabhā—​when he talks about the gathering. He also uses a hybrid compound, the first member of which is the Perso-​Arabic word adab, which refers to etiquette in the specific domain of speech: ādaba-​ pramāṇa (literally “showing adab”).82 Let us compare the Persian source text and the Bengali verses in which this compound is used:83 mag’shāy awwal tū sukhan pāsukh bigū chūn durr guhar Do not speak first, but answer jewels [and] pearls. puchile uttara dibā ādaba-​pramāṇa | nahe puni basiā thākibā sāvadhāna || If you are asked, answer according to adab, otherwise, sit and pay attention [to what is being said]. It is the only use of adab as a loan word that I have encountered in Ālāol’s works.84 The association of the term adab with speech in the verses just

81. Yūsuf Gadā, Tuḥfa-​yi naṣāʾiḥ, ed. Qāḍī Ibrāhīm and Mullā Nūr al-​Dīn (Bombay: Maṭbaʿ-​i Ḥaydarī, 1288), 45. 82. Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 432. Because the letter ra in Bengali manuscripts is often not distinguished from ba—​because both are often written as ব—​we could also read ādara-​pramāṇa “to show affection.” See, for instance, the table in Kalpana Bhowmik, Pāṇḍulipi paṭhan sahāẏikā (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Bangla Academy, 1992), 135, or Dragomir Dimitrov, “Tables of the Old Bengali Script (on the Basis of the Nepalese Manuscript of Daṇḍin’s Kāvyādarśa),” in Śikṣāsamuccayaḥ:  Indian and Tibetan Studies (Collectanea Marpurgensia Indologica et Tibetica), ed.Dragomir Dimitrov, Ulrike Roesler, and Roland Steiner (Vienna: Arbeitskreise für Tibetische und Buddhsitische Studien, Universität Wien, 2002), 27–​78, especially table 5, “Similar letters” (section 5.3). 83. Yūsuf Gadā, Tuḥfa-​yi naṣāʾiḥ, 44; Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 432. 84. The term ādaba seems to be used in Saẏphulmuluk as well, but again it is also possible to read ādara: ādaba kariẏā jiñāsila manaskāma || Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 469; Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” fol. 17r.

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quoted articulates the domains of knowledge and etiquette. Speech is the vehicle of knowledge; it is what allows one “to distinguish the ignorant from the learned man” and it is a means by which to assess one’s acquaintance with the codes of proper behavior in the assembly.85 Therefore, knowledge alone does not justify the public use of speech: First, one has to comply with the rules of the gathering and gain the assent of the master of the assembly. In the sections devoted to the circumstances of the commissioning of the text, Ālāol is always invited by his patron to speak because of his “qualities” [guṇas]. In the second prologue of Saẏphulmuluk, in which Saiẏad Musā asks the poet to complete the work that he began under Māgan’s patronage, knowledge, speech and etiquette are equated once again. Ālāol is reluctant to engage in the task of composing poetry, and Saiẏad Musā must put forward a series of arguments to convince the old poet. He argues that Ālāol is endowed with unique qualities. The patron adds that one who is skilled at providing advice should not remain silent. Thus authorized by the master of the assembly in matters of wisdom and eloquence, the poet agrees to complete the poem.86 In the autobiographical sections of his prologues, Ālāol tells the story of his own social elevation that was made possible by his education in Fatihabad. I  also mentioned the recurrent motifs of social ascension that are present in the stories of his models. In the episode in which the Brahman Bhāratīcatur and his talking bird visit Lor on behalf of his first wife Maẏnā, we find a vivid illustration of eloquence as a hallmark of the courtier and of the efficacy of speech. After providing a summary of this story, I  briefly compare it with other versions of the same episode and consider its relevance in the economy of the sabhā that is highlighted in the present chapter. Fourteen years had passed since the virtuous Maẏnā had been abandoned by her husband, king Lor, who had eloped with queen Candrāṇī of the Mohar kingdom. Losing all hope of seeing her husband come back home, she thought it appropriate to send a person who was fit [yogya jana] to convince her

85. vacana antare mūrkha-​paṇḍitera cina | Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 10. 86. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 537.

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husband to return to his kingdom. She had heard about a learned Brahman [vijña dvija-​vara] named Bhāratīcatur (literally “Connoisseur-​of-​Eloquent-​Speech”),87 whom Vyāsa praises when he hears his speech, and whom connoisseurs consider a “second Kālidāsa.”88 When Lor was still living in his kingdom, Bhāratīcatur had not yet completed his studies [pāṭha sāṅga nā haẏa] in Benares. When he finally came back to his home country, he settled as a master and lived independently [svatantra]. Maẏnā saw how erudite he was and showed her respects by giving all sorts of presents [bahuvidha vitta rākhila sammāne]. One day, she summoned him and, after displaying all of the necessary marks of respect and after reminding him that virtuous men [dharma-​śīla] always look after the welfare of others, told him about her problems. She mentioned the torments that she was going through and insisted on the affront to her honor [māna] that had been caused by the situation: “Even if someone’s honor is worth a jewel,/​when it is insulted it is not worth a cowrie.”89 She begged him to convince her husband to come back. The Brahman greeted her, spoke the required benedictions and praises, and agreed to perform the mission. He said Maẏnā was “the first among women of noble origin, the very cause of all grandeur” [ādya kulavatī tumi mahattva-​lakṣaṇa].90 To fulfill his task, he would use eloquent speeches of all kinds [nānā-​ vidha prakāre kahiẏā sukathana]. He obtained everything he needed from Maẏnā and, in order to perform his mission incognito, left pretending to be on a

87.  Catura is one of the words Ālāol uses to designate the connoisseur. Other terms are: nāgara/​nāẏara, jñātā, paṇḍita, guṇī, rasika, or rasajña. These terms are not exact synonyms, but they allow us to map the realm of courtly connoisseurship for Ālāol and the members of Mrauk U’s sabhās. 88. śunite tāhāra vākya stuti bale vyāsa | guṇigaṇa mānaẏa dvitīẏa kālidāsa || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 181. 89. yadi māna āchaẏa māṇikya samatula | māna hāni baṭeka nahe mūla || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 181. 90.  Ālāol often uses the term lakṣaṇa in the sense of hetu [cause] rather than “mark, characteristic sign.”

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pilgrimage. To assist him in his endeavor, he took along a sārikā bird that Ālāol describes as follows: There was with the Brahman an extraordinary sārikā who knew the inner meaning of words [saṅketa-​śabdas] and all sorts of speech. Dressed with a tiger pelt, he was seated on the skin of a deer. He was a skilled expert in the inner meaning [saṅketa] of the Veda and Purāṇas. He could understand one’s inner state in a sign [iṅgite], the arts of humor and dance. The name of this great Pandit was sārikā Vimalā.91 When they reached the kingdom where Lor was residing, the Brahman visited all the places of pilgrimage and, thanks to Maẏnā’s generous gifts, distributed alms to fellow Brahmans, mendicants [bhikṣukas], and connoisseurs [guṇi-​janas]. He also came out victorious in all exegetical debates [śāstra vicār-​] and all oral contests [vākya-​yuddha]. The rumor of his extraordinary skills reached the court, where people kept praising Bhāratīcatur: This excellent Brahman equals Kālidāsa in poetry! [He masters the contents of ] treatises like Vararuci or Umāpatidhara. There exists no other such great scholar. The Lord endowed him with all the great qualities!92 Lor immediately sent a worthy messenger [yogya jana] to summon the Brahman to his court. When Bhāratīcatur arrived, King Lor was seated on his throne incrusted with jewels and he was surrounded of the members of his court, the society of ministers, friends, and scholars [sabhāsada pātra mitra paṇḍita-​samāja]. After he greeted the 91. āchila brāhmaṇa saṅge divya eka sāri | saṅketa śabdera āra vākya-​dhārī || vyāghra-​carma-​ paridhāna mr̥ga-​carmāsana | prati veda purāṇe saṅketa-​vicakṣaṇa || iṅgite bujhaẏa marma hāsya-​lāsa-​kalā | mohana paṇḍita nāma sārikā vimalā || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 181. 92.  kāvye kālidāsa sama haẏa dvijavara | śāstre kibā umāpat[i]‌dhara || hena mahā-​paṇḍita ethāte keha nāi | sarvaguṇa diẏā tāne sr̥jilā gõsāi || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 182.

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king, the Brhaman blessed him with the formula: “May the desires of your heart be fulfilled! O crown-​jewel among kings!” [manobhīṣṭa-​ siddhi hoka nr̥pa-​śiromaṇi]. Then he praised his outstanding glory [yaśa] “whose fragrance of sandal and jasmine is carried away by the breeze of the Malaya Mountains spreading it in the ten directions.” The Brahman added that such fragrance “quickly attracted connoisseurs who turned into bees and gathered at his court.” Then the king engaged in the praise of his guest by saying that it is unfair to call him a Vaiṣṇava (i.e., a devotee of Viṣṇu) because the lace of his intellect made Viṣṇu his prisoner. The Brahman responded to the king’s compliment by yet another, somehow equivocal, eulogy in which he praised Lor as very respectful of dharma [dharma-​śīla] and compared him first to Kr̥ṣṇa “Murāri” (i.e., the slayer of the demon Mura), who took the demon’s wife after he killed him. He then compared him to Rāvaṇa, who took away Sītā and died, therefore ending his dynasty, whereas Lor succeeded in taking Candrāṇī away and killed his rival, Vāmana. He continued his speech in the same allusive vein and eventually admitted that he came “pretending to visit a place of pilgrimage” [kari tīrtha-​chala], but that his real intention was to obtain “the honor of an interview” [darśana-​śraddhāẏa]. The Brahman continued composing verses [śloka-​bandhe] and all were amazed by the style of his poetry [kāvyera bhaṅgi]. They “made him sit above everyone else” [sabhāna upare dilā basite āsana], and the king “abundantly rewarded and satisfied him with gifts” [bahu puraskāri dāne tuṣilā]. Bhāratīcatur repeated that he came because he had been attracted by the reputation of the high deeds of the king; he promised him loyalty because “the connoisseur’s heart is subdued by your qualities and it is too difficult for him to go anywhere else.” He blessed the king for a third time, asked the permission to leave, and returned to his bird to share his plans for the following day. Resolved to deliver his message, he nonetheless conceded that “it is not proper to discuss such matters at the court” [sabhā-​madhye ucita nā haẏa sei kathā]. He wanted the bird to speak to the king, not only because he was not capable of raising the subject in a courtly environment, but because if heard from the beak of a sārikā bird, the king would give more credit to these words: “If a bird relates Maẏnā’s torments, his heart will be more inclined to [return to his] birth-​land.” Moreover, Bhāratīcatur would add his testimony to the

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truthfulness of the bird’s speech, which would strengthen Lor’s resolve to turn things around. The following day, Lor summoned the Brahman to the court. He showed him the requisite marks of respect and gave him a seat. After a description of the bird’s “charms,” the king manifested the desire to hear him speak: The ignorant becomes a connoisseur by listening to connoisseurs, therefore connoisseurs should not remain silent.93 The bird, after pronouncing some appropriate benedictions, replied to the king:  “The connoisseur would never speak without being questioned,/​if you ask me so, I will tell you everything from beginning to end.”94 He then told the story of his life. He was born in the kingdom where Lor used to rule with Maẏnā by his side. He was caught by a bird-​catcher and sold to Bhāratīcatur. “Fate took [his] side and gave [him] to the hands of a Brahman” [dvija-​haste dila vidhi haïẏā sapakṣa].95 Bhāratīcatur had thousands of disciples who came to him to study. They taught the basics of human speech to the bird. Then, since “God, the master of fate, had put some intelligence in his mind” [tāhe jñāna vidhi dila cittāntare], after constantly listening to the students reciting their lessons, he managed to learn a bit about the content of treatises. This way, Vimalā learned what he knew from “the wishing tree of sciences” [śāstra-​kalpataru], that is, Bhāratīcatur. But, above everything else, it is the intrinsic “qualities of the earth” [bhūmi-​ guṇa] of Lor’s ancestors that turned a simple bird into a scholar: How many birds live on merely eating worms and fruits? Which among them would be worth attending your court?

93. gunī-​vākya śunile nirguṇī guṇī haẏa | guṇavanta maunatā ucita punaḥ naẏa || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 183. 94. bini jiñāsile vākya nā prakāśe guṇī || jijñāsile sakala kahimu ādi-​anta | Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 183. 95. Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 184. This verse is replete with possible double entendres [śleṣa]. Vidhi means “fate, destiny” and is also an epithet of the god Brahmā, the creator, who is said to have “taken his side” [haïẏā sapakṣa], which can be read “became with wings,” that is, became himself a bird and fully partook to his lot.

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Beasts do not pay attention to the filth covering the ground, but thanks to the qualities of the earth [of your kingdom] my mind gained sight.96 The bird continued to claim that Lor was a just [nyāẏavanta] king, but that only one of his deeds departed from justice [ekakhāni karma mātra nyāẏa hante dūra]. If he could forgive his servant, the bird would share this matter with him, because without the king’s permission, one would never dare speak [nahe ki yogyatā mora kahite vacana]. Lor stated that he would be grateful if the bird could help him see any flaw [doṣa] in his behavior. He would never blame him for pointing a flaw of his, because “only the Lord is free from all flaws; who among mortals is free from flaws?” The bird then continued his speech by greeting the king once again, pronouncing a few benedictions and praises; finally, he related the torments afflicting the righteous Maẏnā. Vimalā turned to the examples of the kings of the past, Yāminībhān, Manohar, Sūryabhān, and Ratnasen, all of whom left their homes for the sake of women, but who eventually returned to the “land of their ancestors” [paitr̥ka bhūmi].97 The bird explained that Lor had to come back and that Maẏnā was desperate, her health was weakening; she had “reached the ninth stage [of love in separation] and her death was soon to come” [vyāpita navamī daśā nikaṭa śamana].98 The Brahman then confirmed the bird’s account and Lor, stricken with remorse, shared a lengthy lament. He told the bird that he would give him his entire kingdom for his wings so he could fly away to reunite with Maẏnā. The king then wondered why none of his companions [saṅgī] had tried to open his eyes to the situation. The bird answered that the king’s distraction was as high as his rank and recalled the fundamental opposition between the enjoyer [bhogī], the king being the first among them [āpane nr̥pati tuhmi sarvādhika bhogī], and the ascetic [yogī]. He

96. kata pakṣī kīṭa-​phala khāiẏā beṛāẏa | kāra śakti āche āse tomāra sabhāẏa || mala-​mūtra sthala nā dekhaẏe paśu-​pakṣī | kṣiti-​guṇe mora hr̥de haila ā̃khi || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 184. 97. In this passage the names that are mentioned are the protagonists of Avadhi romances. See infra, Chapter 6. 98. See infra, Chapter 5, on the ten states of love in separation.

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added that “the best among servants is he who wishes the retreat to the forest when he lives amidst kingly pleasures” [rāja-​sukhe susevake icche vanavāsa]. He concluded by inviting him to entrust the Gohārī kingdom to his son and to return to Maẏnā. Lor thanked the bird, “kissed him on the eyes and stroked his back” [cakṣe cumbi pr̥ṣṭhe bulāila hāta]. He asked him what food he would enjoy, but the bird apologized and explained that since he was brought up by a Brahman, he had picked up their habits and could not accept any food from the king’s hand. He would rather eat the remains of the meal that his guru would prepare with ingredients that his Majesty would kindly provide. The king acted as prescribed by the bird, and the latter and his master asked permission to leave [māgiẏā vidāẏa] and “headed back home to perform their ablutions” [snāna karibāra hetu calila vāsāẏa]. The episode of Satī Maẏnā that I summed up here is an original composition. Satī Maẏnā, like Saẏphulmuluk, is not the translation of a single, easily identifiable text, but a variation on the theme of Lor’s story. It seems that Ālāol was aware of Maulānā Dāūd’s Cā̃dāyan (1379), but the part of Satī Maẏnā that he composed is not a translation of the Avadhi prototype of Sufi romance.99 Maẏnā’s transmission of a message to Lor and the episodes that follow it are present in Dāūd’s version as they are in the popular versions of the story. Sādhan’s poem and Ghawwāṣī’s Dakani Maynā Satvantī (ca. 1612–​1626) stop after Maẏnā discovers the real purpose of her wet nurse Mālinī’s speech (i.e., to convince her to go with another man).100 A comparison with Cā̃dāyan shows that Ālāol’s version differs in the narrative and in the social status of the protagonists. In Cā̃dāyan, the messenger is a Brahman merchant on his way to Harandīṃ, the place where Lor resides. Maẏnā asks the merchant to inform Lor about her grief and tell him that he must come back home. Her request is formulated as a song of the twelve months. The merchant, moved by Maẏnā’s discourse, accepts, goes to Harandīṃ, and makes himself famous for the peculiar way in which he comments on sacred texts by referring to the experience of viraha (i.e., love in separation). Lor hears about him and invites him to his palace. The Brahman comes and informs Lor, first allusively and then 99.  Regarding Cāndāyan as a prototype for Sufi romances, see Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 59–​108; Hines, Maulana Daud’s Cāndāyan. 100. Ghawwāṣī, Maynā Satwantī, ed. Ghulām ʿUmar Khān (Hyderabad: Iliyās Ṭreḍarz, 1981).

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explicitly, of the torments that his wife is undergoing. Lor then obtains an escort troop from the king of Harandīṃ and returns home. By turning Maẏnā and Lor into royal figures, Ālāol followed the steps of his predecessor Daulat Kājī. Such important changes in the social environment of the story created major reinterpretations of the significance of Maẏnā’s viraha. Central in Dāūd’s discourse was the torment of Maẏnā and the pathos of viraha as manifested throughout the twelve months of the year. The social consequences of Lor’s infidelity are pushed into the background. In Ālāol’s text, by contrast, the high rank of the virahiṇī highlights the mundane aspect of the situation. What is at stake in Lor’s return to his homeland is not only Maẏnā’s survival but the preservation of the grandeur [mahattva] of the kingdom. As we have already seen in another context, mahattva relies upon the ruler’s justice [nyāẏa] and the splendor [śobhā] of his court. In the case of Maẏnā’s story, Lor’s attitude expressly weakens his rule—​and this weakening is emphasized by the bird’s speech—​and the queen’s viraha and her renouncement of royal pastimes tarnish the śobhā of the court. On the plane of the literary tradition, this social elevation of the protagonists can be seen as part of a larger movement within the genre of Avadhi romances. This process of social homogenization is clearly mentioned by the poet when he draws parallels between Lor’s situation and the protagonists of other love stories, who are actually the main characters of what constituted the Avadhi canon for Ālāol. If Lor had remained a cowherd, the issue of abandoning the kingdom would not have been raised and the relevance of the opposition between enjoyer [bhogī] and ascetic [yogī] that comes as a conclusion to the bird’s discourse would have been lost. The significance of this passage in connection with the Avadhi tradition also appears in the use of motifs that are shared with Padmāvatī. The character of the sārikā bird is fashioned after the parrot Hīrāmaṇi, and his personal story parallels that of the bird in Padmāvatī. In Padmāvatī, the parrot represents the Brahman pandit who plays the role of an intermediary because of his eloquence; wisdom allows him to become Ratnasen’s guru. It is a good example of how Ālāol reused motifs that have been set by his model Jāyasī and then inserted them in his translations.101 With the character of Hīrāmaṇi, Padmāvatī provides us with a model of panditic eloquence with which the author himself identified. The story of Bhāratīcatur and of his alter ego, the sārikā, illustrates the way in which a 101. On Padmāvatī as a generic model within Ālāol’s works, see supra, Chapter 3.

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man of letters manages to gain access to a royal sabhā. He first mentions Bhāratīcatur’s period of studying that took place in Benares. The education that he gathers from this major center of Brahmanical studies allows him to live “independently” [svatantra] in his home country by becoming a master whose reputation quickly spread, thus attracting disciples and income. His fame makes him benefit from the queen’s generous gifts as she asks him to accomplish a mission on her behalf. Along with Bhāratīcatur’s intellectual capacities, the poet mentions his generosity and his many gifts to religious men and connoisseurs. These gifts contribute equally to the growth of his fame. Courtiers do not neglect to mention the generosity of the foreign Brahaman and qualify him as a “good connoisseur and generous” [sadguṇī-​dātā]. The bird’s itinerary is slightly different, because the poet stresses the radical change of environment that Vimalā undergoes thanks to his training. He goes from being a worm-​eating beast to reaching the lofty rank of court pandit; he even goes so far as to refuse food that is offered by the king, thereby invoking rules of Brahmanical purity. In this way, the bird links his personal trajectory to the aim of his mission by highlighting the power of Lor’s ancestral land—​a place where a simple bird can turn into a learned scholar. This conclusion reminds the reader of this new version of Lor’s story: Beyond the life of Maẏnā, it is the grandeur of the kingdom that is endangered by the prolonged absence of the king. The eloquence that provides Bhāratīcatur with access to the court is equated to poetic language. The very name of the Brahman indicates that he is savvy [catura] in matters of eloquent speech [bhāratī]. The Brahman is thus compared to the classical Sanskrit poet Kālidāsa and the scholars Vararuci (ca. fourth century BCE) and Umāpatidhara (12th century CE).102 On his very first visit to the court, everyone is impressed with the way in which he composes stanzas [śloka-​bandha] and with the style of his poetry [kāvyera bhaṅgi]. Poetry, that is, in the context of South Asia, ornate and suggestive speech, is presented as the most appropriate mode of communication in a courtly setting. The fundamentally suggestive nature of poetic speech and the recourse to signs [iṅgitas] allow the courtier to share his 102. Beyond the attribution of various works to Vararuci and Umāpatidhara, what is more relevant here is the presence of both characters in Sanskrit narrative literature. Vararuci is the character of a famous story in the Kathāsaritsāgara and Umāpatidhara is present in works such as the Prabandhacintāmaṇi, Vidyāpati’s Puruṣaprīkṣā, or the sixteenth-​century text of Bengal titled Śekaśubhodaya. On Umāpatidhara’s poetry, see Knutson, Into the Twilight of Sanskrit Court Poetry, 41–​2, 77.

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opinion, or, in the present case, deliver a message, by relying on the discernment of those who know the inner meaning of words [saṅketa-​jñātās], and the first among them is supposed to be the king himself. Bhāratīcatur, in the eulogy of his first speech, already points to the problematic situation in which Lor put himself and his kingdom. But Lor, who is careless and who falls short of all his duties, seems completely to miss the point of what the Brahman is trying to say. He even misses the purport of his own words when he addresses the bird using the word maẏnā, a synonym for sārikā bird. The bird then highlights this carelessness by emphasizing the king’s distraction [bhrama].103 Lor’s obvliviousness and Bhāratīcatur’s and Vimalā’s constent recourse to indirection and suggestive speech are illustrations of the pragmatic dimension of poetic speech at the court. In the milieu depicted by Ālāol, vākya [speech] and kāvya [poetry] are more than mere paronyms, because all speech ought to comply with the rules of poetics to be relevant to the economy of grandeur and satisfaction of the royal sabhā.

Summary When introducing the author’s representing the urban, courtly literature of Arakan, we see how the Bengali Muslim elite developed a deep awareness of their role as cultural brokers who facilitated the inclusion of the kingdom in the Persianized networks of the Bay of Bengal. They played key roles as heirs to the Bengali sultanate and Indo-​Afghan political and literary cultures and as Persianized elites who were connected with the world of merchants throughout the Indian Ocean. Their cultural versatility and supraregional connections ensured their positions in the closest circles of the royal household. With Daulat Kājī’s unfinished poem Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī, the urban literary tradition of Mrauk U introduces us to some of the basic

103. The satirical tone of this episode is also present in the secondary tale Ālāol included in Saẏphulmuluk. In that story too the misunderstanding of signs [iṅgita] puts the social status and grandeur of a royal family at risk. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 462–​72. A very brief summary of the story in English is given in Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature, 213. For a complete French translation and analysis of the story, see Thibaut d’Hubert, “Histoire culturelle et poétique de la traduction. Ālāol et la tradition littéraire bengali au XVIIe siècle à Mrauk-​U, capitale du royaume d’Arakan,” PhD dissertation (École Pratique des Hautes Études, 2010), 474–​507. Note that both Ghoshal’s and my French translation of bannika/​barnnika (wrongly emended baṇika in the printed text) need to be corrected: The protagonist of the story is not a “merchant” [baṇik] but a “goldsmith” (< Skt. varṇika).

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features of Ālāol’s poetics: the recourse to Avadhi romance as a traditional model for narrative poetry and to Brajabuli as the courtly idiom of lyric poetry. Both references show that vernacular poetry in Mrauk U is located in a continuum of literary practices coming from the Bihar-​Mithila region, bearing with them a regionalized [deśī] poetics. Unlike the rural authors of Chittagong, both Daulat Kājī and Māgan Ṭhākur can be located within the courtly milieu of Arakan with a level of accuracy that is hardly encountered in other Middle Bengali texts of the period. Alongside an increasingly elaborate poetic style and metapoetic discourse that culminate in Ālāol’s poetry, we observe the presence of historical referentiality as a new feature of the Bengali pā̃cālī in Arakan. The secondary courts created around powerful and wealthy dignitaries fostered a shared culture that was based on a Sanskritic episteme. This culture explains the prominent role of the Sanskrit language and its theoretical literature in Ālāol’s discourse. The example of the story of Bhāratīcatur that is found in Ālāol’s Satī Maẏnā introduces us to the function of speech in the economy of those secondary courts. The story illustrates the strategies that the scholar and poet used to reach his ends and make a name for himself in the courtly milieu. Ālāol plays with the tropes of Sanskrit narrative literature and courtly interactions on a satirical tone. But most important is the way in which Ālāol draws our attention to the basic constitutive elements of his rhetoric as a courtly poet: the focus on fostering grandeur [mahattva] and the recourse to the “language of signs” [iṅgita-​vacana]. His comments on the latter subject are his most crucial contribution to the field of poetics and are discussed in the following chapters. Finally, we observe the close identification that the poet draws between poetic speech and the idiom through which courtly interactions ought to take place. He puts special emphasis on the communicative and pragmatic functions of poetic speech and thus invites us to reflect on the role of poetry in the constitution of a courtly subjectivity.

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New Beginnings Ālāol’s Early Career in Mrauk U

Beyond the trope of the aging poet, a context-​sensitive poetics Middle Bengali poets are often the author of a single work, and it is rather unusual to see an oeuvre as voluminous and variegated as Ālāol’s.1 An even rarer feature of Ālāol’s literary output is the relative chronology that can be established among his works. We can reconstruct and follow the poet’s literary career over a span of about twenty years. Although the reconstruction of his biography has led to fierce debates and complex conjectures among scholars, the evolution of his work as a poet—​or the changes in his discourse and style during those twenty years—​has seldom attracted much attention.2 What I propose to do in this and the next chapter is to follow how Ālāol, a very self-​aware court poet, conceived of his activity as an author and responded to the rapidly changing environment of Arakan. I already argued that Ālāol’s attitude was not that of an émigré—​the poet of a community in exile. His oeuvre is organically linked to the

1.  This observation applies particularly in the case of authors of maṅgal-​kāvya and early pā̃cālīs adapted from the purāṇas and itihāsas. From the seventeenth century onward the situation seems to change and we find prolific authors in various regions of Bengal. We have already mentioned the case of Ābdul Hākim who authored at least five works, but we also have the example of a Gauḍīẏa Vaiṣṇava poet–​translator like Yadunandan Dās to whom is attributed seven works. Ābdul Hākim, Ābdul Hākim racanāvalī; Śāntilatā Rāẏ, Vaiṣṇav sāhitya o Yadunandan (Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1960). 2. Scholars have already noticed a shift in the choices Ālāol made in terms of literary models between Padmāvatī and Sikāndarnāmā. See for instance Subrahmanyam, “Persianization and ‘Mercantilism,’  ” 72–​3.

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formation of a new elite group, and Ālāol intended that it answer new cultural demands. History is moving at a faster pace in mid-​seventh-​century Arakan; so is Bengali literature under Ālāol’s pen. For the attentive reader, the changes that take place between the first and the last of Ālāol’s poems are equivalent to the kinds of literary transformations that, in other contexts, would unfold over the span of more than a century. Themes, language, style, prosody, and more underwent major shifts within the twenty years of Ālāol’s career in Mrauk U, and what is even more fascinating is that we can follow almost each step of this evolution; in many cases, we can even identify contextual motivations for those textual mutations. Given these dramatic shifts, it is not an overstatement to describe Ālāol’s texts as experimental. In the present chapter, we follow the paths that Ālāol’s literary experiments forged in response to a quickly shifting courtly environment. But when we turn to the reception of his works, we see that the literary renaissance that Ālāol attempted to inaugurate did not have a long-​lasting impact.3 Despite a few attempts to perpetuate his tradition in Chittagong, Arakan’s courtly milieu collapsed and the audience that he intended for his works vanished. His poems were ultimately received as traditional pā̃cālīs, and Ālāol’s aim to change literary practices in Bengali and the very status of the vernacular did not find the audience that it needed to thrive. Ālāol was conscious of the evolution of his style. A particular feature of this evolution, as Ālāol understood it, was (in his words) the “lack of rasa” that old age had brought.4 His role model, Niẓāmī, also frequently refers in his texts to “old age” [pīrī], which, despite the physical distress 3. The term “Renaissance” was used by S. Bhattacharya to qualify Bengali literary activities at the Arakanese court. Bhattacharya (Chakraborti), “Myth and History of Bengali Identity in Arakan,” 206–​10. 4.  For instance in Saẏphulmuluk:  āmi vr̥ddha phakirere ati bahutara | {tāliba elema} bali karenta ādara || [ . . . ] vr̥ddha-​kāle grantha-​karma ucita nā haẏa | [ . . . ] vr̥ddha hailũ akhane hailũ balahīna | [To me, an old and very miserable man, they showed respect by calling me a seeker of knowledge. ( . . . ) It is not proper to write books in old age. ( . . . ) Now I am old and became powerless.] Emendation:  tāliba elema] tālima ālima; the manuscript in the Arabic script gives the Arabicized form:  ṭāliba al-​ʿilam (Ar. ṭālib al-​ʿilm). Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no. 185/​ā 32, fol. 84r; “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl” ms. no. 514, maghi 1226/​1864 AD, 287, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad,” Dhaka University Library; compare with “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 457 and 538. In ms. ā1/​p1 of Padmāvatī kept at the Bangla Academy collection, on fol. 11r, the term tālima elema is also corrected by some careful reader who wrote in Arabic in the margin, ṭālib al-​ʿilm. On the significance of this term in the context of Ālāol’s life, see supra, Chapter 1, “The royal dignitary as patron and host.” In Saptapaẏkar the poet claims to be “worn out and always worried” [yadyāpi-​o jarājīrṇa-​cintākula-​cita |]. “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 201.

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that comes with it, he sees as an age of wisdom and spiritual relief.5 For the Persian poet, the weakening of the body and the abandonment of sensual pleasures lead him to devote himself to the salvation of his soul, thus gaining a certain freedom in his poetical compositions. In contrast, the Indic poetic tradition almost exclusively associates the coming of old age with the wretchedness of the body and nostalgia for the games of youth.6 Vidyāpati (ca. 1370–​1460), whose career we can also follow (although with less accuracy than that with which we can follow Ālāol’s), was a prolific author of vernacular erotic lyric poetry as a young poet but concluded his career by composing Sanskrit treatises on legal and religious subjects.7 This biographical–​bibliographical arc in Vidyāpati’s life is comparable to what we witness in the case of Ālāol: And the latter’s decrease of rasa translated into a similar shift from erotic and lyric poetry to the literature of didacticism and piety. One cannot ignore the value of this feeling of lack of inspiration due to the coming of old age, which is certainly a universal feature of the retrospective gaze of the artist upon his life. However, the salience of Ālāol’s context in his texts invites the commentator on his oeuvre to consider other causes that might have guided his poetic orientations in terms of both form and content. I thus put in parallel the contemporary events that impacted his milieu: the activities of his patrons (or what we know about them), Ālāol’s own biography, the changes in his choices of literary models, and the transformations in his style. My method does not aim to observe the emergence of the personalities of the poet or his patrons within the poems. What I am concerned with is the delimitation of literary conventions and how these conventions interact with a given socio-​political situation. I believe that the very nature of the texts calls for this method. It is the specific nature of courtly texts as part 5.  yuva-​kāle ucita karite vr̥ddha-​kāja | vr̥ddha-​kāle yuvakera karma kaile lāja || [It is proper to behave like an old man when one is young, but acting like a youth when one is old is shameful.] Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 309. Compare with Niẓāmī’s text: ba roz-​i jawānī u nawzādagī/​zadam lāf-​i pīrī u uftādagī. kunūn gar ba gham shādmānī kunam/​ba pīrāna sar chūn jawānī kunam [When I was young man, a newborn, I would pride myself of being old and humble./​Now, even if I rejoice in my grief, in old age how could I become young again?] Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Sharafnāma, ed. Ḥasan Wahīd Dastgirdī and Saʿīd Ḥamīdīyān, reprint, Mutūn-​i kuhan 10 (Tehran: Nashr-​i Qaṭra, 1378), 35. For a reflection on youth and old age in terms of adab, see Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 441–​2. 6. See, for instance, song no. 607 in Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Padāvalī, ed. Khagendranath Mitra and Bimanbehari Majumdar (Calcutta: S. K. Dāśgupta, 1359), 383–​4. 7. Debnath Bandyopadhyay, Rājsabhār kavi o kāvya (Calcutta: Pustaka Vipaṇi, 1986), 76–​7.

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of a process of shaping courtly subjectivities that renders a contextualized approach necessary if one wants to understand what the texts were about. A last methodological point concerns my choice to focus on the songs [gītas] that are included in the narrative sections of his poems. My overall approach takes into account the themes of the poem, its general structure, and its relation to the source text. Because I see a particular relevance in the poet’s use of short lyric forms in his otherwise narrative texts I focus on those elements. As is the case with the insertion of short poetic forms [ghazals] in Persian and Persianate narrative poems [mathnawīs], the presence of a gīta indicates an emphasis on a given theme or a climactic moment in the narration.8 It is often a good indicator of what mattered for the poet and his audience, and, as we will see, it sometimes helps adjust our understanding of how the text was received by the poet and his milieu. To put it differently, there is sometimes a gap between the main theme of the poem and what is highlighted in the gītas. Another important feature of the songs lies in their originality vis-​à-​vis the source text. Songs are typically the locus of a metatextual discourse in the context of a translation; they are a way for the poet to express his views beyond the matter provided by the source text. Finally, they are uniquely representative of the author’s stance toward the regional tradition because they are the hallmark of the early vernacular courtly culture that sprung from Mithila and that was consciously inspired by the works of Vidyāpati.9 In songs, the vernacular poet shows the extent of his virtuosity in handling prosody and traditional images. They are the high point of the performance of the pā̃cālī and live lives of their own in anthologies and as illustrations [udāharaṇas] in treatises on music.10 They often convey what would eventually remain of the poem in the mind of the larger public. 8. Dankoff, Robert, “The Lyric in the Romance: The Use of Ghazals in Persian and Turkish Mas̱navīs,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 43, no. 1 (1984): 9–​25. 9.  On Vidyāpati’s role in the making of the Eastern vernacular lyric tradition see infra, Chapter 7. 10.  Abdul Karim and Ahmad Sharif compiled several songs bearing Ālāol’s name in their signature line from treatises on music and anthologies. See Ālāol, “Rāgtālnāmā o padāvalī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, ed. Muhammad Abdul Qayyum and Raziya Sultana (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Bangla Academy, 2007), 607–​10. We may compare the circulation of Ālāol’s padas independently from the narrative poems with the songs of Jagajjyotirmalla that are found both in his plays and in anthologies compiled during his lifetime and later. Jhā, Jagajjyotirmalla, 56.

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An Indo-​Afghan childhood: Ālāol in Fatihabad The first half of the seventeenth century was the period in which the Mughal armies slowly progressed toward the eastern regions of the subcontinent.11 Despite Akbar’s victory over the last independent sultan of Bengal in 1576, it took almost a century for his successors to solidify imperial rule in the region. The fall of Afghan power in Bengal did not mean that local chiefs submitted totally.12 They mounted a fierce resistance to the Mughals, and their claim for independence played a major role in the formation of a political Bengali identity in the following centuries.13 The imperial troops had to adjust to the difficult terrain of the delta. They had to build a fleet: Without it, no battle against the local powers could be won. Stephan van Galen demonstrated that Afghan and Hindu chiefs were not the only obstacles to Mughal territorial expansion. Beginning at the end of the sixteenth century, the Arakanese power fostered a project that would spread its control westward; Bengal was thus the domain of a competition between the Mughals and Arakanese for territorial expansion. Economic prosperity, a familiarity with the region’s natural environment, and connections within the regional diplomatic networks—​as well as a powerful fleet—​made Arakan a major threat to the Mughals’ plans in Bengal. The Arakanese fleet won important battles, as in 1625, when the Mughals were virtually forced to move the capital of the province [ṣūba] westward to Rajmahal. The raids that were undertaken by Portuguese-​led Arakanese boats considerably weakened the economy of the southern parts of the ṣūba.14 Arakan’s significant regional authority and its diplomatic relations through wars and alliances were major assets when it came time to face the Mughal power. Arakan partially shared a political culture with independent Bengal and the surrounding kingdoms of Assam, Manipur, and Tripura—​ though that shared culture did not entail peaceful relations among the kingdoms. Court Brahmans came from Bengal via Manipur, 11. Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760, 142–​58. 12.  Aniruddha Ray, Adventurers, Landowners and Rebels:  Bengal c.  1575–​ c. 1715 (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers, 1998). 13.  Karimuddin Ahmed, “Khwajah Uthman, An Afghan Hero of Bengal,” Journal of the Pakistan Historical Society 5, no. 4 (1957):  240–​6; Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760, 149–​51. 14. Subrahmanyam, “Slaves and Tyrants,” 201–​53; Stephan van Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 222–​32.

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and Bengali Muslim dignitaries came from Chittagong and probably Sylhet as well.15 Arakan thus held a major place in networks of circulation among regional elites. Despite the tragic conditions of his arrival from Fatihabad to Mrauk U, this shift did not mean a complete loss of Ālāol’s cultural landmarks. The presence of Bengali Muslims from Chittagong contributed to the relative maintenance of his social status. Ālāol’s elite background and his knowledge of regional political culture must have contributed to this prompt rehabilitation after he was carried away by Luso-​ Arakanese raiders. Ālāol found in the milieu of the dignitaries of Mrauk U the composite culture that was already present in Fatihabad.16 The variety in the cultural models for the regional elites and the presence of diverse traditions in the training of the courtier had been a hallmark of eastern courtly culture since the fourteenth century. In this period, the courts of the Sharqīs of Jaunpur and the rajas of Mithila were the main centers in which regional courtly culture was fashioned and spread. The two courts patronized works that were diverse in terms of the topics that they took on—​which ranged from original plays and narrative literature to treatises on music and love-​ making—​and also in the languages that they used, which were Sanskrit, Apabhramsha, Maithili, and Avadhi. As would be the case later in Arakan, the fashioning of a shared courtly ethos prevailed on religious identities. From Vidyāpati’s erotic padas, Jyotirīśvara’s lexicographical, dramatic, and erotic works, the translation of the Hitopadeśa from Sanskrit into Persian at the court of the muqṭiʿ Naṣīr al-​Dīn (ca. 1432–​1455), to the compilation of a Sanskrit compendium on lyrical arts titled Saṅgītaśiromaṇi commissioned by Malika Śāhi, during Ibrāhīm Sharqī’s rule (1401–​1404), or Kalyāṇa Malla’s Anaṅgaraṅga and Sulaimaccaritra commissioned by Lāḍ Khān Lodī in Awadh in the late fifteenth century, the end of all those literary works was to educate and entertain the milieu of the court. The spread of Vidyāpati’s poetry and style in Nepal, Assam, Orissa, and Arakan

15. About court Brahmans [puṇṇa] see Leider, “Specialists for Ritual, Magic, and Devotion,” 159–​202. The connections with Sylhet are not well documented, and these are put forward by regional historians when discussing the origins of Muslim poets and dignitaries active in Arakan during the seventeenth century (see supra, Chapter 1). 16.  The composite aspect of courtly culture was a common feature of other regional kingdoms in the eastern South Asia. See, for instance, the examples of Bhulua (supra, Chapter 1) and the patronage of Sanskrit texts by the Muslim elite in Sonargaon. Mathureśa, Śabdaratnāvalī: An Early Seventeenth Century Kośa Work, ed. Manindra Mohan Chowdhury, Bibliotheca Indica 292 (Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 1970).

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throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is probably the best proof of the formation of shared courtly literary tastes in eastern South Asia.17 Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism is also a product of this regional courtly ethos. Rūpa and Sanātana were educated in this milieu as courtiers of Ḥusayn Shāh (r. 1494–​1519), and the role of Vīrahamvīra’s court in the diffusion of the new doctrine shows that courtly culture played a crucial role in strengthening the literary tradition of the sect.18 The education that Ālāol received at the court of Majlis Quṭb (fl. 1611) was another manifestation of the regional courtly culture of the East. The space created by the literary references present in Ālāol’s cultural background should therefore constitute the first geo-​cultural domain of reference for the commentator on the poet’s works. The very name “Ālāol” may allow us to outline his cultural background in further detail and understand how he could relate to the Indo-​Afghan elite, which were mainly composed of Hindu Kshatriyas, Kayasthas, Jainas, Brahmans, and Muslim Afghans. Ālāol said that he was the son of a dignitary of Fatihabad’s ruler, Majlis Quṭb. Unfortunately he did not provide us with the name of his father, which could have helped clarify the question of the poet’s origins. No other title or nisba is given to shed light on the issue.19 Was his family Hindu and did they recently convert to Islam? Or were they Afghans who were culturally acclimated to Bengal? In the latter case, did Ālāol belong to the first generation to have internalized the regional culture, or was he the product of several generations of acculturation? Those questions will certainly remain largely unanswered, but some basic clues lie in his rather uncommon name: Ālāol. Specialists of his oeuvre put forward several hypotheses to identify the Perso-​Arabic name it transcribes. The first point of notice is that this name is not widespread in Bengal—​otherwise Bengali scholars would not have spent so much energy uncovering its origin. We have two interpretations: one is al-​Awwal [The First], which would be a pen name, and the second is ʿAlā al-​, that is, the first part of a name such as ʿAlā al-​Ḥaqq [The 17. For a detailed discussion on Indo-​Afghan courtly culture and regional courtly culture in eastern India, see infra, Chapter 6. 18. Tony K. Stewart, The Final Word: The Caitanya Caritāmṛta and the Grammar of Religious Tradition (New York; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 31–​43. 19. A nisba is the part of a name indicating the place of origin, or a city or region that played some role in someone’s itinerary. See Jacqueline Sublet, “Nisba 2. In Arabic Nomenclature,” ed. P. Bearman et al., Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition (Brill Online), http://​dx.doi.org/​ 10.1163/​1573-​3912_​islam_​COM_​0866.

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Champion of the Truthful God]. The latter hypothesis would be justified by the common practice in Bengal to create a “first name” by appending the article al-​to the preceding word—​as in the name of the famous scholar of Bengali literature Enāmul Hak (i.e., Inʿām al-​Ḥaqq). Ghulam Samdani Quraishi noticed that in the Persian history of Chittagong written by Ḥamīd Allāh Khān and published in Calcutta in 1871, the name of Ālāol is written as ʿAlāwal.20 Because the manuscript of Tohphā written in Arabic naskh that he consulted did not have the same spelling for the name of the author, he did not give much importance to this form. It seems, though, that ʿAlāwal is the original spelling of this name. The manuscripts of Ālāol’s works written in the Arabic script that I have consulted all have the same spelling as that which is found in Ḥamīd Allāh Khān’s history.21 ʿAlāwal is not a common name, but it exists nonetheless, and it was borne by several individuals who are mentioned in Indo-​Persian historical sources. Significantly, we find several ʿAlāwal Khāns in the genealogy of the Lodis that is given in the Tārīkh-​i khān-​i jahānī.22 Even closer to Ālāol’s time and place, ʿAlāwal was the name of ʿIsāʾ Khān’s (ca. 1529–​1599) nephew, himself an Afghan whose family had been established in Bengal since the rule of Nuṣrat Shāh (r. 1519–​1532).23 Moreover, such colloquial forms of Perso-​Arabic proper names are very often encountered in Afghan chronicles, and so were Indic names borne by Afghan noble (e.g., Māgan, Bhikan, Mangal).24 These pieces of evidence do not explain the meaning of

20. Ālāol and Muḥammad Yūsuf Gadā, Tohphā, ed. and trans. Ghulam Samdani Quraishy (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1975), 9. For a general introduction to Ḥamīd Allāh Khān’s life and works, see Sahsarami, Khidmatguzārān-​i fārsī dar Banglādish, 265–​70. 21. Khān Bahādur, Aḥādīth al-​khawānīn, 54–​5. 22. See the entry “ʿAlāwal” in the index of Niʿmat Allāh, Tārīkh-​i Khān Jahānī wa Makhzan-​i-​ afghānī: A Complete History of the Afghans in Indo-​Pak Sub-​Continent, ed. S. M. Imamuddin, vol. 2 (Dacca: Asiatic Society of Pakistan, 1960). 23.  See the entry “ʿAlāu’l-​Khān” in the index of Mīrzā Nathan, Bahāristān-​i-​Ghaybī. See also Madhukar Mangesh Patkar, History of Sanskrit Lexicography (New Delhi:  Munshiram Manoharlal, 1981), 142; Ramesh Chandra Majumdar and Jadunath Sarkar, eds., Muslim Period, vol. 2 of The History of Bengal, reprint (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  University of Dacca, 2006), 177–​8. 24.  Simon Digby, “The Indo-​Persian Historiography of the Lodi Sultans,” in Les sources et le temps. Sources and Time:  A Colloquium, Pondicherry, 11–​13 January 1997, ed. François Grimal and Alexis Sanderson, Publications du Département d’Indologie. Institut Français de Pondichéry 91 (Pondicherry, India:  Institut Français de Pondichéry; École française d’Extrême-​Orient, 2001), 263.

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this mysterious name, but there is no doubt that they raise the probability of Ālāol/​ʿAlāwal’s being of Afghan and even of Lodi origin. After the arrival of the Mughals in North India, the Lodis withdrew in Bihar and Bengal, and many of them are found in regional courts in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The similarities between Ālāol’s culture and the courtly culture that was fostered by the Lodis tend to confirm the hypothesis of a Lodi origin. In Padmāvatī, the poem that gives us the closest picture of Ālāol’s Indo-​Afghan education, the poet includes digressions on lyrical arts [saṅgīta] and a lengthy episode describing a polo game—​domains that were typical of the Lodi adab.25 Chronicles that relate the high deeds of Lodi kings mention their passion for polo.26 In the field of saṅgīta, the Lahjāt-​i sikandar-​shāhī of Yaḥyá Kābulī, which is a translation-​cum-​commentary of Śārṅgadeva’s classic Sanskrit treatise Saṅgītaratnākara (ca. 1200), witnesses the deep interest in the topic in Lodi courtly milieus.27 The Lodis are generally considered by historians as the main instigators of an Indo-​Persian adab in North India.28 Ālāol was thus heir to two important trends in the regionalization of courtly culture: one originating in fourteenth-​century Mithila and the other in the Lodi court of Hindustan.29 Little data are available that would help us reconstruct the history of Fatihabad in the early seventeenth century, and we can hardly define the political status of the polity.30 The sources present Fatihabad as a sarkār 25. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 56–​61. See infra, Chapter 6 for a discussion on the characteristics of Indo-​Afghan courtly culture. 26. Digby, “The Indo-​Persian Historiography of The Lodi Sultans,” 249–​50. 27.  For a general introduction to music in Lodi courtly milieu, see Syeda Bilqis Fatema Husaini, A Critical Study of Indo-​Persian Literature: During Sayyid and Lodi Period, 1414–​1526 A.D. (New Delhi:  Syeda Bilqis Fatema Husaini, 1988), 227–​47; Hameed-​ud-​Din, “Indian Culture in the Late Sultanate Period:  A Short Study,” East and West 12, no. 1 (1961):  29. Regarding the translation of the Saṅgītaratnākara, see Sh. Sarmadee’s remarks on the milieu of Bahlol Lodī (1451−1488)’s court in Yaḥyá Kābulī, Lahjāt-​i Sikandar Shāhī, ed. Shahab Sarmadee (New Delhi: Indian Council of Historical Research: Northern Book Centre, 1999), v–​vii. For another edition of the text, see Lahjāt-​i Sikandar Shāhī, ed. Syeda Bilqis Fatema Husaini (Mumbai: Markaz-​i Taḥqīqāt al-​Ḥayāt, 2001). 28. Nile Green, “Tribe, Diaspora, and Sainthood in Afghan History,” The Journal of Asian Studies 67, no. 1 (2008): 175–​83. 29. See infra, Chapters 6 and 7. 30. To locate Fatihabad in the geography of Mughal India, see Irfan Habib, An Atlas of the Mug̲h̲al Empire:  Political and Economic Maps with Detailed Notes, Bibliography, and Index (Aligarh; New  York:  Centre of Advanced Study in History, Aligarh Muslim University; Delhi; Oxford University Press, 1982). Beyond Ālāol’s autobiographical account, references

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(i.e., a subdivision of a ṣūba [province]), a zamīndārī, or a kingdom or chiefdom [mulk]. Premodern Bengali authors, including Ālāol, use the latter term.31 Fatihabad went from the control of the Mughal officer Murād Khān (under Akbar’s reign) to the hands of Raja Mukund and was finally ruled by Majlis Quṭb, who was vanquished by the Mughals, but whose territory was returned to him as revenue holding [jāgīr] in 1611.32 In such an unstable political context, one can understand how Ālāol’s composite culture may have rendered easier constant shifts from the service of Hindu rajas to Afghan chiefs. As the son of a dignitary of Fatihabad, Ālāol was meant to lead a career at the court of one of those local chiefs. His education thus reflects the adab of the courts of the famous bhuyans, the chiefs who resisted Mughal expansion in the seventeenth century.33 Based on the sources available to us, it is hard to tell what Ālāol may have written before he arrived in Mrauk U.  Because he was enrolled in the cavalry upon his arrival in the capital of Arakan, one might make the conjecture that he was already an adult and that he had completed his education by the time he joined this new courtly milieu. Some independent padas found in anthologies could have been composed when he was still in Fatihabad, but nothing seems clearly to indicate those earlier composition dates.34 The undated fragments of treatises on music must be related to his activity as a preceptor for the children of the nobility of Mrauk U, to Majlis Quṭb are found in Nathan, Bahāristān-​i-​Ghaybī, vol. 1, 45, 59. A  summary of Nathan’s account on Fatihabad is given in Abdul Karim, History of Bengal: Mughal Period, vol. 1 (Rajshahi, Bangladesh: Institute of Bangladesh Studies, University of Rajshahi, 1992), 64–​5, 249–​50. About Fatihabad and its revenue as a Mughal ṣūba, see Abul Fazl Allami, The Āʾīn-​i Akbarī, ed. Jadunath Sarkar, trans. H. S. Jarrett, 2nd ed., vol. 2, Bibliotheca Indica 270 (Calcutta: Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1927), 127. 31. Vijaẏgupta, Kavi Vijaẏgupter Padmāpurāṇ, ed. Jaẏantakumār Dāsgupta (Calcutta: Kalikātā Viśvavidyālaẏ, 1962), 8. Unlike what is stated in the entry on “Fathabad” in Banglapedia, the Fatihabad mentioned by Daulat Ujīr Bahrām Khān would be located near Chittagong. See Bāhrām Khān, Lāẏlī-​Majnu, 87. Narahari Chakravartī (late seventeenth century CE) mentions a village [grāma] called Fatihabad in the Jessore region. Narahari Cakravartī, Śrī Śrī Bhaktiratnākar, ed. Navīnkr̥ṣṇa Paravidyālaṃkār (Mayapur:  Śrīmat Sundarānanda Vidyāvinod Bi-​e karttr̥k prakāśita, Gauṛīya Miśan, 1940) [1.566]. 32. Mīrzā Nathan, Bahāristān-​i-​Ghaybī, 810–​11. 33. For a list of these landlords, see Mīrzā Nathan, Bahāristān-​i-​Ghaybī, 779–​800, and Karim, History of Bengal, 1:29–​135; Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760, 147. The following comment by F. Orsini and S. Sheikh regarding the complex social and cultural setting of regional courts during the Afghan period perfectly applies to what we observe in Ālāol’s case: “With constantly evolving chains of authority, people learnt to signal their status and ambitions on fresh terrain.” “Introduction,” in After Timur Left, 29. 34. A. Bālā made the same inconclusive suggestion. Bālā, Padmāvatī samīkṣā, 239.

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which corresponds to a later part of his career.35 Therefore Padmāvatī is Ālāol’s closest testimony to the literary culture that he inherited from the Indo-​Afghan milieus of Bengal. Indo-​Afghan literary culture and Sanskrit aesthetics are the dominant models of Ālāol’s early career.36 Persian literature is present in the background, and it is explicitly referred to when he mentions Farīd al-​Dīn ʿAṭṭār (d. 1221) and the story of Sikandar in Padmāvatī.37 Persian poetry played a role in the Bengali poet’s reception of the Avadhi classics. It is important to note that all of the elements of Ālāol’s poetics were present from the outset of his career. The later developments consist more of a reduction of his cultural horizons rather than the adoption of entirely new models. Stylistically, the consequences of this narrowing of his cultural horizons are more sober, prosodic forms and a focus on moral and religious themes.

Joining the royal household:  Māgan Ṭhākur and his milieu From 1627 until the temporary closing of the Dutch trading post in Mrauk U in 1645, the commerce of slavery went on without ceasing.38 It is during this period of constant raiding on the southern regions of Bengal that Ālāol and his father were attacked by Luso-​Arakanese raiders [hārmāda] and that the latter was brought to the capital city. The education that he received in Fatihabad allowed Ālāol to become a royal horseman [rājāsoẏāra]. A son of the local nobility in Fatihabad, he had the status of royal subject [Arak. maṅḥ kywan] in Arakan.39 His training as a man of letters attracted the attention of the Muslim elite living in the city. They introduced Ālāol to Māgan Ṭhākur, the first dignitary of the queen, who became his protector.

35. Ālāol, “Rāgtālnāmā o padāvalī,” 607–​10. 36. For details on what constituted Ālāol’s multilingual literary culture, see infra, Chapter 5 in the present volume. 37. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 43–​4. The figure of Alexander and ʿAṭṭār’s mathnawī were already in the background of Jāyasī’s poetics. On Alexander’s quest as a model for Avadhi mathnawīs, see Peter Gaeffke, “Alexander in Avadhī and Dakkinī Mathnawīs,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 109, no. 4 (1989): 527–​32. About Alexander, ʿAṭṭār, and the mathnawī tradition in Padmāvat, see De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust, 122–​7. 38. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 259, 436–​44; Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 222–​ 37; Subrahmanyam, “Slaves and Tyrants.” 39. On royal subjects, see supra, Chapter 1.

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The revered dignitary found in Ālāol a master of music and belles lettres. Māgan resolved to perpetuate the glorification of the local elite that had been undertaken about twenty years earlier by the lashkar wazīr and prime minister Āśraph Khān, who patronized the composition of Satī Maẏnā by Daulat Kājī. When Ālāol arrived in Arakan, the kingdom had reached its maximal territorial expansion.40 In 1625, a fleet of 16,000 boats had sacked the Mugal city of Jahangirnagar (i.e., Dhaka), preventing the Mughal governors from residing there.41 The Arakanese also reinforced their defense by deporting the population that lived in the Feni region, thereby constructing a natural frontier of impenetrable jungle.42 Since the beginning of the seventeenth century, the presence of Bengali Muslims from the region of Chittagong was a key element of the Arakanese defense against the Mughal conquest.43 Āśraph Khān, Daulat Kājī’s patron, is the first figure to illustrate substantially the place of the Bengali Muslim nobility in the political life of the kingdom during the first half of the seventeenth century. They managed to gain high ranks within the court, mainly in the army. As was shown in the previous chapter, their monopoly on the commerce of rice and the reference to long-​distance trade in the first prologue of Satī Maẏnā both suggest that they served as intermediaries between the local ruler and external trading networks. Bengali Muslims maintained this role at least until Māgan’s death around 1656.44 The court was not the only place where Bengali Muslims were to be found. The raids in the Sundarbans and the deportation of population from those regions to Dhaññavatī occasioned the establishment of entire villages of Bengalis in the heartland of Arakan.45 In 1644, Arakanese authorities, who wanted to foster the economic activity of Dhaññavatī, deported as many as 44,000 people from Chittagong. Because of plagues

40. Leider, “On Arakanese Territorial Expansion,”127–​50. 41. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 124–​8; C. Edmund Bosworth, “Rād̲j̲mahāl,” ed. P. Bearman et  al., Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition (Brill Online), http://​dx.doi.org/​10.1163/​1573-​ 3912_​islam_​SIM_​6177. 42. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 257. 43.  Subrahmanyam, “Persianization and ‘Mercantilism.’ ” See also supra, Chapter  2, “Locating Bengali Muslims in the social landscape of Mrauk U.” 44. Regarding the probable date of Māgan’s death, see infra in the present chapter. 45. Subrahmanyam, “Slaves and Tyrants”; Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 235–​6.

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that decimated this newly acquired manpower, the operation resulted in disaster.46 The few years preceding the beginnings of Ālāol’s literary career in 1651 testify to the presence of a large population of Bengali speakers at various levels of Arakanese society. This afflux of Bengali population must be taken into account to understand the success of the poet’s works. For a poet to accomplish his duty of spreading the glory and fame of his patron and his court, at least two conditions are required: the support of a prosperous patron and an audience that is large enough to ensure the circulation and performance of the poet’s texts. In 1651, when Ālāol finished the composition of Padmāvatī, these two conditions were fulfilled as never before in the history of the kingdom.47 “Danger follows prosperity,” reminds Ālāol to his audience.48 The expansion of Arakanese territory and the development of trade under Sīrisudhammarājā (1622–​1638) kindled ambitions at the court. During the last years of his rule, the king was weakened by illness; his queen, Nat Rhaṅ, with the assistance of Kusala, the governor of Laungrak, conspired to gain complete control of the court. This intrigue ended in the coronation of Kusala, now called Narapati krīḥ (Ben. Nr̥patigiri, 1638–​1645), which constituted a dynastic rupture.49 It is possible that such a shift played in favor of the interests of the Bengali Muslim dignitaries. The traditional nobility was not supportive of the new king, and the foreign element of the royal household may have been a fallback for Narapati. Another strategy was to reinforce the patronage of Buddhist institutions to confirm his legitimacy and gain the support of the Sangha.50 Henceforth we understand better the simultaneous “Buddhification” of the political idiom that is visible in coins and royal patronage as well as the development of a vocal Bengali Muslim elite in the mid-​seventeenth century.51

46. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 157–​64. 47. The combination of both patronage and a potential readership beyond the immediate circle of the court is encapsulated in the following lines from the prologue of Sikāndarnāmā: mora kāvya ethā prakāśila saba ṭhāme | bahu-​grantha racilũ mahanta saba nāme || [Here, my poems have spread everywhere; I have composed many books in the name of noble men.] Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 313. 48. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 19. 49. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 275–​85. 50. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 166–​9. 51. Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 290; d’Hubert, “The Lord of the Elephant,” 341–​69.

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Before we turn to Ālāol’s first opus, let us look at the religious context of mid-​seventeenth-​century Arakan. According to Sebastian Manrique, Sīrisudhammarājā attempted to change the lot that astrologers foresaw by seeking the advice of a “Muslim preceptor.”52 Buddhist kings in Southeast Asia traditionally hired the services of Brahmans in matters of ritual, astrology, and other divinatory practices, and this anecdote suggests a similar recourse to Muslim charismatic figures who would have been able to provide some expertise in the same domains.53 However Manrique’s account should not mislead us regarding the general orientation of Arakanese religious policy. Beginning in the fifteenth century, Buddhist institutions were increasingly reinforced by the king. This phenomenon is manifest in the patronage of large building complexes, exchanges with the Sangha in Sri Lanka, and the importance of the site of Mahāmuni as a symbol of Arakanese kingship.54 We thus witness a Buddhification of Arakanese rule. The gradual disappearance of Perso-​Arabic names and Arabic inscriptions on the coins is certainly a consequence of this shift in the political idiom of the kings during the mid-​seventeenth century. With the arrival of Narapati, the phenomenon developed at a faster pace because he strove to appear as a pious king to compensate for the negative aspect of his accession to the throne. He lavishly patronized the Buddhist Sangha and, unlike Sīrisudhammarājā, turned to Buddhist institutions to cure the bodily illness that afflicted him.55 The crystallization of religious identities that took place during this period had visible effects on Ālāol’s literary career and poetics. Padmāvatī’s poetics reflects, on the one hand, the education Ālāol acquired in Fatihabad and, on the other hand, the expectations of the

52. Manrique, Travels of Fray Sebastien Manrique, 1629–​1643, 352; Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 148–​50. 53. Leider, “Specialists for Ritual, Magic, and Devotion.” Manrique’s account on the sacrifices and other rituals prescribed to Sīrisudhammarājā by his Muslim councilor refers to skills actually cultivated by Bengali Muslims. For instance, the ability to teach “the rules of mantras” and astrology stood among Māgan’s qualities in the poet’s praise. Several passages of Ālāol’s texts also show his knowledge of yogic, tantric practices, and astrology. See, for instance, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 31, 83; “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 203–​4; “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 329, 501. 54. Catherine Raymond, “Etude des relations religieuses entre le Sri Lanka et l’Arakan du XIIe au XVIIe siècle,” Journal Asiatique 283, no. 2 (1995), 469–​501; Jacques P. Leider, “Relics, Statues, and Predictions: Interpreting an Apocryphal Sermon of Lord Buddha in Arakan,” Asian Ethnology 68, no. 2 (2009), 333–​64. 55. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 166–​9.

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milieu constituted by the sabhās of Mrauk U.  Moreover, Padmāvatī is a sum of his literary erudition and a seminal work for Ālāol’s literary career. Padmāvatī contains the basic components of his entire poetics, which certainly contributed to making this poem a success during the lifetime of its author and after. Other than the recycling of motifs and passages in his later poems, the very fact that the plot of what would be his last poem, Sikāndarnāmā, is summed up in Padmāvatī shows that his inaugural poem reflects his literary culture as a whole—​with its regional and supra-​ regional features.56 At the outset of his career, therefore, by composing Padmāvatī, the author provided an epitome of his ars poetica from which the rest of his poems would derive.57 Similar to Niẓāmī (ca. 1141–​1209), his model in Persian literature, who completed his first poem Makhzan al-​asrār in 1174–​1175, Ālāol was probably around forty years old when he composed the first opus of what would also be a quintet of narrative poems.58 He had finished his training in literature long ago.59 He displayed a large part of his knowledge to gain standing in the gatherings of the capital. The multiple traditional references, the diversity in his style, and the polyphony emanating from his discourse answered the needs of a milieu whose cosmopolitism ensured a thriving prosperity. To put it differently, Ālāol was the man who could

56.  For instance, the digression on saṅgīta and the description of the heroine’s beauty in Saptapaẏkar are taken from Padmāvatī, and the invocation in Tohphā is repeated verbatim in Sikāndarnāmā. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 25–​7; “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 247–​51; “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 411; “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 303–​4. On parallels between Padmāvatī and Saẏphulmuluk, see Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature, 218–​22. 57. Most of the technical digressions on poetics and lyrical arts studied in Chapter 5 of the present monograph are from Padmāvatī and Saptapaẏkar. 58. The composition of a collection of mathnawīs was usually undertaken by mature poets, as is also shown by the example of Niẓāmī, who was over forty when he composed the first poem of his Khamsa, Makhzan al-​asrār (ca. 1166), and Jāmī (d. 1492), who wrote most of the poems of his Haft awrang [Seven Thrones] when he was already an old man. See Domenico Parrello, “Ḵamsa of Neẓāmi,” in Encyclopædia Iranica, Online Edition, 2010, http://​www.iranicaonline.org/​articles/​kamsa-​of-​nezami; Hamid Algar, Jami, Makers of Islamic Civilization (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2013), 72–​83. 59.  Thanks to the several autobiographical accounts left by seventeenth-​and eighteenth-​ century munshīs, we have a rather clear idea of the curriculum of Indo-​Persian literati during this period. It seems like the bulk of the classics—​that is Saʿdī, Niẓāmī, ʿAṭṭār, Ḥāfiẓ, and Jāmī—​were read by the age of fifteen. See Muzaffar Alam and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “The Making of a Munshi,” in Writing the Mughal World:  Studies on Culture and Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 311–​38.

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give coherence to an otherwise heterogeneous milieu, and Padmāvatī was a public statement that proved his ability to perform this duty. Ālāol developed an interest in Jāyasī’s poetry because of his Indo-​ Afghan background. He does not neglect to introduce the Avadhi poet as a Sufi who is affiliated with the Chishtiyya brotherhood. Chishtīs were present in Arakan before Ālāol arrived in the capital. Āśraph Khān was himself a follower of the Hanafi school of Islamic law, and he was affiliated with the Chishtiyya [hānāphī mojhāba dhare cisti khānadāna].60 Although Avadhi romances circulated far beyond the milieu of specific Sufi brotherhoods, one can assume that the adab of the brotherhood to which the author belonged influenced the poem. Ālāol’s obvious interest in music and dance agrees with the role given to those practices in Chishtī rituals.61 The Chishtiyya became prominent in North India and actively contributed to the inclusion of regional cultural items in the adab of Muslims on the subcontinent—​a phenomenon in which Ālāol’s oeuvre also partakes. One could qualify this adab as humanistic in that it has a cultural horizon opened to the multifarious means of acquiring knowledge of God and human nature. This “humanistic” adab is characteristic of the first phase of Ālāol’s career. The influence of such an open-​ended adab gradually faded to give way to a more conventional one that was derived from the intellectual and devotional reforms of Muslim spirituality in the cosmopolitan centers in the seventeenth century. Among the cultural idioms forming the horizons of Ālāol’s humanistic adab stood Sanskrit, to which the poet often turned. Amīr Khusraw (d. 1325), who was an eminent member of the Chishtiyya and a Persian court poet and musician, had already stated in his Nuh sipihr [The Nine Spheres], an encyclopedic poem praising the qualities of Hindustan, that

60.  See Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 5.  The Chishtiyya was also present in Fatihabad, for instance, among the descendants of Sayyid Shāh ʿAlī Baghdādī (ca. fifteenth century CE) who was otherwise associated with the figure of ʿAbd al-​Qādir Jīlānī (1078–​1166). See Ghulam Samdani Quraishy, “Phatehābāder āuliyā-​kāhinī,” Bāṃlā Ekāḍemī Patrikā 5, no. 3 (1368): 64–​84. Regarding the introduction of the Chishtiyya in Bengal, see Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760, 82–​94; Latif, The Muslim Mystic Movement in Bengal, 1301–​1550, 18–​38. 61. Carl W. Ernst, Eternal Garden: Mysticism, History, and Politics at a South Asian Sufi Center, SUNY Series in Muslim Spirituality (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992), 147–​ 54; Thierry Zarcone, “Central Asian Influence on the Early Development of the Chishtiyya Sufi Order in India,” in The Making of Indo-​Persian Culture, Indian and French Studies, ed. Muzaffar Alam, Françoise “Nalini” Delvoye, and Marc Gaborieau (New Delhi:  Manohar Publishers, 2000), 99–​116.

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he would have eulogized his own ruler in Sanskrit if had been able to master it.62 Without entirely falling for the Sanskrit muse, Ālāol abundantly borrowed from its lexicon and frequently referred to its authors—​the theoreticians as well as the poets.63 I have already posited that Sanskrit played the role of a shared reference in the composite courtly culture of Arakan. The recourse to Sanskrit to increase the prestige of the regional idiom and to perform the task commissioned by his patron is explicit in Padmāvatī. When, after Māgan’s death in 1656 and the 1661 crisis, his patrons withdrew from the close circle of the royal household, Sanskrit literary culture lost its relevance. In his later works the language of the Bengali poet is slightly less homogenous in its recourse to Sanskrit loan words, and it contains an increasing number of Persian lexical items. Arguing along a similar line, similes and metaphors involved fewer and fewer Puranic characters and themes.64 Finally, he stopped referring to Sanskrit authors and quoting from Sanskrit śāstras in technical digressions. Other than the scarce recourse to the Persian lexicon, the explicit reference to this literary tradition in Padmāvatī informs us about the Persian component of Ālāol’s reading and understanding of the Avadhi poem. Persian literary culture is used to unpack some passages of the Avadhi source text. Hence the Bengali poet mentions ʿAṭṭār’s Manṭiq al-​ṭayr to explain what a phoenix is, and he relates the story of Sikandar to discuss treason against a ruler that has been committed by his courtiers.65 The reference to the two poems establishes an intertextual relationship within the framework of Ālāol’s reception of the Avadhi text. This recourse to features taken from Persian narratives contrasts with the poet’s use of Sanskrit aesthetics to interpret and transpose the source text into the regional idiom. Persian was not so much used in the realm of aesthetics, but, rather, allowed the poet to establish thematic parallels aimed at

62. Sunil Sharma, Amir Khusraw: The Poet of Sufis and Sultans, Makers of the Muslim World (Oxford: Oneworld, 2005), 87. 63. For a detailed discussion on Ālāol’s recourse to Sanskrit language and theoretical knowledge, see infra, Chapter 5. Regarding the opening up of the Sanskrit episteme and the development of vernacular literary idioms in eastern South Asia, see infra, Chapter 7. 64.  This appears clearly in the analysis of the gītas provided in the present chapter. There is nonetheless one notable exception to this evolution in one sāqī-​nāma found in Sikāndarnāmā:  āisa guru deo kālikāra bāki surā | nāśiẏā kadarya hauka jñāna-​jyotipūrā || [Come master! pour the wine left in Kālikā’s cup, so that the dirt may be removed and I be filled with the light of knowledge.] Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 326. 65. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 43–​4, 135.

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enlightening the reader about the content of the source text. In the case of Padmāvatī, the subject under discussion in this particular passage is not openly spiritual, but the mention ʿAṭṭār’s text—​a landmark in the Persian tradition of analogical understanding of narrative poetry—​highlights the need for a spiritual reading of Jāyasī’s text. Using Ālāol’s terminology, it points to the fact that Padmāvatī, even though it is a “story of love and passion” [iśaka-​bhāva-​kathā], conveys a “discourse on essential realities” [tattva-​kathā]. By invoking the story of Sikandar, it becomes a “discourse on righteous behavior” [nīti-​kathā] that motivates the intertextual connection between Niẓāmī and Jāyasī.66 In the way that the poet crafted those reading patterns, one can observe how each tradition is assigned a specific role: Persian literature impacts his thematic reading, and Sanskrit literature conditions his aesthetic perception and rendering of the source text. To schematize the point I am making, one could say that in Ālāol’s texts, the form is Sanskrit whereas the content often turns out to be Persian. Formal diversity, self-​conscious references to a variety of literary traditions, and a will to edify and test the cultural refinement of the audience or readership, all of these features emphasize the courtliness of Ālāol’s early literary output. Vidyāpati and the poetry based on the archetypal figures of amorous passion that were Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa are also present, which connects Ālāol to the regional tradition of eastern South Asia (Nepal, Assam, and Orissa). The occasional use of Brajabuli helps forge a similar connection. The formal diversity of the composition coincides with a thematic variety that is rendered through the many poetic idioms with which he and his audience were at that point familiar. It would be erroneous to see this display of erudition as a mere reflection of the poet’s personality or as a correlate of some elitist culture. In a song that we examine later, Ālāol, borrowing the voice of a parrot, declares that he is fully aware of humankind’s multifariousness; it is this very awareness that made Bengali Muslims thrive in the context of Arakan. Therefore we should be attuned to the polyphony that characterizes Ālāol’s first opus and see it as the result of a conscious will to both celebrate and enrich his patrons’ cosmopolitan adab, which was the raison d’être of their grandeur [mahattva] at the court of Arakan.

66.  These terms are used by Ālāol to introduce the five poems of Niẓāmī’s khamsa:  “discourse on essential realities” [tattva-​kathā] qualifies Makhzan al-​asrār, “story of love and passion” [iśaka-​bhāva-​kathā] is for Laylī u Majnūn, and “discourse on righteous behavior” [nīti-​kathā] covers Sikandarnāma, Khusrau u Shīrīn, and Haft paykar. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 199.

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The song of the parrot Hīrāmaṇi, who is captured by a bird-​catcher, is typical of Ālāol’s early poems. The song contains elements that will progressively impress themselves upon his literary career: Song on the rāga kedāra67 śravaṇa-​naẏana : mana-​buddhi-​jñāna : eka nā āsae kāje | My ears, my eyes, my mind’s wit and knowledge, none of these is of any use. All labor and studies are as vain as the pastime of a drama; only He exists within. 1 Pondering death and immortality, I learned nothing of their ways; all men are different. Brother, come and help me, I am in a critical place. People hear from the master’s mouth: 2 One enjoys and then suffers, fate is fickle; danger follows prosperity. After its sixteen phases, the moon disappears; Rāhu completely swallows it. 3 Father, mother, children, wife, and friends, none can rescue you in times of trouble. Only the service of the one attributeless God by the denizens of this world68 brings across and annihilates all dangers. 4 The humble Ālāol says: hold on tight to steadiness, and the Master of fate will provide. First among the esthetes, satisfier of the connoisseurs, generous is the noble Māgan!695 67. Ālāol locates the rāga kedāra in sixth position among the night rāga [rātribhāga]. Ālāol, “Rāgtālnāmā o padāvalī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 600. Here is the dhyāna Kedāra in the Saṅgītadarpaṇa:  jaṭāṃ dadhānaḥ sita-​ candra-​ maulir nāgottarīyo dhr̥ta-​yogapīṭhaḥ | gaṅgādhara-​dhyāna-​nimagna-​cittaḥ kedāra-​rāgaḥ kathitas tapasvī || [The raga Kedāra is said to be an ascetic, whose mind is drowned in meditation on Gaṅgādhara (Śiva), observing the yogapīṭha posture, wearing a snake as upper garment, crowned by the white moon, and having plaited his hair.] Translation by A. Bake. Dāmodara Miśra, Saṅgīta-​darpaṇa. The Mirror of Music. Bydrage tot de kennis der voot-​indische muziek, trans. Arnold Adriaan Bake (Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1930), 50–​1, [2.86]. The dhyāna is not given in the Saṅgītadāmodara. 68. The word eka [only, unique] in the compound eka-​nirañjana-​jaga-​jana-​sevana may modify either sevana [service] or nirañjana [the attributeless God]. The poet probably used this formulation on purpose. 69. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 19–​20. Compare with Ālāol, Padmāvatī, ed. Bandyopadhyay, 2:53.

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First, it is interesting to note that the dhyāna of rāga Kedāra depicts the musical mode as an ascetic, which perfectly agrees with the general atmosphere of the song.70 In the Bengali text, the first verse of the refrain is in short tripadī and the second verse is in dīrgha or long tripadī.71 The other sections of the gīta are composed in the latter meter. In this very typical gīta, we observe that the refrain very clearly sets the theme of the song, that is, disillusionment toward the world that emerges from awareness of separation from the presence of God. Following the definition of the dhruvaka-​prabandha that is given in the Saṅgītadāmodara, the signature, or concluding line [ābhoga], contains the names of the poet [kavi] and of the “hero” [nāyaka], who can be either the protagonist of the poem or the patron, and who are often both.72 The theme of this first gīta may be categorized as a “discourse on the essential principles” [tattva-​kathā]. The protagonist—​in this case, the erudite parrot Hīrāmaṇi—​has been caught by a bird-​catcher, which puts an end to the freedom he enjoyed in the forest, when he was revered by all birds for his profound knowledge. Already, in Jāyasī’s poem, the character of the parrot meets the figure of the poet and his voice becomes that of the author in the narrative. In this song, the envoi opens with an injunction of the poet toward his audience that reinforces the common identity of Hīrāmaṇi and Ālāol. The unexpected danger that the bird has to face makes him realize how fragile his happiness was and how vain his erudition is turning out to be. The sudden awareness of the impermanence of this world is an invitation to renunciation. The ultimate goal is to escape the experience [bhoga] of both suffering and happiness [duḥkha-​ sukha] by a complete resignation to divine will. The supreme virtue in

70.  Throughout the monograph I  provide in the footnotes some basic information about the rāgas associated with each song. To remain as close as possible to Ālāol’s own perception of these musical modes, I  draw my comments from the fragments of treatises on musicology attributed to Ālāol and from the main two Sanskrit manuals on saṅgīta that he used:  Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara and Dāmodara’s Saṅgītadarpaṇa. Sometimes the poetic representations of the rāgas [dhyānas] clearly resonate with the content of the songs, other times it is less obvious. But because these mental images must have been summoned in the mind of the listeners when recognizing the rāga, I think it is necessary for today’s readers to develop an awareness of those poetic associations. On musicology, aesthetics, and vernacular connoisseurship, see infra, Chapter 7. 71. See Appendix 2 for the definitions of the various meters and original text of the songs discussed in this and the following chapters. 72.  ābhoge kavi-​ nāma syāt tathā nāyaka-​ nāma ca | Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Gaurinath Sastri and Govindagopal Mukhopadhyay (Calcutta: Sanskrit College, 1960), 42.

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this path is “steadfastness” [dhairaja/​dhairya] and complete trust in God’s benevolence.73 The first verse of the opening stanza [ārambha] evinces the poet’s familiarity with various schools of thought from which he wishes to distance himself. It would be hazardous to engage in an overly detailed interpretation of the poet’s discourse here, but I would suggest that, in the context of eastern Bengal and Arakan, the expression “pondering on life and immortality” refers to the tantric beliefs and practices that pervaded the religious life of the region. The poet appears to criticize the vanity of attempts to preserve the existence of the body, a crucial aim of tantric yogic practices. The notion of sevana [service] of God also has devotional overtones and points to a shared vocabulary with bhakti literatures.74 But here I  would also argue for an Islamic reading of the notion of sevana and equate it with tawakkul, or total acceptance of the divine will.75 The focus on steadfastness also locates Ālāol within the attempt of Bengali Muslims who were his contemporaries to distance themselves from Vaiṣṇavism on moral grounds.76 In the discourse of Muslim authors from Chittagong and Bhulua, Kr̥ṣṇa is blamed for his lack of steadfastness and his games with the cowherds’ wives. In the Islamic tradition, a countermodel to Kr̥ṣṇa was thus put forward in the character of Yūsuf,

73.  d’Hubert, “La réception d’un succès littéraire persan dans les campagnes du Bengale,” 121–​38 74.  Regarding yogic practices and the recourse to Indic terminology by Bengali Sufis in eastern Bengal, see Stewart, “In Search of Equivalence,” 260–​87; France Bhattacharya, “Un texte du Bengale médiéval: Le yoga du kalandar (Yoga-​kalandar),” Bulletin de l’Ecole française d’Extrême Orient 90, no. 1 (2003), 69–​99; Hatley, “Mapping the Esoteric Body in the Islamic Yoga of Bengal,” 351–​68. About critics of tantric practices by Muslim authors across the Bay of Bengal, in Sumatra, see Vladimir Braginsky, “The Science of Women and the Jewel: The Synthesis of Tantrism and Sufism in a Corpus of Mystical Texts From Aceh,” Indonesia and the Malay World 32, no. 93 (2004): 141–​75. 75. The notion of tawakkul is illustrated in the tales of Mardān’s Sādhur vacan, which are clearly inspired by the Kalīla wa Dimna tradition, probably through Wāʿiẓ Kāshifī’s version titled Anwār-​i suhaylī. A  chapter is devoted to tawakkul in Yūsuf Gadā’s versified treatise. Yūsuf Gadā, Tuḥfa-​yi naṣāʾiḥ, 48–​9; Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 434. Tawakkul is also a central notion in ʿAbd al-​Qādir Jīlānī’s writings, which Ālāol must have had some familiarity with because he was formally initiated in the Qādirī order. See, for instance, the sixteenth discourse devoted to tawakkul in Shaykh ʿAbd al-​Qādir Jīlānī, Revelations of the Unseen: A Collection of Seventy-​Eight Discourses of Shaikh ʿAbd Al-​Qadir Al-​Jilani, trans. Muhtar Holland (Houston, TX: Al-​Baz Publishing, 1999), 42–​4. 76. F. Bhattacharya, “Hari the Prophet”; d’Hubert, “La réception d’un succès littéraire persan dans les campagnes du Bengale.”

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who resisted Zulaykhā’s attempts to seduce him. The vocabulary that the courtly poet uses in this song resonates with the contemporary religious literature produced in the region. It shows how Ālāol uses the gītas to position himself and his milieu within the religious landscape of the time. A superficial interpretation of the Sanskritized vocabulary of this passage, when taken in isolation from the contemporary trends of Bengali Muslim literature, would lead to a misunderstanding of the rather strong claim for a distinct religious identity. Ālāol’s discourse on religion is never syncretistic, and all throughout his career in Mrauk U he puts his Muslim identity at the forefront. As he declares it himself (in the voice of the parrot), he knows men and their differences. The crystallization of religious identities that I see in the evolution of his oeuvre is not the result of a sudden conversion to a more orthodox form of Islam that was formerly ignored by the poet and his milieu. It is, rather, the gradual withdrawal of the alternative voices that are present in this gīta. On doctrinal and aesthetic planes, the poet gradually removed elements associated with the regional culture from his discourse to identify his poetry more closely with his Persian models. Sanskrit literary culture was a shared reference in the Arakanese courtly culture of the time. I thus consider the Sanskrit vocabulary, the references to śāstras, kāvyas, and itihāsas, and the frequent recourse to the conventions of Sanskrit poetics attempts to provide access to his text to a larger courtly audience. The aesthetic emotion par excellence of Sanskritized literary culture in the late medieval and early modern periods was śr̥ṅgāra [the erotic]. Padmāvatī displays many features of śr̥ṅgāra literature in its two constitutive forms:  separation and union. The gītas contained in Padmāvatī highlight the śr̥ṅgāra-​rasa. Among the thirteen gītas that we have surveyed, the one previously discussed is the only not to be based on this aesthetic emotion.77 The first example of śr̥ṅgāra-​rasa gīta illustrates love in separation [viraha]. It is preceded by a riddle, the meaning of which is given in the notes:78 Rāga, dīrgha-​chanda sāraṅga-​ari-​rahita : tāhāna bāndhava-​mita : tāra suta pracaṇḍa pratāpa |

77. See Appendix 2 for a survey of the gītas in Ālāol’s works. 78. Ālāol, Padmāvatī, ed. Debnath Bandyopadhyay, vol. 2, 144.

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He is freed from Love his foe;79 he has many friends;80 his son is fiercely brave;81 his son is the master;82 he is the good son of the sage; his enemy cursed me.831 Hey my friend! Pay attention to my speech!84 Doubling the world and filling it with the sun, I drank half of it!852 [Song] on the rāga śrīgāndhāra kahu, trichanda tumi pakṣī priẏatama : saṅkaṭa kailā suṣama | Dearest of birds, you made simple what was hard; why does this story turn so badly giving way to hardships? 1 Listen parrot, listen to my request! (Refrain) 2 Go tell the king my heart’s longing, all the pain in his body hurts my soul. 3 The cruel fire of separation is deadly to my vital breaths; not manifesting himself in the triple-​world, 79. In this verse Love is called Sāraṅga in reference to a famous gīta of Vidyāpati. In this poem sāraṅga is used five times with four different meanings, including that of Kāma—​the god of love. Vidyāpati Ṭhākura, Padāvalī, 21, song no. 25. Note that I read sāraṅga-​ari-​rahita instead of sāraṅga arira hita (literally “beneficial to his enemy, Love”). The reference here is to Śiva who burned Love who came to distract him from his meditation. 80. The close synonyms bāndhava and mita (Skt. mitra) refer to the “troupe” of Śiva’s followers, the gaṇas. 81.  One of Śiva’s sons is Kārttikeya, also called Skanda. His fierce braveness refers to his status of god of war. 82. The “master” [pati] of the gaṇas is Gaṇapati, better known as Gaṇeśa, Śiva’s other son. 83. His “enemy” is Love, as indicated in the first verse. Padmāvatī says that she was struck by Love’s arrows and now she undergoes the torments of separation from her lover. D.  Bandyopadhyay observes that the first riddle that ends with this line is not present in his manuscript and he found it only in the Baṭtalā and Shahidulla editions. It has not been construed by the other editors of Padmāvatī. The second part was convincingly explained by D. Bandyopadhyay. Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, 2:144. 84. This line, which could be taken as a mere formula of the oral context of performance of the gīta, actually indicates that we are dealing with a riddle and that this passage requires the undivided attention of the reader. 85.  Here the poet uses a chronogram to formulate the conclusion:  bhuvana [the earth] equates to fourteen; multiplied by two we obtain twenty-​eight. To this one must add tapana [the sun], a synonym of āditya whose numerical value is twelve. The total sum is forty, and the protagonist says she drank half of it, that is, 20/​biśa, which in Bengali is homonymous with the Sanskrit viṣa [poison]. She drank the poison of separation that threatened her life.

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he keeps piercing me with his stake. 4 As the fruit of previous austerities, he obtained a due favor. By subverting this good work Fate became wicked. 5 What wit, what force shall I use to save my life? The fire of separation was stirred up. I will hurt myself and die! 6 I pondered in my heart, there is no other way. From now on, whatever fate the Lord will bring will be my lot. 7 A treasure trove of amorous delight, of utmost beauty and skills, such is the jewel that He showed to me. Why did God take him away from me? 8 For my love’s sake, the king became an ascetic; if when death comes he is not saved, I will be guilty of murder. 9 I saw the dangers God sent to me, my heart is restless. Since you have wings, leave behind shame and fear, and fly next to him. 10 He is the king among connoisseurs, an ocean of generosity, righteousness embodied! On the noble Māgan’s request the humble Ālāol sings.8611 A constant search for formal diversity and a taste for riddles and puns are characteristic of Ālāol’s early career. The formal diversity can be observed in the example just given. Beyond the traditional elements of the gīta that are the refrain [dhruvaka], the opening [udgrāha or ārambha], the alternative phrases [antarās], and the envoi [ābhoga/​bhaṇitā], this example contains a kind of prelude.87 It is metrically distinct from the narrative section that precedes it and from the song itself. The song is composed in trichanda meter, a relatively elaborate syllabic meter that consists of five prosodic segments of 8, 8, 6, 6, and 8 feet, with a rhyming pattern aabba.88 86. Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, 2:144; “Padmāvatī,”in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 53; compare with Jāyasī, Padmāvat, ed. Mataprasad Gupta (Allahabad, India: Bhāratī Bhaṇḍāra, 1973) stanza 19. 87. On the structure of gītas as prescribed in saṅgīta-​śāstras, see infra, Chapter 5, “Extending the paradigm of Bengali literary performance.” 88.  See D.  Bandyopadhya’s comments on the prosody of this song in Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, 2:40–​41; W. Ahmed, Bāṃlā sāhitya koṣ (prācīn o madhyayug), 138, s.v. “Chanda.” Note that Ahmed’s analysis is right, whereas Bandyopadhyay’s is not.

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The rāga of the riddle section is not indicated. The prologue to Padmāvatī already contained enigmatic formulations and riddles. Kāma, the god of love, was also the subject of such riddles in the prologue. In that passage, the poet established a connection between the five arrows of the god with the five metrical units of the word virahiṇī (i.e., a woman suffering from the separation from her beloved).89 The erudition of his discourse and the reference to śr̥ṅgāra reinforce the mundane dimension of what I  would call Ālāol’s poetics of iṅgitas [signs]. Here, iṅgita is associated with the genre of the prahelikā [riddle] as a way to test the audience’s ingenuity, and, in the context of the sabhā, their cultural refinement—​two qualities that are conveyed by the term catura.90 The poetics of iṅgita tends to lose its mundane aspect in the later phase of his career and will serve spiritual ends under the growing influence of Niẓāmī’s poetics on Ālāol.91 The gīta is organized in a conventional way; it is an illustration of viraha whose prema-​rasa overtones are expressed through the evocation of the communion of the vital breaths.92 The topic of the “message” is subordinate to that of viraha. The supplication of the heroine and the multiple evocations of the “Master of Fate” [vidhi] bring this song closer to a prayer. When Ālāol composes gītas on the elegiac mode [vilāpa], he uses the conventions of viraha, which in turn becomes a pretext for the formulation of a spiritual discourse.93 In Ālāol’s poetics, the lament becomes the main

89. prema hante janme viraha tina akṣara | pañcākṣara virahiṇī lakṣya pañcaśara || [From love are born the three syllables of viraha; the five syllables (sic) of “the woman suffering from separation” (virahiṇī) are the targets of Love’s five arrows.] Note that for virahiṇī Ālāol should have used the word mātrā [morae] rather than akṣara [syllable]; the word contains four syllables but five morae. 90.  The term catura is associated with “eloquent speech” [bhāratī] in the name of the Brahman Bhāratīcatur in Satī Maẏnā (see supra, Chapter  2). The context of sociability of the composition of prahelikās, as well as their role to communicate in public venues is put forward in Daṇḍin’s definition of the genre in Kāvyādarśa 3.97:  krīḍā-​goṣṭhī-​vinodeṣu taj-​jñair ākīrṇa-​mantraṇe | para-​vyāmohane cāpi sopayogāḥ prahelikāḥ || [Connoisseurs use riddles in the games of playful gatherings, when conversing with informed people in a crowded venue, and to fool a third person.] Dragomir Dimitrov, Śabdālaṃkāradoṣavibhāga—​ die Unterscheidung der Lautfiguren und der Fehler:  Kritische Ausgabe des dritten Kapitels von Dandins Poetik “Kāvyādarśa” und der tibetischen Übertragung “Sñan ṅag loṅ” samt dem Sanskrit-​ Kommentar des Ratnaśrījñāna, dem tibetischen Kommentar des Dpaṅ Blo gros brtan pa und einer deutschen Übersetzung des Sanskrit-​Grundtextes, vol. 2, Veröffentlichungen der Helmuth von Glasenapp-​Stiftung. Monographien (Wiesbaden, Germany: Harrassowitz, 2011), 265, 368. 91. See infra, Chapter 5, “Analogical and suggestive speech: Upamā and iṅgita.” 92. For a definition of prema-​rasa in the context of Ālāol’s works, see infra, Chapter 5, “The nine rasas and the prema-​rasa.” 93.  The term vilāpa is used once in the edited text of Saẏphulmuluk in the paratext of a song. The Bangla Academy manuscript, though, does not have this indication and gives

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locus for the expression of prema-​rasa in its most accomplished form, that is, viraha.94 In his later poems, the poet gave up this poetic pretext as he departed from regional aesthetics. The gītas that I have studied so far, despite being characteristic of the style of his early career, addressed themes that are found throughout his works. However, the other aspect of śr̥ṅgāra, that is, sambhoga [the experience of love in union], which, according to the poetics of the prema-​rasa, is inferior to viraha, tends to disappear not from his entire works but at least from his gītas. To sum up the views of the tradition on this subject, let us just say that poetically and spiritually, sambhoga does not allow for the idea of the all-​pervasiveness of the beloved as much as viraha does. Because of its spatial and temporal unity—​the lovers meet in a given place at a specific time—​sambhoga does not invite the lover to interact with Creation as a whole as it does when he is moved by viraha. Viraha gives the world its measure in human experience, whereas sambhoga tends to isolate the lovers from worldly things and from the unity of existence.95 This isolation is what Ālāol’s story of Satī Maẏnā demonstrates: Lor, after being united with Candrāṇī, withdrew from the business of the world, thus throwing the kingdom in a perilous situation.96 Thankfully, Maẏnā, whose clear-​ mindedness was kept awake by the sting of viraha, succeeds in reminding the king of his duty. The following gīta illustrates sambhoga when Ratnasen returns to Nāgamati in Chitor. She is the one who utters the lyrics of this song: Song on the rāga suhi97 āji sukhera nāhi ora : ānande mana bibhora : Today my delight is boundless, rāga pāhira instead. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 530; “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no. 185/​ā 32, fol. 77r. 94. The hierarchy of śr̥ṅgāra is discussed in the next chapter. 95. The idea of the superiority of viraha’s [separation’s] superiority over sambhoga [union] in cosmological terms has been elegantly expressed by the poetician Viśvanāth in his Sāhityadarpaṇa (vr̥tti ad 10.36): saṅgama-​viraha-​vikalpe varam iha viraho, na saṅgamas tasyāḥ | saṅge saiva tathaikā, tribhuvanam api tan-​mayaṃ virahe || [When assessing which of union or separation prevails, it is certainly separation, not union with her;/​in union, she is here and that’s it, but in separation the entire world is made of her.] 96. See supra, Chapter 2. 97. According to Ālāol suhi is in fourth position among the rāgas to be performed by day [divā-​bhāga]. Ālāol, “Rāgtālnāmā o padāvalī,” 600. There is no dhyāna for suhi in the Saṅgītadāmodara and the Saṅgītadarpaṇa.

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My heart is ecstatic with joy. Long did I wait for my master, deep in my heart’s fantasies. My handsome lover is home! 1 He is a treasure-​trove of nectar and delight offered [to me] by God, the master of fate. After revering God diligently, my desire was fulfilled. 2 The wind, cuckoo, and moon, sandal paste, flowers and bees, were foes and now are my allies; how sweet are the arrows of Love! 3 The rutting elephant of separation, with his entire army, to Hari’s sight and when touching his limbs, was defeated along with his men. 4 He is an excellent connoisseur and wise man whose beauty conquers Love [himself ]! On the noble Māgan’s demand the humble Ālāol speaks.985 Once again the meter is the elaborate trichanda. Contrasting with the poet’s other gītas, the refrain is composed in the same meter as the couplets. But the content of the first stanza clearly spells out the theme of the gīta and may allow us to identify it as the refrain of the song. Debnath Bandyopadhyay rightly saw in this gīta a reference to Vidyāpati’s poetry.99 This reference is also suggested by the terms used in the opening stanza and the very punctual use of Brajabuli forms (bhela, third person, the simple past of ho-​, “to be”) among the otherwise highly Sanskritized lyrics of the song. The term bhāna (unmarked third person of the simple present of the verb bhān-​, “to speak”) in the signature line also points to Brajabuli influences.100 98. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 95. 99. Vidyāpati’s poem starts with the following distich: ki kahaba he sakhī ānanda ora | cira-​ dina mādhava mandire mora || [Friend, how could I  tell you how happy I  am?/​Mādhava came to my home after such a long time.] Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, 2:43; Vidyāpati Ṭhākura, Vidyāpati-​padāvalī (tirsrā bhāg) [baṃgāl meṃ upalabdha Vidyāpati ke padoṃ kā saṃgraha], ed. Lakṣmīpati Siṃha et al., vol. 3 (Patna, India: Bihāra-​Rāshṭabhāṣā-​Parishad, 1961), 271–​3, song no. 178. 100. For instance compare with Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Padāvalī, songs no. 706, 707, 711.

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Sambhoga [union] is introduced in contrast with viraha [separation]. For the reasons previously discussed, the delight of union is relocated in the perspective of separation to enhance its value. The poet recalls that union is the fruit of ascetic practices and prayers. The song celebrating the union of the two lovers becomes a prayer of thanksgiving [śukrānā namāj].101 Prema-​rasa and religious piety always go hand-​in-​ hand in Ālāol’s poetry. The conventions of Sanskrit literature once again appear to be a pretext for the expression of a religious message. Despite the differences between the account that is related by the heroine in the previous gīta and the one that is present here, the coherence of the discourse on prema-​rasa builds a framework in which the images complete one another. Therefore, previously, God, the master of fate, seemed to have deceived the heroine by taking away her “treasure-​trove of amorous delight” and now he is the one who offers this same “treasure-​trove of nectar and delight.” In the third stanza, the poet plays with the conventional images of viraha. When separated from your lover, all the pleasures of life seem to lose their flavor. The lover suffers endless torments, and the remedies brought to her are useless and only kindle her pain. The return of the lover revives her taste for life and the arrows that Love keeps shooting at the heart of the former virahiṇī feel like a refreshing delight. The martial metaphor of the following stanza (4) combines poetry on Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa (suggested by the name Hari [i.e., Viṣṇu/​Kr̥ṣṇa]) to the image of the ascetic struggling against the intoxication of passion.102 The signature line agrees with the content of the gīta, and the patron is praised for his refined ways and beauty that “conquers Love himself.” The gītas of Padmāvatī that we have looked at illustrate the variety of Ālāol’s styles in his early career. We observe the use of elaborate prosodic patterns, a very Sanskritized vocabulary, and an occasional recourse to Brajabuli terms. The religious dimension is always present, even in gītas that convey śr̥ṅgāra-​rasa through conventional imagery. We witness in the combination between spiritual outbursts and erotic literature the hallmark of the prema-​rasa that suffuses the entire poem and is defined by Ālāol from 101. The term śukrānā namāja is used in the last distich of section 5 in Tohphā and in the tale of the goldsmith’s wife in Saẏphulmuluk. Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 420; Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” fol. 19v. 102. Compare the image of the rutting elephant of passion in this stanza with its different treatment in the opening stanza of the song in rāga Suhi: viẏoginī abhilāṣa-​rasa-​raṅge: matta mātaṅginī (infra).

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the outset. It is noteworthy that the privileged mode of expression for the prema-​rasa in the poet’s first work is the elegy. This choice contrasts with the symbolic of erotic Vaiṣṇava literature and reveals the meeting of the Sufi viraha of Avadhi literature with the laments [vilāpas, khedas] that are found in Bengali pāc̃ ālīs. In the context of Ālāol’s works, the lament of the parrot prepares the ground for Niẓāmīan pessimism and the thoughts on the impermanence of this world that are so dear to classical Persian poetry.

Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl:  Cosmopolitanism in Mrauk U’s sabhās The royal eulogy in Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl portrays a harmonious courtly milieu and an Arakanese kingship that is reaching the summit of its prosperity. The depiction of the courtly milieu and of its activities is a very subjective rendering of the Arakanese political and economic situation. The irenic figure of the king who is conceived through the prism of the religious identities of his subjects and the preeminence of overseas trade are the products of an idealized vision of the kingdom from the perspectives of Muslim dignitaries.103 After Satuiḥdhammarājā’s death in 1652, his son Candasudhammarājā (who was only thirteen or fourteen years old at the time) succeeded him on the throne.104 The majlis Nabarāj, who was the representative of the capital’s Muslim community and future patron of Ālāol, was present during this ceremony and gave an oath in front of the king.105 A period of approximately four years of regency marked the beginning of his rule. The power was effectively in the hands of the former king’s widow Ratanākumārī and the members of the royal council. Ālāol relates all of these events in the prologue of Saẏphulmuluk.106 He mentions the ministers’ interventions and the queen’s undertaking of the kingdom’s business (assisted by her first dignitary and childhood tutor, Māgan Ṭhākur). Contrary to what 103. See supra, Chapter 2 and Thibaut d’Hubert and Jacques P. Leider, “Traders and Poets at the Mrauk U Court,” 345–​79. 104. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 176. 105. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 313. The presence of the majlis (manjlis in Dutch sources) seems to have been traditionally part of the coronation ceremony. “[ . . . ] Dutch sources from early 1636 mention that manjlis, the representative of all foreign merchants in Arakan, had a role during the coronation of the Arakanese king.” Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 142. 106. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 456.

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has been claimed by some scholars, Māgan himself was probably not the regent or prime minister.107 Ālāol states that he was only the “first dignitary of the great queen” [mahādevī-​mukhya-​pātra] because of his competence and his loyalty to the royal family. However we can assume that, considering the new responsibility of the king’s widow, he may have had some influence on the governance of the kingdom. Dutch sources record that a “monk” played the role of tutor and regent for the young king; maybe he did assume a function equivalent to that of Māgan Ṭhākur vis-​à-​vis the queen. This monk was eventually banned in 1656 when Candasudhammarājā took up the charge of directly ruling the kingdom.108 It is possible that Māgan died during this political purge that put an end to the period of regency. In that case, we could conjecture that 1656 was the date at which Ālāol stopped composing Saẏphulmuluk. Māgan’s death also signaled the beginning of the Bengali Muslim dignitaries’ withdrawal to the margins of the Arakanese courtly household. In Saẏphulmuluk, Ālāol mentions the close friendship between Māgan and the dignitary who commissioned Satī Maẏnā in 1659, the treasurer Solemān. Māgan is introduced as the patron who commissioned Saẏphulmuluk, but the order happened during a gathering held at Solemān’s house. Ālāol praises the affection binding the treasurer and the first dignitary of the great queen. Their mutual affection is also reinforced by the fact that they both are disciples of the same spiritual master, pīr Māhāsum (i.e., Maʿṣūm). One can also see a political significance in the eulogy of the two dignitaries who may be identified as “the two eunuchs of the privy council.”109 We then get a sense of the significance of Sufi affiliations and literary patronage during a period of regency when the cohesion within the royal household was crucial for the kingdom’s political equilibrium. The two dignitaries displayed the sincerity of their relationship as brothers in faith and publicly claimed their mutual and perennial trust in one another both during a banquet and through commissioning a poem that would record the event and this particular moment in the kingdom’s history.110

107.  Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature, 67; Chowdhury, Bengal-​ Arakan Relations, 180. 108. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 177. 109. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal, 54. 110. Banquets were more than mere entertainments, and they were often the occasion of crucial political events. A banquet could be organized to celebrate the submission of an opponent. For instance, the last independent ruler of Bengal, the Afghan Dāʾūd Khān

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During the first three years of Candasudhammarājā’s reign, between 1652 and 1655, taxes were suspended to encourage trade. One consequence was the resumption of business with the VOC. This development attracted merchants from abroad and probably contributed to increasing the wealth and power of Ālāol’s patrons. The visits of foreign merchants meant further exposure to cultural influences from abroad. The choice of Saẏphulmuluk, a story that relates the maritime odyssey of a young Egyptian prince, perfectly fits the circumstances. In the story of Ratanakalikā that is inserted in Satī Maẏnā, composed three years later, the fictional space of the tale reflects the geographical space of the commercial activities of Ālāol’s patrons. The composition of Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl shares a context that is similar to that of Padmāvatī. However, the communal dimension of the milieu of Mrauk U’s sabhā is more salient. The poem itself contains scenes of conversion, particularly one involving the fairy Nāmehā, in which the protagonist becomes a champion of Islam.111 As in Padmāvatī, prema-​rasa is dominant and is the subject of lengthy comments in the prologue as well as in the body of the narrative.112 The story of the goldsmith’s devoted wife, an edifying story [upamā] with satirical overtones that is related by a physician’s daughter to the protagonist, who suffers from viraha, illustrates the aesthetic variety of contemporary courtly culture: It contains mysticism, burlesque humor, and erotic scenes that strictly comply with the conventions of śr̥ṅgāra and the science of character types [nāẏaka-​nāẏikā-​bheda].113

Karrānī, was received by the Mughal officer Munʿim Khān on April 12, 1575. The shows that were displayed during banquets could have fateful consequences. For instance, Rājā Rāmacandra of Candradvipa allegedly killed Lakṣmaṇamāṇikya of Bhulua because he had mocked him in a play performed at his court. Similarly the sons of Murād Khān (d. 1595), who conquered Fatihabad for the Mughals, were killed during a banquet organized by Rājā Mukund of Bhusna. Abū al-​Faz̤l, The Akbarn̄ama of Abu-​l-​Fazl (A History of the Reign of Akbar Including an Account of His Predecessors), trans. Henry Beveridge, vol. 3, Bibliotheca Indica 138 (Calcutta: Printed at the Baptist Mission Press; published by the Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1907), 185; John Edward Webster, Noakhali, Eastern Bengal and Assam District Gazeteers 4 (Allahabad, India:  Pioneer Press, 1911), 16; Bhattacharyya, “A Forgotten Family of Royal Poets,” 20; Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760, 143. The function of the banquet in political negotiations is also illustrated by the one organized by Ratnasen for Ālāuddīn in Padmāvatī. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 111–​14. 111. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 501–​2. 112.  See for instance Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 10; “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 458. 113. See Appendix 1b.

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Saẏphulmuluk with Padmāvatī shares the theme of the amorous quest; both texts partake in the genre of Indo-​Persian love narratives.114 Romance poems typically contain two parts, each dealing with separation. The two parts are articulated through an episode that temporarily reunites the lovers after an initial separation; then the whole poem ends with a second, final reunion. In the first part, the protagonist must experience renouncement—​either of his own will, as in Padmāvatī, or because he loses everything during his quest, as in Saẏphulmuluk. The second part of the poem contrasts the experience of separation from the beloved and ascetic renunciation, which I would call the viraha of the yogī. The protagonist then recovers his rank in society, and he is united with his beloved for a short while before being separated again. Here begins the second phase of separation, which I would call the viraha of the bhogī—​that is, the separation endured by the worldly prince who enjoyed, though only for a brief moment, the pleasures of courtly life in the company of his beloved and who faces the challenges of his position as a political figure. The structural parallelism that is visible between Padmāvatī and Saẏphulmuluk leads me to consider them variations on a common theme. Despite the linguistic and formal differences between the source texts of each poem, they do belong to a common genre that is identified by Ālāol himself as iśaka-​ bhāva-​kathā: “discourses on/​stories of love and passion.” In terms of narration, what distinguishes both texts is the space that is given to the treatment of the hero’s quest. The travels of Prince Saẏphul provide occasions on which to tighten the narration with quick successions of brief episodes depicting each stage of his journey. The story also contains fairies, demons, and other kinds of beasts belonging to a fantastic register that is virtually absent from Padmāvatī. The theme of the journey and the fantastic register foreground the composition of two poems preceding the 1661 crisis:  Satī-​Maẏnā and Saptapaẏkar. Both the secondary story that is found in Satī Maẏnā and the last tale of Saptapaẏkar—​the latter being completely original when compared with Niẓāmī’s source text—​reuse motifs that are present in Saẏphulmuluk. The game of internal reference through the recycling of motifs from previous poems seems to have been an obvious way for the poet to reinforce the coherence of his oeuvre and strengthen the horizon of expectation of his audience. Therefore one should ponder the significance of the absence of such 114. See infra, ­chapter 7 on romance as a genre in South Asia from the fourteenth up to the eighteenth century.

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self-​referential practices after 1661: I read this absence as another sign of Ālāol’s progressive adoption of a less context-​sensitive and more conventional understanding of his art. The four first gītas of the first part of Saẏphulmuluk illustrate sambhoga. The first two songs are included in a secondary tale. The story is like a series of vignettes depicting the principal components of Ālāol’s courtly culture. The remaining two songs are included in the main story and they describe the beauty of the beloved in the nakha-​śikha mode. The following example occurs just before the first meeting between the two lovers: Rāga suhi115 viẏoginī abhilāṣa-​rasa-​raṅge : matta mātaṅginī : She was separated from her lover, but in the sweet game of love she is a rutting elephant; without her friends around, Love is her mahout. (Refrain) 1 Among crooked curls and glowing pearls, on her forehead shines vermillion; as if, approached by Rāhu, sun and moon were surrounded by a net of stars. 2 Her eyebrows are bows, kohl is on her eyes, heart-​shattering are her crooked glances; leaving behind his bow, losing his body, Love’s body bristles. 3 Her nostril is Garuḍa’s beak and her lips of ambrosia wait to be taken away. Charming the world, her teeth are pomegranate seeds in the sudden flash of her smile. 4 Her breasts, better than golden bilva fruits,116 are lit by the luster of her pearl necklace like the Bhāgīrathī on the head of Umā’s husband who follows him constantly.1175 The belt on her hips jingles harmoniously on her body’s fair complexion. Her golden anklets sound so sweetly

115. On rāga suhi, see previous note 97. 116. Bilva trees or Bel trees [aegle marmelos] have round, yellowish fruits. 117. The meaning of this line is not clear, and the meaning given here is entirely conjectured.

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and steal the hearts of sages who hear them. 6 She who feels love’s thirst no longer languishes and her gait swings slowly like the elephant’s. On Māgan’s demand, Ālāol speaks of this world-​enchanting beauty.1187 In accordance with most of Ālāol’s gītas, the refrain and the couplets are metrically distinct. The rhythm and musicality of the refrain ensue from the alliterations and assonances that run through it. This sound texture is also present in the couplets composed in candrāvalī (also called laghu tripadī), a short and dense meter in which sound effects are valorized. The theme combines the end of viraha and the description of the beauty’s charms [nakha-​śikha]. Such descriptions are often encountered in Ālāol’s poems, and some can exceed a hundred verses. They serve as occasions for the poet to showcase his virtuosity. He uses a wider array of figures of sound and meaning that are usually composed around highly conventional images. The poetry of Jayadeva (twelfth century CE) and Vidyāpati largely contributed to the formation of the formulaic repertoire of the nakha-​śikha. Here, as in other nakha-​śikhas, the model is clearly Rādhā. The presence of vermillion in the description of Badiujjāmāl can only be understood if the song is relocated in the Rādhā-​Kr̥ṣṇa poetic tradition. Badiujjāmāl, being an unmarried young woman, is not supposed to smear the parting of her hair with vermillion. On the other hand, the presence of vermillion in Rādhā’s case is justified because she is a parakīẏā nāẏikā—​a married woman who sports with a man other than her husband. The many Puranic references are signs of the still-​prominent culture of the court in Ālāol’s poetry. Rāhu devouring the moon, Kāma losing his body, Garuḍa stealing ambrosia, Gaṅgā sprouting from Śiva’s matted hair: All are images that are found in other passages of his works and mainly in his early poems. The first part of Saẏphulmuluk relates the quest of the young prince of Egypt to find the Garden of Iram, where Princess Badiujjāmāl lives. The torments of love in separation and the dangers that the brave prince must face to find his beloved constitute the main topics of the first half of the poem. One might expect that the gītas, which are composed to highlight climactic moments in the narration and prominent themes of the story, would be about viraha. But it is sambhoga that the poet highlights. 118. The text I chose is based on the manuscripts of ms. no. 185/​ā 32, maghi 1216/​1854 AD, fol. 65r, Bāṃlā Ekāḍemī Saṃgr̥hīta, Bangla Academy, Dhaka, Bangladesh, and ms. no. 13, fol. 80r. Compare with Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 518.

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By contrast, viraha is the only topic treated in the gītas of the second half, which was composed more than two decades later. This apparent paradox can be explained by the role of a courtly culture whose aesthetic favors sambhoga and that characterizes the period of Māgan’s patronage.

Satī Maẏnā and the first signs of the patrons’ withdrawal to the edge of the royal household Māgan’s death was the end of an era. In his prologues Ālāol emphasizes less the proximity of the Muslim dignitaries to the royal family. It is not necessary to wait for the crisis surrounding Shāh Shujāʿ’s arrival to witness a gradual withdrawal of the Muslim dignitaries from the inner circle of the royal household. The roots of the crystallization of their religious identity are to be found in the challenge to their function as cultural intermediaries. This questioning of their function is revealed by the articles of the treaty submitted by the VOC in 1653. The Dutch asked not to be forced to negotiate with holders of trade monopoly, giving the example of the lashkar wazīr between 1636 and 1638.119 Such a request was a serious challenge to the role of Bengali Muslims at the court. If the royal family and members of the local nobility started to trade directly with the European and other foreign merchants of the Bay of Bengal networks, it meant the end of the common interests binding the local nobles and Ālāol’s patrons. Unable to prosper in the shade of the royal family, they had no other choice but to reinforce a politics of factions to preserve their interests. On the cultural plane, the decrease in the references to the shared values of courtly culture conveyed by regional and Sanskrit literatures manifests a shift in the attitudes of the members of the gatherings that were attended by Ālāol. Nevertheless, the visible distance between the Buddhist ruler and the Muslim dignitaries did not engender a radical decline of their material prosperity. Despite the VOC’s request to deal directly with the king, in 1656—​three years after the reestablishment of the trading post—​the monopoly on the rice trade was once again in the hands of a Bengali Muslim, and this time it was purchased for the amount of a thousand taṅkās.120 The holder of the monopoly was Solemān, the treasurer of the court. Three years later, the treasurer Solemān commissioned the completion of Satī Maẏnā, the poem that had been originally composed at the 119. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 178–​9. 120. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 213, n. 37.

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order of Āśraph Khān, the previous holder of the same monopoly. The parallel between the two events of the commissioning of the poem is explicitly mentioned by Ālāol in his prologue, and it does not seem farfetched to see in the completion of Daulat Kājī’s poem a celebration of the Bengali Muslims’ economic achievements in Mrauk U.121 By completing Satī Maẏnā, Ālāol confirms his integration within the local literary tradition. Beyond some stylistic features that are specific to both poets, the local tradition is very homogeneous, both in terms of the agents who support its development and also in terms of the literary models that constitute the classical background. Avadhi poetry, with its prema-​ rasa and spiritual aesthetics fitting the tastes of the deśī elite, is the main source for the selection of themes. Stylistically, it is Vidyāpati’s poetry, or, more generally speaking, the Brajabuli tradition that imposes itself as a common reference to both poets. But Ālāol, because of his Indo-​Afghan literary training, possessed a wider array of references that allowed him to bring the tradition toward new horizons. The displacement of the interests of Bengali Muslim dignitaries outside the domain of the royal household, together with the autonomy they enjoyed in the 1650s, translated into a gradual distancing from regional cultural references in Ālāol’s texts. Satī Maẏnā confirms his place in the local tradition and simultaneously inaugurates a new phase in his poetic compositions. Ālāol was perfectly aware of this shift from one generation to the other, which is why he declared, “My way to compose verses differs from his [i.e. Daulat Kājī’s]/​; may the connoisseurs judge and render their verdict.”122 The insertion of the lengthy secondary tale of Ratanakalikā and the care given to narration in Ālāol’s poem contrast with the lyrical style of Daulat Kājī twenty years earlier. These factors manifest his desire to distinguish himself from his predecessor so that literary critics in the assembly do not feel compelled to compare their poetry on the same level and remain conscious of their respective styles. Some modern commentators on Satī Maẏnā lamented the abandonment of lyricism for the sake of narration.123 But perhaps it would have been

121. Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” 147. 122. tāna sama mohora nā haẏa pada-​gā͂thā | guṇī-​gaṇa kahauka vicāri satya kathā || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” 194. 123.  Bandyopadhyay, Rājasabhār kavi o kāvya, 140. Sukumar Sen qualifies Daulat Kājī as gītikavi [lyric poet] and Ālāol as kāvya-​kathaka (literally “a narrator of poetry”). Sen, Islāmi bāṃlā sāhitya, 34.

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more beneficial to think about the nature of this shift and to analyze its causes and consequences for Ālāol’s literary career. In the absence of a classical model that would have played the role of an authority, Saẏphulmuluk was the occasion for the poet to allow himself greater compositional freedom. He did not have to justify, as he did in the case of the translation of Padmāvatī, occasionally “listening to the words that his heart dictated.”124 Despite the fact that the lyrical dimension was notably developed in Saẏphulmuluk through the composition of several gītas—​thus inscribing the poem within the continuity of Padmāvatī—​the secondary tale of the merchant’s wife shows the poet’s care for elaborate and inventive narration. But in Satī Maẏnā, the narrative element that is added to the main story constitutes about two-​thirds of the entire poem.125 The story itself has a complex narrative structure and testifies to the wide cultural horizons of the poet; it also introduces us to the themes that were crucial in his works at that point, such as the preservation of “grandeur” [mahattva], “sincerity” [satītva], and debates on the “fruits of one’s own actions” [karma-​phala]. If the conventions of Sanskrit erotic literature already served as a pretext by which to convey a spiritual message in his earlier poems, the secondary place that the poet gives to the lyricism associated with śr̥ṅgāra, alongside the prominence that he grants to edifying tales [upamā], reveals Ālāol’s preference for a poetics that highlights content over appearance and ethics over aesthetics. This shift is manifest in the gītas of Satī Maẏnā. First, the songs are relatively scarce; I identified only three.126 The first two songs are parts of the dialogue between Mālinī and Maẏnā that Daulat Kājī began and Ālāol completed. The third one is included in the secondary tale of Ratanakalikā. Here is a song drawn from Ālāol’s part of the “song of the twelve months” [bāramāsyā] in which Mālinī tries to convince Maẏnā to stop waiting for her husband and enjoy herself with other men: Rāga mallāra127 taraṇi pracaṇḍa : dharaṇī khaṇḍa-​khaṇḍa : taḍāgīra jala bine |

124. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 11. See infra, Chapter 5 for a detailed discussion on the relevance of this passage to understand Ālāol’s approach of translation. 125. The episode even circulated as an independent work as attested by some manuscripts. See Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts, ms. nos. 462 and 463. 126. Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” 2007, 151,152, and 157. See table 2 in Appendix 2. 127. Mallāra is the twelfth rāga in the night section [rātri-​bhāga] in Ālāol’s fragment of saṅgīta -śāstra. Ālāol, “Rāgtālnāmā o padāvalī,” 600. Here is the dhyāna of rāga Mallāra: śaṅkhāvadātaṃ palitaṃ

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The sun is torrid and the earth is cracked in the waterless ponds. In the torment of separation, the sun will remain all through the hot season. 1 Listen, beauty, about the month of Jyaiṣṭha and the six seasons. Delightful Maẏnā, a delight for connoisseurs, how frustrated is your desire. (Refrain) 2 Bees are buzzing, twirl and spark, the sky, in places, roars, frogs, waterfawls, and wild elephants, in the mist, knowing that the time has come, create a tumult. 3 There, behind the clouds, the moon with its cool rays rises in the night fresh and pure. Her eyes, tainted with kohl, are fluttering wagtales; the brightness of the autumnal moon stands in her way.1284 The dense clouds are pouring rain and gusts of wind are blowing. When she feels cold and quivers, her clothes fly away; know it to be the wind of Hemanta loaded with dew. 5 It is the season of jasmines and dense buzzing, of the fragrant southern breeze, of fruits and flowers full of nectar, and of the cuckoo’s song, it is the magnificent time of Madhu.1296 You have beautiful lovers, all excellent men; come, offer your present. By covering your body with your garment you forbid all pleasures and deceit yourself. 7

dadhānaḥ, pralamba-​karṇaḥ kumudendu-​varṇaḥ | kaupīna-​vāsāḥ kha-​vihāra-​cārī, mallāra-​rāgaḥ śuci-​śānta-​mūrtiḥ || [His hair is white and pure like a conch-​shell, his elongated earlobes have the color of the moon, (lord) of lotuses, he wears a kaupīna (around his hips) and flies in the sky; rāga Mallāra has a pure, peaceful appearance.] Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, 1960, 36; trans. Mahuẏā Mukhopādhyāẏ, Bibliotheca Indica series 334 (Kolkata: The Asiatic Society, 2009), 63, [3.68]. Compare with the text of Emmie te Nijenhuis, “The Sanskrit ‘Dhyānas’ of Johnson Album 35 and the Rāga Descriptions of Subhaṅkara’s ‘Saṃgītadāmodara.’” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, no. 1 (1971), 53. 128.  The verse literally says, “The brightness of the autumnal moon is an obstacle.” The bright full moon of autmunn turns nights as bright as days and puts the woman who secretly sets of to a rendezvous with her lover [abhisārikā] in danger of being seen. See infra, Chapter 5 for Ālāol’s definition of the abhisārikā. 129. Madhu stands for the month of Caitra (March–​April).

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See how life goes in a moment, know it is like a dream. Dew is your blush and fragrance your ornament, the shrewd connoisseur is like a bee. 8 You’re wasting your youth, don’t stay on your own! Go to some handsome lover! May the wealth of the connoisseur, the noble Solemān, remain far from all dangers!1309 Maẏnā replies to this song with another gīta that refutes Mālinī’s arguments one by one. This entire passage echoes the episode when the go-​between Kumudinī tries to convince Padmāvatī to accept Deopāl’s proposal.131 The fate of the two go-​betweens is also the same in both poems. One can see how, in Ālāol’s traditional understanding of poetical composition, Padmāvatī becomes a resource for themes and motifs. The third gīta in Satī Maẏnā, composed in plain paẏār meter, does not convey śr̥ṅgāra-​ rasa. It inaugurates a theme that was secondary in his previous gītas but that is now directly expressed: prayer. Lācāṛī, rāga paṭamañjarī132 āhā prabhu nirañjana kibā kailyā more | Alas, God, what did you do to me? My own actions are to blame, what can I tell you? As a child, I came abandoning father and mother; my husband’s affection somewhat soothed my heart’s torment. After I became the great queen, the kingdom’s fortune, I drifted in an ocean, fierce and insuperable. Separated from my husband, far from all my friends, I can’t figure any means to soothe my grief.

1 2 3 4

130. Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” 2007, 151. 131. Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” 2007, 119–​24. 132. Paṭmañjarī is the ninetenth rāga in the day section [divā-​bhāga] in Ālāol’s fragment of saṅgītaś-āstra. Ālāol, “Rāgtālnāmā o padāvalī,” 600. Here is the dhyāna of rāga Paṭhamañjarī in the Saṅgītadāmodara:  viyoginī kānta-​vitīrṇa-​puṣpāṃ, srajaṃ vahantī vapuṣātimugdhā | āśvāsyamānā priyayā ca sakhyā, vidhūsarāṅgī paṭhamañjarīyam || [Separated from her lover, she wears on her body a garland of flowers that he plucked. She is still very naïve and her dear companion is comforting her whose body is covered with dust; so is Paṭhamañjarī.] Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 39; Saṅgītadāmodara, trans. Mahuẏā Mukhopādhyāẏ, 68, [3.88].

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Annihilated and ill-​fated, I broke my vow. Therefore I wished for death and obtained misery. 5 I am in such a state and bearing a child. Fearing sin, my wish cannot be fulfilled. 6 Otherwise in one leap I would put an end to my torment. If only Death could pierce my womb with his pike! 7 His name may be the Merciful, but its character is cruel. He deceived my mind with the mischievous Sarasvatī.1338 I am aimless in this ocean of grief; through your own qualities, O Merciful, help me! 9 Ālāol says: “Woman, pray the Attributeless! He, full of compassion, will free you from all pains.” 10 May the noble Solemān, this treasure trove of qualities, Submitted to God, the Master of Fate, always remain safe!13411 Here again Śubhaṅkara’s Sanskrit poetic representation [dhyāna] of Paṭhamañjarī as a young woman suffering from her lover’s absence and comforted by the words of her companion seems to find a distant echo in the theme of Ālāol’s song. This kind of elegiac song has a very regular structure. The refrain opens with a vocative of one of God’s epithets. In the present case, the vocative is indicated by the Bengali interjection hāhā [alas!]. In Saptapaẏkar, the poet will prefer the form āẏa, which is also found in Persian [ay!]. In each couplet the protagonist confesses his negligence and asks God, to whom he calls with the epithets daẏāmaẏa, kr̥pāmaẏa, and karuṇāmaẏa, to rescue him or her.135 The words vimocana and mukti [liberation and salvation, respectively] always come in the last couplet. The envoi does not necessarily establish a link between the praise of the patron and the meaning of the remaining part of the song. 133.  Ālāol likes to attribute his characters’ inappropriate utterances to the “mischievous Sarasvatī.” Compare with the story of Dilārām’s insult in Saptapaẏkara:  duṣṭa sarasvatī bālā tāre bhramāila | [The mischievous Sarasvatī deceived this young woman], and:  duṣṭa sarasvatī: bhramāila mati: tei se e-​rūpa hailuṃ || [The mischievous Sarasvatī confused my judgment, hence I find myself in such a situation.] Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 226. 134. Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” 2007, 157. 135.  The recourse to the divine names and their translation into Sanskritized Bengali are also present in Daulat Kājī’s poetry—​see, for instance, his gloss on the basmala in the opening lines of the poem. Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 1.  For another example in Ālāol’s oeuvre, see the story of the merchant’s wife in Saẏphulmuluk. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” 2007, 469. Note that these Sanskrit terms are certainly translations of divine names such as al-​Raḥmān and al-​Raḥīm.

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The presence of songs bearing the form of prayers expresses more directly the spiritual, moral, and religious dimension of the poem than a recourse to prema-​rasa would. The poetics of prema-​rasa diffuses spiritual meaning into the text through songs that require analogical readings. The external aspect of the discourse is mundane whereas the inner meaning is sublime, supramundane, and deals with realities and their essential principles [tattva]. Ālāol does not use prema-​rasa with an intensity that is comparable with that which is found in his Avadhi sources, and in the work of Jāyasī in particular.136 Ālāol frequently construes and makes explicit the suggested meaning of his models. Despite his conceptualization of the sign [iṅgita], in practice, his poetic idiom is comparatively more direct. His replacement of laments on the theme of viraha with elegiac prayers—​and songs on sambhoga with thanksgiving prayers [śukrānā namāja]—​belie his will to turn the message of prema-​rasa into something religiously more explicit. This conscious effort will result in the almost total disappearance of the aesthetic emotion that combines the erotic and the mystic, which had been promoted by Avadhi Sufi poets.

Summary The combined study of Ālāol’s life trajectory, the evolution of his poetics, and contemporary political events gives us a unique insight into the cultural history of Arakan in the mid-​seventeenth century. The beginning of his career shows us that courtly culture had reached a point of equilibrium in terms of the negotiations between courtly and other communal identities. This consensus was a major feature of the secondary courts of Ālāol’s first patron, Māgan Ṭhākur, and the other Bengali Muslim dignitaries of Mrauk U. The higher the position of the patron within the royal household, the more central courtly culture became in Ālāol’s discourse. Therefore, during the period from 1651 to 1660, the poet established a lyricism that he associated with erotic themes of love in union, cultural refinement, and erudition, which were criteria of social distinction in the sabhā. The stylistic homogeneity is all the more remarkable considering the variety of the models, which were composed in four different languages (Avadhi, Maithili, Sanskrit, and Persian) and which took various literary

136. De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust, 205–​35. Regarding prema-​rasa in the prototype of the genre of Avadhi Sufi romance, that is, Cāndāyan, see Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 63–​76.

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forms (premākhyāna and mathnawī, both in verse, and dāstān, in prose). Compositional diversity also characterizes the songs [gītas], in which Ālāol used various meters and appears in his scholarly and narrative digressions. This period is also homogenous in terms of the themes that the poet takes up. I noticed the strong influence of Padmāvatī on the poems that followed it. In his romances, Ālāol included all of the aesthetic and political aspects of courtly life: amorous rendezvous, banquets, saṅgīta shows, embassies, negotiations, military campaigns, and the administration of the kingdom. The world of merchants is also depicted abundantly; his poems give the impression that they were often fictional representations of his patrons’ activities as traders and administrators of the kingdom. I  also argue that the completion of Satī Maẏnā, a story that takes place in the worlds of traders and kings, implicitly celebrates the return of the monopoly of rice exportation to the hands of a Bengali Muslim. On the religious plane, the Chishtiyya cultural environment allowed for a debate with multiple voices about the form that devotion should assume. In Padmāvatī, Ālāol presented Islam as a sublime path devoted to the ultimate form of the Divine (i.e., the attributeless God) and he firmly condemned idol worship. One should envision the environment of Mrauk U, a city covered with pagodas and statues of the Buddha, the gods, and local spirits [nats], to grasp the significance of Ālāol’s critique of idol worship. His command of the Sanskrit language, or even his familiarity with a work like Sadānanda’s Vedāntasāra, which the poet refers to in Padmāvatī, should not lead us to see any kind of syncretism in his religious views.137 He did see equivalences and some kind of commensurability with the surrounding religious doctrines insofar as it could fit within the framework of his faith. Ratnasen’s rejection of Pārvatī (who assumed the appearance of an apsarā) and the conversion of Nāmehā to Islam in Saẏphulmuluk clearly show the limits of religious dialogue in the sabhās of Mrauk U.138 The poet presents sincerity [satītva/​satya] as his principal virtue. Because sincerity is rooted in justice, it was the axis around which he could articulate courtly ethics and religious faith: Whatever the religious obedience of the sabhāsad (the member of the gathering) might be, he will 137. Regarding Ālāol’s reference to Sadānanda’s Vedāntasāra, see Thibaut d’Hubert, “Patterns of Composition in the Seventeenth-​Century Bengali Literature of Arakan,” in Tellings and Texts:  Music, Literature and Performance Cultures in North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Katherin Brown (Cambridge, UK: Open Books Publishers, 2015), 438. 138.  Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 45; “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” 2007, 501–​2.

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be recognized as worthy if his behavior is sincere. In the context of the 1650s, the satya-​dharma, which is often invoked under his pen, designated this “principle of sincerity” that prevailed at the court; it was the ethical behavior upon which the cohesion of the composite nobility of Mrauk U depended. In the following chapter, we trace the erosion of this seemingly harmonious courtly milieu and its consequences on Ālāol’s poetry.

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1661: A political and poetical crisis On the fifteenth day of November in the year 1660, the king’s great quinquennial parade through his capital took place. Subjects from all over the kingdom gathered for this occasion of grandiose celebration. Wouter Schouten witnessed those festivities and briefly described, among other things, the public performances that were set up for the occasion: “To conclude this happy day, it was already late in the night, when people began performing plays and playing music on stages.”1 It is not unreasonable to assume that there were performances of Bengali pā̃cālīs during this evening of festivities, nor would it be unreasonable to imagine that this period was one of intense activity for the preceptor, author, and composer Ālāol. The Bengali poet does not mention this celebration, and it is another event that is associated with the composition of Saptapaẏkar in this very year of 1660. In August 1660, Mughal Prince Shujāʿ, who had been the governor of Bengal since 1639 and who had, in 1657, proclaimed himself an independent ruler,2 reached Mrauk U with his followers. The succession of Shāh Jahān (r. 1628–​1658) was the cause of a war won by Awrangzeb (r. 1658–​ 1707). Here it is not necessary to return to the details of this long political

1. Tot besluit van deze vrolijke dag, het was al laat op de avond, begon men op de stellages toneel en muziek te spelen. W. Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, 138; G. Schouten, Voiage de Gautier Schouten aux Indes orientales, vol. 1, 194. 2. Majumdar and Sarkar, Muslim Period 1200–​1757, 336.

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crisis that deeply marked imaginations and that proved to be a crucial turning point in the political and cultural history of the subcontinent.3 Aside from his engagement in the succession war, Shāh Shujāʿ did not benefit from the attention of modern historians.4 During his rule over Bengal from 1639 to 1660, despite the little affection that he had for the region, he undertook his administrative tasks carefully. We also know that Shujāʿ invested in long-​distance trade from which he generated important revenue.5 This commercial activity certainly gave him the opportunity to secure relations with the Muslims of Mrauk U, which could explain his choice to flee via Arakan.6 An oft-​encountered topic regarding Shujāʿ is his link to Shiʿa milieus.7 Shūjāʿ attracted many Iranians to his court, and one of his preceptors was Muḥammad ʿAlī Marʿashī Shūshtarī (fl. 1636), who bore the title of Amīr ʿAlā al-​Mulk. He was the son of the famous Shiʿa theologian Qāḍī Nūr Allāh (1549–​1610). Marʿashī Shūshtarī wrote many treatises about logic [manṭiq], theology, and the biographies of sayyids from Shushtar.8 Shujāʿ was also the disciple of the Qādirī master Shāh

3. There is an abundant literature on the war of succession between Shāh Jahān’s sons that lasted from 1658 to 1660 (see, for instance, the references given in the following note). For discussions on this topic in the context of Arakanese and Mughal history, see Leider, Le royaume d’Arakan, Birmanie, 293–​304; Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 184–​92; Rishad Choudhury, “An Eventful Politics of Difference and Its Afterlife: Chittagong Frontier, Bengal, c. 1657–​ 1757,” Indian Economic & Social History Review 52, no. 3 (July 1, 2015): 271–​96. 4.  About Shāh Shujāʿ’s ṣūbadārī and his intellectual entourage, see A.  Karim, History of Bengal, 215–​74. See also Majumdar and Sarkar, Muslim Period 1200–​1757, 332. 5. About Shujāʿ’s wealth and the economic consequences of the plundering of his treasury in Arakan, see W. Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, 153; G. Schouten, Voiage de Gautier Schouten aux Indes orientales, 1:237; Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 186–​90. 6. The Riyāḍ al-​salāṭīn of Ghulām Ḥusayn Zaydpūrī, a Persian history of Bengal written in the late eighteenth century, relates that Shujāʿ fled to Arakan, “to the marzbān of that place who was of a lineage of sādat” [marzbān-​i ānjā ki az nasl-​i sādat būd]. The editor puts a question mark next to the word sādat. The translator of the Persian text read it as the Arabaic sādat (pl. of sāʾid; did he confuse it with sādāt pl. of sayyid?) indicates that it must be a mistake made by the historian because Arakan was not ruled by sayyids. A better interpretation could be that sādat transcribes the Bengali Cānda [unamātā = Arak. Satuiḥdhammarājā (r. 1645–​1652)] (see, for instance, in Saẏphulmuluk:  cānda-​nr̥pera chila mukhya-​pāṭeśvarī |), Candasudhammarājā’s father. The specific reference to the lineage of Cānda would make sense, because he was the second king after the dynastic break that occurred with Narapati’s accession to the throne in 1638. Zaydpūrī, Riyāḍ al-​salāṭīn: tārīkh-​i Bangāla, 218; Zaydpūrī, The Riyaz̤u-​s-​Salāt̤īn, 222; Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 456. 7. A. Karim, History of Bengal, 245–​6. 8.  Hasan Anushe, ed., Dānishnāma-​yi adab-​i Fārsī:  Adab-​i fārsī dar shibh-​i qārra-​yi Hind (Hind, Pākistān, Banglādish), vol. 4 (Tehran: Vizārat-​i Farhang va Irshād-​i Islāmī, 1996), s.v. “Marʿashī-​yi Shūshtarī.”

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Niʿmat Allāh whose Sufi lodge [khānqāh] was in the capital of the province, Rajmahal.9 The Ṣubḥ-​i ṣādiq of Ṣādiq Iṣfahānī (1609–​1651) provides a wealth of information about the scholars and poets who lived in Bengal during the governorships of Qāsim Khān (1628–​1632) and Shāh Shujāʿ, to whom he dedicated his work.10 Mīr Muḥammad Maʿsūm (d. 1661) remained in Shāh Shujāʿ’s service for twenty-​five years and wrote a chronicle of the succession war (1657–​1660).11 Despite the few qaṣīdas that were dedicated to him and the presence of the occasional professional poet in his entourage,12 Shujāʿ seems to have taken a greater interest in sciences and theology than he did in belles lettres. He contributed to the patronage of Braj literature, and he is presented as a patron in Vāraṇ Kavi “Barārī Mugal” ’s Ratnākar—​ a treatise on metrics and lexicography composed in 1655.13 When Shujāʿ left Jahangirnagar (i.e., Dhaka) in May 1660, he was accompanied by his family, a following of Bārha sayyids, who were Hindustani Shiʿa nobles, and thirty Mughals.14

9. Sher ʿAlī Khān Lodī, Tadhkira-​yi Mirʾāt al-​khayāl, ed. Ḥamīd Ḥasanī and Bihrūz Ṣafarzāda (Tehran: Rawzana, 1998), 125–​8. For a contemporary account of the influence of Sufism and Hindu spirituality on both Dārā and Shujāʿ, see François Bernier, Voyages de François Bernier, contenant la description des états du Grand Mogol, vol. 2 (Paris: Imprimé aux frais du gouvernement, 1830), 148ff. 10. See Nazir Ahmad, “Muhammad Sadiq Isfahani, an Official of Bengal of Shah Jahan’s Time,” Indo-​Iranica 24 (1972):  103–​25; S. N.  H. Rizvi, “Literary Extracts From Kitab Subh Sadiq,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Pakistan 16, no. 1 (1971): 1–​61; Anushe, Dānishnāma-​yi adab-​i Fārsī, vol. 4, s.v. “Ṣādiq-​i Iṣfahānī.” 11.  Mīr Muḥammad Maʿṣūm, Tārīkh-​i Shāh Shujāʿī, ed. Sayyid Muḥammad Yūnus Jaʿfarī (New Delhi: Markaz-​i Taḥqīqāt-​i Fārsī-​i Rāyzanī-​i Farhangī-​i Jumhūrī-​i Islāmī-​i Īrān, 2007). 12. Vicaji Dinshah B. Taraporevala and D. N. Marshall, Mughal Bibliography; Select Persian Sources for the Study of Mughals in India (Bombay: New Book Co., 1962), no. 1627. 13.  Vāraṇ Kavi’s other work titled Ratnākara, which deals with types of heroine [nāyikā-​ bheda], seems to have been written in 1669, after Shujāʿ’s death. Kr̥ṣṇadevprasād Gauḍ, ed., Hastalikhit Hindī pustakoṃ kā saṅkṣipt vivaraṇ, san 1900–​1955 E. tak (Benares: Nāgarīpracāriṇī Sabhā, 1964), s.v. “Vāraṇ (kavi),” “Ratnākar,” and “Rasikvilās.” 14.  Shāhanawāz Khān Aurangābādī and ʿAbd al-​ Ḥayy, The Maāthir-​ul-​Umarā:  Being Biographies of the Muhammādan and Hindu Officers of the Timurid Sovereigns of India From 1500 to about 1780 A.D., trans. Henry Beveridge, vol. 3, Bibliotheca Indica 202 (Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 1941), 544. The first member of this lineage who entered the service of the Mughals was Sayyid Maḥmūd. The Bārahs were mostly Shi‘a but they were not recent émigrés from Iran. Their ancestor is Abū al-​Farah of Wāsiṭ, and he is also claimed as the founder of other important sayyid lineages of India such as the Bilgramis or the Khairabadis. They were esteemed by the Mughal rulers and occupied the position of harāwal, that is, the vanguard of the army. Abul Fazl Allami, The Āʾīn-​i Akbarī, vol. 3, 425ff.

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When Shujāʿ reached the Arakanese capital on August 26, 1660, Ālāol attended the gatherings of Saiẏad Muhāmmad Khān, the “head minister of the great king’s eunuchs” [mahārāja-​mukhya-​ṣaṇḍhamati].15 Ālāol’s text does not contain any date, and it is only thanks to the reference to Shujāʿ’s arrival that we can date the composition of the poem to a period between August 1660 and the first months of 1661. The poet does not mention any kind of tension between the Mughal prince and the local ruler, which suggests either that the crisis had not started or that it was not yet over.16 There is no explicit causal relation between the visit of Shujāʿ and the composition of the text, but it probably played some role in the choice to translate this specific poem. Niẓāmī’s five poems had been associated with Persian courtly culture since their composition, and the Mughals, as the other rulers of the Persianized world, held this oeuvre in high esteem.17 For Bengali Muslims who engaged in a revision of their cultural identity as courtiers, Shujāʿ and his Iranian entourage embodied the courtly adab that was conveyed by Niẓāmī’s poems. This is how Saptapaẏkar inaugurated, for Ālāol, the exclusive choice of Persian literary models. The poet does not dwell on the functions of his patron Saiẏad Muhāmmad, but he repeats his title several times in his signature lines. Whereas the term “eunuch” is never used in connection with the poet’s first two patrons, Saiẏad Muhāmmad is qualified by the Sanskrit word ṣaṇḍha, which is also found in Dutch sources as sonodo.18 Saiẏad Muhāmmad occupied a position close to Māgan, whom he may have replaced as the head of the eunuchs at the court. The signature lines, or envois, in Saptapaẏkar are particularly long and often go beyond the usual two lines. Before turning to the literary analysis of the poem, let me make a few comments on the figure of the patron. According to Havart, one of the two eunuchs attending the privy council was in charge of the town’s construction projects.19 Niẓāmī’s poem deals extensively with architecture through the story of building the Khuwarnaq palace. 15.  Regarding the precise date of Shujāʿ’s arrival in Arakan, see Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 186. 16. One of the gītas suggests that he may have written some parts of the poem while he was in prison (see infra). 17.  John Seyller, “The Inspection and Valuation of Manuscripts in the Imperial Mughal Library,” Artibus Asiae 57, no. 3/​4 (January 1, 1997): 243–​349. 18. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 160. See supra, Chapter 1 about eunuchs in Arakan. 19. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 54.

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The poet–​translator made several modifications on the source text in this passage.20 In Niẓāmī’s version, the architect who oversaw the construction of the palace is eventually executed to ensure that no other palace would ever equal the beauty of Khuwarnaq.21 In Ālāol’s version, things are markedly different: Camnār, which is the name of the architect in the Bengali version, is thrown into jail. After Nomān perfected the education of Prince Bahrām and after he bestowed upon him the charge of ruling the kingdom, his subjects asked the new king to show his magnanimity by releasing the architect. Nomān agreed and asked Camnār to complete his oeuvre by designing a garden with canals of pure milk. The architect Camnār obeyed and fulfilled Nomān’s expectations. The architect received gold and jewels as a reward for his achievement. Then, “fully satisfied, everyone went back home and the king remained with [Prince] Bahrām.” The section that immediately follows is also a significant addition, because it relates Bahrām’s conversion to Islam. Afterward, Ālāol goes back to translating the source text. Such a substantial revision of Niẓāmī’s text can be explained if we acknowledge Ālāol’s urge to mirror the activities of his patron. In his version, Ālāol gave the example of a magnanimous king who, faithful to a principle of just reward for one’s achievement, reestablished justice by rewarding the meritorious architect. Bahrām’s conversion thus appears to be almost a logical outcome of the ruling household’s display of wisdom. If one allows my interpretation of a contextual motivation for the rewriting of the source text, Camnār would stand in for Ālāol’s patron, whose roles included the supervision of the architectural project of the city.22

20. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 204–​13. 21. Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Haft paykar, ed. Tharwatīyān, 121; The Haft paykar, trans. Meisami, 39. 22. The attention of the audience is also drawn to the conclusion of this story through the inclusion of an unusually long envoi, which goes:  śrīmanta mohanta saida mahāmmada khāna | vākya-​rasa-​guṇa-​jñātā śata-​avadhāna || dāne māne guṇa-​jñāne dhīra-​sucarita | upakartā duḥkha-​hartā guṇi-​hita-​mita || tāhāna ārati hīna ālāole gāhe | sei dhanya-​mahā-​puṇya-​kīrti bhari rahe || [The noble Saida Mahāmmad Khān, who knows the qualities of delightful speech, is aware of everything, wise, and behaves properly when offering presents and honors in recognition for one’s skills; he is a well-​doer, remover of pain, he is the benevolent friend of skilled men. The humble Ālāol sings on his demand; may the fame of this blessed and very virtuous man always fill (the entire world).] Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 212. Note that the poet points to the secondary—​and according to me, contextual—​reading of this story by praising his ability to understand well-​crafted speech and his acute awareness of the intended meaning; terms that are also used by the poet when he formulates riddles or “speech made of signs” (see infra, Chapter 5).

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Other than through this emergence of the context within the narrative, how can we locate Saptapaẏkar within the development of Ālāol’s poetic style? In terms of poetics, Saptapaẏkar shares more features with Padmāvatī than it does with Sikāndarnāmā, the other poem taken from Niẓāmī’s Khamsa. Therefore we see that the traditional background of the model does not necessarily dictate the stylistic features of the translation. For instance, one cannot attribute the recourse to Sanskrit vocabulary and Indic aesthetics in Padmāvatī to the mere fact that the protagonists of the story are Hindu and to the presence of such features in the source text. There is evidently an evolution in Ālāol’s relation to Sanskrit culture, and the adoption of Persian models did not imply the sudden departure from those elements in his poetics. To clarify the itinerary of this evolution, let us compare three landmarks of Ālāol’s literary career:  Padmāvatī (1651), Saptapaẏkar (1660), and Sikāndarnāmā (1671). The three poems depict the milieu of the court and have royal protagonists. According to Ālāol’s terminology, Padmāvatī is distinct from the other two poems because it is a love poem, and therefore comparable to Laylī u Majnūn, whereas Saptapaẏkar and Sikāndarnāmā relate the “high deeds of a ruler.”23 In addition to the linguistic, prosodic, and stylistic differences between Jāyasī’s and Niẓāmī’s texts, there are also different thematic foci. But if we observe the formal and stylistic treatment of Padmāvatī and Saptapaẏkar by the Bengali poet, it appears that the works partake in a common poetics, which was characteristic of Ālāol’s courtly environment during the early phase of his career. As in Padmāvatī and Saẏphulmuluk, we observe a will to diversify the composition by inserting gītas in a variety of meters into his narrative poem. The poems presented themselves as complete forms of entertainment by using the textual, musical, and dramatic dimensions of the form of saṅgīta that was the Bengali pā̃cālī. Moreover, the complexity of the narrative structure was seen as beneficial to the composition. We have seen that his talent as a narrator distinguishes Ālāol from his predecessor, Daulat Kājī. The narrative structure of Saptapaẏkar, with its embedded secondary tales, matched the expectations of the audience during this first period. When the poet states that he is recalling the story of Niẓāmī’s poem in the sabhā, it is significantly not the frame story that he relates, but the plot of the first secondary tale, which is told by the princess of Hindustan.

23. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 316.

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This also explains the systematic usage of the term upamā, or “edifying tale,” which had already been used to designate the story of Ratanakalikā, and that is now applied to the tales of Saptapaẏakara.24 Sikāndarnāmā does not contain any upamā. The most significant proof of the homogeneity between Padmāvatī and Saptapaẏkar is the repetition of entire passages from the former text in the latter.25 Among those repetitions, we find scholarly digressions on saṅgīta and the depiction of the beloved’s charms. These two kinds of passages are typical of Ālāol’s erudite style of the beginnings of his career. In Saptapaẏkar, Ālāol gathers together all of the features of his poetics—​from his reference to Sanskrit literature, which conveys worldly knowledge, to his recourse to all of the poetic forms that the pā̃cālī tradition allows (śikhali, lācārī, gīta, dialogues)—​and narrative elaboration by inserting secondary tales. Therefore the translation of Niẓāmī’s text is central, both chronologically and poetically, to Ālāol’s work. Saptapaẏkar is located on the eve of the 1661 crisis, and it is the last expression of the adab of Mrauk U’s sabhā before the crystallization of communal identities. Although there are fewer gītas in Saptapaẏkar than in Padmāvatī, the amount still remains more important than in Ālāol’s subsequent works. The diversity in the meters does not match that of Ālāol’s first poems, but we observe some original features in the prosody of a gīta on the rāga bhairava.26 Thematically speaking, we observe one more step toward strengthening a religious register. In Satī Maẏnā, we already saw a prayer that had been freed from the pretext of viraha. Among the six gītas of Saptapaẏkar, the śr̥ṅgāra-​rasa is expressed only once; all of the other songs partake in the “discourse on essential realities” and prayers. Mundane subjects are abundantly illustrated in this story about the “high deeds of king” Bahrām Gūr; however, the gītas foreground redemption and renouncement. The 24. The seventh tale of Saptapaẏkar is a complete recreation of Niẓāmī’s text and contains motifs common with the story of Ratanakālilā in Satī Maẏnā. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 289–​95; “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 156–​79. See also the French translation and interpretation of this story in d’Hubert, “Histoire culturelle et poétique de la traduction,” 432–​53. 25. The verbatim repetition of a large section of the invocation of Tohphā at the very beginning of Sikāndarnāmā confirms the stark distinction between the pre-​and post-​1661 periods. Nevertheless, a complete survey of the manuscripts of Sikāndarnāmā would be necessary to ascertain that this passage was not added by a later copyist. Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 411; “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 303–​4. 26. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 244. I counted thirteen gītas in Padmāvatī and seven in Saptapaẏkar. Sikāndarnāmā contains only one song. See Appendix 2.

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first gīta deals with the notion of iṅgita-​vacana [language of signs], which is discussed in Chapter 5. Let us simply note that “signs” are no longer used to formulate riddles of the type found in Padmāvatī, but they participate in the analogical speech of Persian mystic poetry. Here is an example of the redemption prayers that are found in Saptapaẏkar:27 Rāga bhāṭiẏāla28 dīna-​bandhu karo paritrāṇa | Friend of the miserable, save me! No salvation is possible without you! 1 I lost myself in the pleasures of the world, I forgot you, and harvested the fruits accordingly. 2 I did not hope for lofty ranks, but wished to acquire wealth, and alone with my sins, I wander.293 I am like a bee who would abandon sandalwood for cow-​dung and twirl with a gladdened heart.304 Then, I remembered [you], forgive my mistake! There is none but you in my heart, I have no hope but for you. 5 The humble Ālāol says: when will you gain salvation? Destroy the roots of deceit and revere [God] assiduously!316 In this gīta we observe a complete break with viraha, which is not present even as a pretext for the formulation of prayers. The poet expresses a helpless state caused by spiritual confusion and the pursuit of vain goods. This feeling of helplessness will become central in the last poem, which is about the conqueror and prophet Sikandar. The poet stresses the opposition between the mundane and spiritual worlds and the impermanence of the possessions of this world, which recalls the lament of the parrot

27. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 284. 28. Neither the Saṅgītadāmodara nor the Saṅgītadarpaṇa provides a dhyāna for rāga bhāṭiẏāla. 29. The reading of this verse is not entirely clear to me. 30. Compare with the following verse by Vidyāpati: amr̥ta teji kiẏe halāhala piẏala: sampade bipadahi bheli || [Why did he abandon ambrosia and drank poison? Prosperity turned into danger.] Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Vidyāpatir padāvalī, ed. Khagendranath Mitra and Bimanbehari Majumdar (Calcutta: S. K. Dāśgupta, 1359), 475–​76, song no. 764. Note the similarity with Ālāol’s verse in the third stanza of the first song quoted in Chapter 3 (śravaṇa-​naẏāna . . . ) in which we find the phrase sampada ante vipada [danger follows prosperity]. 31. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 284.

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in Padmāvatī and constitutes the recurrent element of the epilogues to Ālāol’s poems.32 Despite the presence of common images, this gīta is also a shift away from Vidyāpati and the Brajabuli lyric tradition. Impermanence and redemption, and the Niẓāmīan pessimism that they evince, seem to have replaced the ingenuity [caturatā] of the lyric models of the regional courtly tradition. We find in this song the calls addressed to his “master” [guru] in the rendering of Niẓāmī’s sāqī-​nāmas [literally “texts of the cupbearer”] in Sikāndarnāmā. The time of youthful games is already fading and gives way to the dark clouds of the crisis of 1661. The second couplet refers to a particular event and contrasts with the rest of the poem. The “goods” mentioned here refer to the water that Śiṣṭa asked from Aśiṣṭa in the sixth tale of Saptapaẏkar in which this song appears.33 But when reading the signature line, in which, instead of praising his patron, Ālāol renounces “deceit” [kapaṭa] in order to gain “salvation” [mukti], I  am tempted to see a veiled reference to the poet’s time in jail after the events surrounding Shujāʿ’s death. But let us leave such conjectures and stress the irremediable loss of rasa for the sake of spiritual and moral themes.

The dissolution of the Arakanese courtly milieu One can observe a gradual evolution during the first ten years of Ālāol’s career, but the composition of Tohphā marks a much more radical turn. The years surrounding the composition of Tophā (1663) were a dark period in Arakanese history. The crisis that followed Shujāʿ’s disappearance lasted for several years after the event itself. Dutch sources relate that the Muslims of the capital city were kept under close surveillance and their activities were restricted by the king’s orders. Wouter Schouten was surprised to see how compliant the Muslim subjects were. For instance, they were forbidden to go aboard boats in the harbor. One can imagine the disastrous consequences of such a restriction on the Bengali Muslim community, which derived a substantial income from sea trade.

32. See the final sections of Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 144; “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 194; “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 300; “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 593. 33. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 283–​89. On the story of Śiṣṭa and Aśiṣṭa, see supra, Chapter 2.

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But human interactions also suffered from this situation. Schouten mentions that afterward, he never got a chance to meet with his Muslim friend Babbarabab, with whom he discussed the Old Testament.34 In July 1663, Shujāʿ’s guards’ attempt to invade the palace occasioned a second wave of repression against the Muslims of the capital.35 In 1664, the Arakanese fleet raided Jahangirnagar, which kindled the Mughals’ determination to put an end to their neighbor’s threat by conquering Chittagong. Two years later, in 1666, the Mughal army, led by the governor of Bengal, Shāyista Khān (r. 1664–​1688), took the port—​an event that marked the beginning of the decline of Arakan’s prosperity. The period of Ālāol’s life extending from 1661 to 1670 shows how involved he was in the business of his time. His closeness with the courtly milieu and his probable interaction with Shāh Shujāʿ’s entourage caused him to be condemned by the Arakanese authorities. Accused by someone he calls Mīrjā (i.e., Mīrzā), most probably an Iranian among Shūjā’’s followers, he spent fifty days in jail.36 Finally he was pardoned by the king himself, and he regained his freedom. It is noteworthy that this is the only episode of his life in which the poet is directly associated with the person of the king. In a passage that follows the envoi of Chapter 6 in Tohphā that deals with prayer [nāmāja vivaraṇa], Ālāol seems to confess something. He expresses remorse regarding the events that took place during the years before the composition of the text in 1663: I told a thousand things but did not achieve any; entangled in the net of illusion, I destroyed myself. People get lost and their body is empty of all virtue; like hollow drums, their speech is vain. I did not serve and worship, and I became guilty. I harvested the fruits with my very hands.

34. W. Schouten, De Oost-​Indische voyagie van Wouter Schouten, 161; G. Schouten, Voiage de Gautier Schouten, 1:258. 35. Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 191–​2. 36. The historian of Chittagong Mahbubul Alam relates a story current in the region regarding Ālāol’s punishment after those events. He is said to have been assigned to the maintenance of a Buddhist pagoda. He had to light the candles every evening in the sanctuary and fetch water every morning to clean the idols. On the request of a dignitary of the court this sentence was eventually replaced by a fee of 1,000 taṅkās paid by the poet’s protector. Mahbubul Alam, Caṭṭagrāmer itihās:  purāna āmal, vol. 1 (Chittagong:  Naẏālok Prakāśanī, 1965), 170.

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I did a hundred improper things, my sins have no end. What face could I show when I am so shameful? But there is no door other [than yours] to beg, beyond the hope to reach the merciful Supreme Agent. The Prophet’s feet are the only means to cross over, without tears the eyes are unable to see.37 In Tohphā, with the exception of these few allusive verses, the author seems to disappear from his work. He adapts his discourse to the seriousness of the situation and to the topics that he discusses in the treatise. In the prologue, the figures of the king and the Arakanese court are a distant reality. Only a few lines are devoted to eulogizing the king. In the eulogy of his patron Solāẏmān, probably an amātya of lower rank, the ties with the royal family are not highlighted (as they are in his previous texts). Ālāol also claims that Tohphā is different from his earlier works because it is not a delightful poem, but a treatise on proper behavior [nīti-​śāstra]. Following the grand oeuvre that was Saptapaẏkar, the last testimony of a harmonious courtly culture, the scholar of Mrauk U composed a treatise that was meant to be used by the members of his community. Therefore he does not even potentially address the larger courtly milieu. Religious issues have always been present in his works, it is thus not an entirely new theme, but the translation of Tuḥfa shows a markedly different way to address religious questions. The composition of this treatise, which was completed on March 23, 1663, confirms the crystallization of religious identities after 1661 and precedes the revolt of Shujāʿ’s guards that took place a few months later. Whereas in Padmāvatī, Satī Maẏnā, Saẏphulmuluk, and Saptapaẏkar, the religious debates included the voice of a potential opponent, the “other” is not present anymore in Tohphā, and only the community of believers remains.38 Gone were the times when the poet would tell Hindus, in

37. kahilũ sahasra kathā eka nā karilũ | michā māyā-​jāle bāji āpanā nāśilũ || loke kare bharama, śarīra hīna puṇya | yena michā bāje ḍaṅkā abhyantara śūnya || nā kariā sevā-​bhakti aparādhī hailũ | tāhāra ucita phala hāte hāte pāilũ || śata-​karma ayukta pāpera nāhi anta | ki mukhe basiba muñi haï lajjāvanta || tathāpiha māgibāre nāhi anya-​dvāra | binu vāñchā kr̥pāmaẏa eka karatāra || tarite upāẏa mātra nabīra caraṇa | ā̃khi-​jala binu bala nā dekhe naẏana || Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 421. 38. Simon Digby observes that Yūsuf Gadā never mentions Hindus and that very few elements of the Indian context of the author transpire in his text. Digby, “The Tuḥfa i Naṣā’iḥ of Yūsuf Gadā,” 122.

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Sanskrit, that the cult of idols is for fools who are ignorant of the true nature of God.39 What we learn about Ālāol’s poetics in Tohphā is the momentary disappearance of rasa. I observed the progressive withdrawal of the conventions of Sanskrit poetics and in particular of śr̥ṅgāra in its two manifestations, viraha and sambhoga, in favor of articulating a discourse on “essential principles” and “proper behavior.” The disappearance of rasa can be justified simply by the didactic nature of the source text. But relocated within the evolution of his oeuvre, the composition of Tohphā confirms a visible tendency throughout his previous works: the shift from mundane to moral and spiritual topics. Six years later, when Ālāol engaged in the composition of yet another poem—​and despite a return to a rather peaceful political situation—​he chose models and poetic devices that would sit in accordance with the new established order in which Bengali Muslims’ religious identity had been crystallized. The Mughals’ conquest of Chittagong in 1666 was fatal to Arakanese power.40 The failure of the deportation of manpower from Chittagong to Dhaññavatī, the end of the Dutch factory in 1665, and the loss of the principal port for long-​distance trade in the kingdom threw Arakan into irreversible economic decline. We can now understand why Ālāol did not benefit from the patronage of high-​ranking dignitaries until the end of his career. It is possible that the absence of prominent Muslim figures during this period is linked to the absence of Bengali Muslims in the privy council. Ālāol’s patrons between 1662 and 1671 were second-​and third-​rank dignitaries whose glorious times were behind them. Saiẏad Musā was a military officer, but he does not seem to have occupied a position as prestigious as that of Māgan or Solemān.41 He was a friend of Māgan, which is partly why the poet accepted his request to complete Saẏphulmuluk. The

39.  mūrkhā[ṇ]āṃ pratimā devo vipra-​ devo hutāśanaḥ | yogināṃ prārthanā devo deva-​ devo nirañjanaḥ || [The fool’s god is the idol, the Brahman’s god is fire, the yogīs’ god is prayer, but the God of gods is the Attributeless One.] The stanza is followed by a translation into Bengali. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 43. D. Bandyopadhyay indicates that this passage is not found in the manuscripts that he used. I have not seen it either in the few manuscripts that I have consulted. The stanza is present in Battala editions of the text. Ālāol, Padmāvatī (aitihāsik kāvya), Mahākavi Ālāoẏāl Saiẏed Śāh marhum praṇīta (Calcutta: Habibī Pres, 1338), 88. Even if this passage is a later addition, it does agree with the poet’s general discourse on religion during the first half of his literary career. 40. Galen, “Arakan at the Turn of the First Millenium of the Arakanese Era.” 41. About Ālāol’s patrons’ duties and ranks, see supra, Chapter 1.

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aura of the first dignitary of the great queen was still very much present; it seems as though they needed to look back at this past grandeur to hold together the milieu. Ālāol’s last patron, the majlis Nabarāj, was certainly an influential figure in his time. The function of majlis summed up the Bengali Muslims’ raison d’être as cultural brokers in Arakan. The glory of the majlis Nabarāja was behind him when he commissioned the translation of Niẓāmī’s Sharafnāma. Ālāol mentions his presence at the crowning ceremony of Candasudhammarājā in 1652—​almost twenty years before the poem was composed.42 The departure of the VOC and the loss of Chittagong must have been fatal blows to the wealth of the tax collector and representative of the foreign merchants of Mrauk U’s harbor. One cannot establish a link between Ālāol’s patrons and the intrigues of the court that accelerated the decline of the kingdom during the 1670s and 1680s.43 The place of epic themes and of political discourses in the second part of Saẏphulmuluk and Sikāndarnāmā, the latter being a poetic mirror for princes, shows that these subjects attracted his audience’s interest. But did Ālāol’s poems illustrate the nostalgia of a deposed nobility, or were they meant to feed the ambitions of a faction at the court? I have no definitive answer to that question. There is indeed a certain irony about the composition of an epic poem on Sikandar, the world conqueror, taking place in a kingdom that was recently deprived of an important part of its territory and that was a mere shadow of its former self. In the second part of Saẏphulmuluk, already, Ālāol shared with his audience his lack of rasa and the loss of the vivid inspiration that had formerly animated him. He blamed old age: disillusioned, he considered the poems of his younger times but trifling matters [ālājāla].44 The entertainment of Māgan’s and Solemān’s gatherings, the upamās [edifying tales] that combined spirituality and burlesque humor, the descriptions of the beloved’s charms, and the gītas composed in varied meters gave way to an epic in which the contemplative rhythm of śikhali (literally “shackles”; i.e., narrative section in paẏār meter) dominates the poem. The two gītas that we

42. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 313. 43.  Michael W. Charney, “Crisis and Reformation in a Maritime Kingdom of Southeast Asia:  Forces of Instability and Political Disintegration in Western Burma (Arakan), 1603–​ 1701,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 41, no. 2 (1998): 208–​9. 44. Ālāol was certainly not a “young poet” but he was probably in his late thirties or forties when he composed Padmāvatī in 1651.

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find in the second half of Saẏphulmuluk deal with viraha in a very flat style.45 Neither form nor content attract the attention of the reader. These gītas are two letters exchanged between the protagonists. The poet presents the register of the prayer and puts forward challenges to honor and grandeur; he did not bother with the composition of a signature line. The other gīta stands out from the narrative section in which it is included only by way of paratextual elements indicating the rāga kahu and the presence of a refrain. The refrain highlights the rewards of the hero’s suffering. The song contains one signature line in which Saiẏad Musā is praised for his knowledge [jñānete kuśala] and where the poet says that he is singing the pain of viraha. After he was released from jail, Ālāol had lost everything and, according to his own words, had no other choice but to turn to mendacity. Eventually, he received the support of important individuals from the Muslim community who offered to help him. Saiẏad Masāud Śāhā (i.e., Saiyid Masʿūd Shāh), the Islamic judge [kājī/​qāḍī] of the capital city, became his protector and freed him from his obligations as a royal slave [rāja-​dāẏa]. One could suppose that the judge also hired this man of the pen to assist him in his duty. However, the translation of Tuḥfa-​yi naṣāʾiḥ, which he considered a rudimentary manual of Muslim law, shows his good command of the legal sciences.46 Saiẏad Masāud Śāhā was also a master of the Qādiriyya and it is he who initiated the poet into this brotherhood [ṭarīqa]. While his early career took place in a Chishtī environment, the end of his career was characterized by the presence of the Qādiriyya. In itself, this change does not imply any radical shift in terms of religious doctrine; affiliations to multiple brotherhoods were common in the seventeenth-​century Muslim world.47 But

45. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 577–​78. 46. Ālāol mentions the sources already listed in Yūsuf Gadā’s text—​al-​Hidāya [ fī sharḥ al-​ Bidāya] of Burhān al-​Dīn Abū al-​Ḥasan ʿAlī al-​Marghīnānī (d. 1197), al-​Fatāwá al-​Sirājiyya of Sirāj al-​Dīn al-​Sajāwandī (fl. 1203), al-​Fatāwá al-​Tātār-​khāniyya of Farīd al-​Dīn b. ʿAlāʾ al-​ Indarpatī al-​Dihlawī (d. 1384), Mashāriq [al-​anwār] of Raḍī al-​Dīn al-​Ḥusayn al-​Ṣaghānī (m. 1252), and Dabīrī (probably Shamāʾil al-​atqiyāʾ of Rukn al-​Dīn “Dabīr” Kāshānī [m.1383])—​to which he adds a text titled al-​Nihāya, and Kanz [al-​daqāʾiq fī al-​furūʿ] of Ḥāfiẓ al-​Dīn al-​Nasafī (m. 1310). “Tohphā,” 412, 432. 47.  Examples of such multiple affiliations in cosmopolitan milieus are discussed in Azyumardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia:  Networks of Malay-​ Indonesian and Middle Eastern “Ulama” in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Crows Nest, NSW, Australia:  Asian Studies Association of Australia in association with Allen & Unwin, 2004).

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in Ālāol’s case, if we locate this affiliation within the social and cultural context of the time, and if we draw a parallel between the evolution of his discourse and the shift from the Chishtiyya to the Qādiriyya, it is possible to observe some correlations. In the seventeenth century, the Qādiriyya order was spread throughout the Muslim world.48 The fame of his founder, ʿAbd al-​Qādir Jīlānī (1077–​ 1166, Baghdad), whose charismatic persona spread beyond brotherhood divisions, lent a multifarious quality to the doctrines and rites associated with his figure.49 Nevertheless, the fact that Ālāol’s master was an Islamic judge—​ when combined with the cosmopolitanism of the Arakanese capital—​suggests a link with the specific Sufi trends of this period. ʿAbd al-​Qādir al-​Jīlānī was a follower of Ibn Ḥanbal’s (d. 855)  school of law, which was known for its literalism and orthodoxy. The spiritual doctrine that his major works professed, the study of which must have been part of the curriculum of the murīd [disciple] Ālāol, encourages a spiritual practice that combines esoteric knowledge [maʿrifat] with orthodox prescriptions [sharīʿat].50 In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the shaykhs of Mecca synthesized Muslim orthodoxy and spiritual doctrines. The polarity of both approaches created sometimes violent debates during Muslim history. The death of Shujāʿ’s brother, Prince Dārā Shukoh, in 1659, was an example of a conflict in which the prince’s opponents found fault with his heterodoxy.51 It is within this context that we witness a renewed interest in the Qādiriyya as an institutionalized brotherhood and that the works of the Hanbalite spiritual master of Baghdad became the subject of 48. Thierry Zarcone, “La Qâdiriyya,” in Les voies d’Allah: Les ordres mystiques dans l’Islam des origines à aujourd’hui, ed. Alexandre Popovic and Gilles Veinstein (Paris: Fayard, 1996), 461–​ 67; Thierry Zarcone et al., eds., The Qâdiriyya Order (İstanbul: Simurg, 2000). 49. For instance, a major figure of the history of the Chishtiyya brotherhood in South Asia, Muḥammad al-​Ḥusaynī “Gesū Dirāz,” composed a commentary on ʿAbd al-​Qādir Jīlānī’s risālas titled Jawāhir al-​ʿushshāq. Anushe, Dānishnāma-​yi adab-​i Fārsī, vol. 4, s.v. “Gesū Dirāz.” 50. The most studied works in the seventeenth century were his Futūḥ al-​ghayb [Revelations of the Unseen] and the voluminous al-​Ghuniyya li ṭālib fī ṭarīq al-​ḥaqq [Provisions for the Seeker on the Path of Truth]. Jīlānī, Revelations of the Unseen; Sufficient Provision for Seekers of the Path of Truth, trans. Muhtar Holland (Hollywood: Al-​Baz Publishing, 1997). Both texts were translated into Persian by Mughal scholars in the seventeenth century. See Bruce B. Lawrence, “Biography and the 17th-​Century Qādirīya of North India,” in Islam and Indian Regions, ed. Anna Libera Dallapiccola and Stephanie Zingel-​Avé Lallemant (Stuttgart, Germany: Steiner, 1993), 399–​415. 51. About the different attitudes of Qādirī authors in seventeenth-​century Mughal South Asia illustrated by the works of ʿAbd al-​Ḥaqq Dihlawī and Dārā Shikūh, see Lawrence, “Biography and the 17th-​Century Qādirīya of North India,” 399–​415.

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commentaries and translations that were patronized by intellectual and political elites. In light of this context, Ālāol’s Sufi affiliations and the religious orientation of his discourse seem very consistent. We observe a shift from the regional Chishtī cultural domain to the cosmopolitanism of the Qādiriyya. This motion implies some doctrinal changes as well. Chishtī Sufis contributed to the fashioning of a regional, or deśī, Islamic idiom in South Asia. We also know the importance of music in Chishtī rituals, which fits the emphasis on saṅgīta that we find in Ālāol’s early works. By contrast, the turn to the Qādirī matches the plain style of his later poems. The relative austerity of the core of Qādirī doctrine in seventeenth century was more in tune with the needs of the crystallization of the religious identity of the Muslims of Arakan than Chishtī precepts and the regional grounding of the Chishtī brotherhood. Ālāol’s orthodoxy, which had already been kindled by his political context and old age, was further fostered by this late initiation into the Qādiriyya. Formally speaking, the main characteristic of Sikāndarnāmā is the plain style of the composition. The frequency of the shifts between paẏāra and tripadī—​typical of kāvya as opposed to śāstra—​in Ālāol’s poetics does not differ from that in his other poems. But we do not notice any originality in the meters that he uses. This lack of originality has to do with the quasi-​absence of songs, which constitute the locus of prosodic creativity. There are no theatrical dialogued passages of the kind that are present in Saẏphulmuluk and Saptapaẏkar. The relative absence of formal elaboration is due to the poet’s choice to remain close to the source text. The poet’s submission to his model is immediately clear in the prologue, which is translated, largely literally, from Niẓāmī’s text. The noticeable homogeneity of this text contrasts with the diversity of the early poems. Another way to understand this shift is to consider that Ālāol distanced his composition from the traditional model of the pā̃cālī to be closer to the prosodic pattern of Persian narrative poetry [mathnawī]. The poem abandons the complete form of lyrical art that was the pā̃cālī to emphasize the textual dimension. By renouncing saṅgīta, Ālāol distances himself from the frameworks of both regional and Sanskrit literatures. The scholarly and narrative digressions that partake in regional literary culture also disappear from his work. The poet does not think of himself as a gāndharva—​ the creator and interpreter of the text produced in the sabhā.52 He focuses

52. d’Hubert, “Patterns of Composition,” 440–​1.

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on the poetic source text and strives to convey its content while preserving its imagery and semantic units.53 This produced an odd result: a Bengali poem in which the Persian source text is so salient that it becomes an obstacle for a proper understanding the target text. Although his literalism sometimes gave way to transcreation, it allowed no real interpolation or major digression. He also carefully acknowledges the reader when he does not manage to translate a given passage.54 Niẓāmī’s poem contains structural features that deeply influenced the Persian mathnawī tradition as well as Ālāol’s poetics. The Sharafnāma contains several episodes that are preceded by brief passages called andarz [advice] in which the poet formulates comments and provides wise advice. The end of each episode and the beginning of the andarz are articulated through sāqī-​nāmas. The sāqī-​nāmas are stanzas that are made of two verses [bayts] that follow a recurrent syntactical pattern.55 Through those vignettes using Bacchic imagery, the poet delivers a message of spirituality or wisdom:

Niẓāmī: Come cupbearer! Show me this wine, give me of that medicine of senseless ones! With that bitter medicine I shall become senseless; perhaps, I would then forget myself...

Ālāol: Come guru! Fill me with the liquor of love! So that I forget myself and become free from delusion.56 The recurrent theme is the impermanence and vanity of this world and the need to forget the ego. The cupbearer stands for the master whom the poet asks to pour the wine of knowledge in order to reach intoxication and 53. See Ḥamīd Allāh Khān’s comment on the literalism of Ālāol’s translation in Appendix 4. 54.  Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 368. See also “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 99, 111. 55. At least one poet from Chittagong imitated Ālāol’s sāqī-​nāmas in Bengali. See A. Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts, ms. no. 536. 56.  biyā sāqī, ān may nishān dih marā /​azān dārū-​yi bīhushān dih marā. badān dārū-​yi talkh bīhush kunam /​magar khwīshtan rā farāmush kunam. Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Sharafnāma, ed. Bihrūz Tharwatīyān (Tehran: Intishārāt-​i Tūs, 1368), 19; āisa guru, more deo prema-​surā bhari | yena moha-​mukta hauka āpanā pāsari || Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 308.

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forget his ego, which is the source of all false aspirations and grief. At the end of the Sharafnāma, Niẓāmī indicates that he arranged the sāqī-​nāmas “by means of analogy” [ba-​rū-​yi qiyās] and that, read one after the other, they could form an independent text.57 One could read the sāqī-​nāmas and the didactic passages [guzārishs] that follow them as keys to the text that are spread all through Niẓāmī’s epic poem. These keys allow the reader to reach several layers of meaning within the story of the conqueror and prophet Sikandar. This structure is preserved in Ālāol’s text. The andarzs are often rendered in tripadī, and the sāqī-​nāmas follow the bhaṇitā. At the beginning of the poem, he translates the source text, and the sāqī-​nāmas gradually become completely independent toward the end. The syntactical pattern is rigorously reproduced by the Bengali poet. The only difference lies in the shift from Niẓāmī’s allusive to Ālāol’s explicit speech. Sāqī [cupbearer] is translated as guru [master] and the poet’s wishes for redemption and salvation are explicitly mentioned. Sāqī-​nāmas thus sound like prayers that are comparable to the gītas, the evolution of which we have observed in this chapter. The disappearance of gītas in Sikāndarnāma can thus be explained by the fact that they share a similar function with Niẓāmī’s sāqī-​nāmas. Within Ālāol’s poetics, the mutation of the gītas into sāqī-​nāmas testifies to the phenomenon of acculturation at work in the gatherings of Mrauk U during the twenty years of Ālāol’s career. To conclude our study of the evolution of Ālāol’s poetry, let us quote the only song found in Sikāndarnāmā. It is Sikāndar’s complaint as he attends the funeral pyre of Dārā, the king of Persia:58 Song on the rāga dhānaśī59 bhāi ki michā dhandha jagata-​vāsanā | Brother, what a deceitful lie is the desire for the world!

57.  Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Sharafnāma, ed. Bihrūz Tharwatīyān, 532; ed. Dastgirdī and Ḥamīdīyān, 533. 58. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 348. 59. The dhyāna of rāga Dhanāsī is d[ū]rvādala-​śyāma-​tanur manojñā, kāntaṃ likhantī phalake vidagdhā | bālā galal-​locana-​vāri-​bindu-​nisyanda-​dhauta-​stana-​dhr̥g dhanāsī || [Charming, with her body dark like a blade of dūrvā grass, the clever woman is drawing her lover on a slab. The damsel has her bosom washed by the stream of tears pouring down her eyes.] Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, 65 [3.38]. Compare with Dāmodara Miśra, Saṅgīta-​darpaṇa. The Mirror of Music. Bydrage tot de kennis der voot-​indische muziek, trans. Arnold Adriaan Bake (Paris: Paul Geuthner),54–​55 [2.103–​104]. Dāmodara associates dhanāsī with the heroic emotion [rase vīre prayujyate].

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It feeds you honey and strikes with his poison. Think about it and save yourself! (Refrain) 1 In a moment he throws the king’s head to the ground, and hands a treasure to the miserable. He completely fools the heart away from righteousness, and purifies sin. 2 Think and see in your heart that one is born from dust and then returns to dust. You establish a home and stay there for a few days; why toiling so much to build something? 3 Avidity in excess is naturally harmful, benevolence is the only deed of grandeur. What is today won’t remain tomorrow, accomplish auspicious and meritorious deeds! 4 You keep yourself busy with a hundred mischievous deeds, whereas devoting yourself to a single good deed is dearer to the heart than a hundred others. Why do you think without discernment? 5 He thinks about meritorious gifts and good deeds, the majlis Nabarāj. Ālāol says that by uttering this benediction he strives for the sake of both worlds.606 This song is formally regular. The refrain is composed in a meter that is different from that of the couplets in candrāvalī and it contains all of the elements that are prescribed by the śāstras. The refrain opens with a vocative, and it is distinct from prayers because it is not applied to a divine epithet but to the word “brother.” By addressing his audience this way, the poet—​who borrows the voice of the king and future prophet Sikandar—​ displays a informal tone that is rare in his earlier works. The poet denounces the impermanence of life in this world and the vanity of mundane ambitions. We can clearly distinguish the themes of Ālāolian ethics that meet the message that Niẓāmī’s story of Sikandar conveys. The poet emphasizes divine omnipotence and encourages the audience to realize the impermanence of human achievements. The third

60. Literally “ages” [yuga]. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 348.

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couplet deals with one of the leitmotifs of Ālāol’s discourse on politics in his previous poems:  the difficult combination of worldly prosperity and salvation, that is, the reunion of the yogī and the bhogī, who are illustrated by the characters of Ratnasen and Lor. From the perspective of the mystical discourse surrounding Avadhi prema-​rasa, this opposition signifies distinct stages on the path of knowledge that leads to divine union. On the narrative plane, these stages appear in the dichotomy of the plot, where one part is devoted to the yogī and another to the bhogī. The social implications of this dichotomy mattered less than what they meant on the symbolic and spiritual planes. But for Ālāol, who conceived of his poems as examples of ideal worldly and spiritual behavior for the Bengali Muslim elite of Mrauk U, there was a real need to combine material prosperity with soteriology. The figure of Sikandar, who was both king and prophet, and whose story illustrated the grandeur of those two roles, provided a model that was both mundane and spiritual. In Sikandar’s grandeur [mahattva/​mahimā], the yogī met the bhogī. Ālāol states in this song that deeds of grandeur should be accomplished with “benevolence” [kṣemā]. As it is expressed in the signature line, the deed of grandeur par excellence is generosity. In the Western as well as in the Eastern versions of the story of Alexander/​Sikandar, the protagonist’s conquests are associated with his wealth and his generosity. In Niẓāmī’s poem and in its Bengali version, it is the visit to Nushāba’s court that deals with the issue of the balance between renouncement and prosperity that the king, like all powerful men, must reach.61 The last words of the song sum up the nature of Ālāol’s literary endeavor, whose end is to praise the prosperity of his patron while at the same time managing, through his poetry, to strive for both worlds.

Epilogue: The provincial afterlife of  the Mrauk U literary tradition In the previous sections, I  presented Ālāol as the voice of an emerging elite in Arakan and I  emphasized the relevance of a contextual reading of his poetry. We could follow the progressive decline of this elite and its withdrawal to the periphery of the royal household of Arakan. The late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries are a rather obscure period of

61. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 362–​7.

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the history of Arakan for which very few sources are available. In the realm of Bengali literature, it is clear that after Ālāol passed away, probably sometime after 1671, the milieu of Mrauk U could not provide the patronage that was necessary to maintain such a literary output. Some authors—​like Śamśer Ālī, Muhāmmad Ālī, or Āinuddīn, who lived and studied in Mrauk U in the eighteenth century—​mention the names of patrons and scholars, but on the basis of their accounts one cannot recreate a picture of this society that is comparable to the one that we sketched for Ālāol’s lifetime.62 Between February and June 1678, a series of terrible fires burned the palace and a large part of the capital city to the ground, killing 5,000 people.63 This event confirmed and precipitated the dissolution of Mrauk U’s courtly milieu, and in the early eighteenth century we witness a relocation of the production of courtly texts to the rural areas around Chittagong—​in Sultanpur, Ramu, and other little zamīndārīs. Several authors of the eighteenth century actually refer to an exodus from Mrauk U to Chittagong and Ramu. Kājī Śekh Mansur, who wrote the Sir-​nāmā [The Book of the Secret] in 1703, says that he “used to live in Rosang but resettled in Ramu.”64 Similarly, according to Abdul Karim and Enamul Haq, Śamśer Ālī, who was from Sultanpur, started the composition of his poem in Mrauk U and finished it in Chittagong.65 We thus see a pattern of migration of the Bengali literati from Arakan to Chittagong in the eighteenth century, where new opportunities for patronage were emerging. The early eighteenth century was a period of relative autonomy for Hindu and Muslim landlords in southeastern Bengal and of growing 62. See the notices on Muhāmmad Ālī and Āinuddīn in A.Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts, 572–​4, 581–​4, mss. nos. 567 and 576. See also d’Hubert, “Arākān aur janūb-​i mashriqī Bangāla-​desh mẽ musulamānõ kī tahdhīb aur zabānẽ.” 63. These events were related in letters sent by members of the VOC, Balthazar Hinlopen and Jan Heijnen, to Batavia. S.  van Galen, who surveyed and analyzed this fascinating archive, highlights the importance of these fires in triggering the political crisis that would last throughout the eighteenth century in Arakan: “On 27 February 1678 a large fire in Mrauk U destroyed the Golden Palace and about 3,000 to 4,000 houses. The fire killed 4,000 to 5,000 people including the 14 year old daughter of the king, who himself narrowly escaped death. On 2 May 1678 the palace of the mother of the king burned down, 20 May the palace of the daughter of the king, and on 5 June the cloth market was set on fire. It seems that these fires, that appear to have been targeted at the royal palace and the other houses of the royal family, can well be seen as foreshadowing the civil war that would soon rage throughout the country.” Galen, “Arakan and Bengal,” 200. 64. A. Sharif, Bāṃlār sūphī sāhitya, 2nd ed. (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Samaya Prakāśan, 2003), 163–​92. 65. Haq and Karim, “Ārākān rājsabhāẏ bāṃlā sāhitya (1600–​1700),” 101–​3.

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rivalry between the ancient Arakanese nobility and the newly appointed Mughal elite.66 The corpus of texts produced in Arakan became the model for the local courtly idiom, and the figure of Ālāol came to represent an ideal of poetical refinement and scholarship. We can distinguish three domains in which Ālāol had a visible impact on Chittagong’s literary tradition in subsequent centuries: the lyrical arts, the area of what I would call “poetic literacy” (i.e., a literacy concerned mainly with the composition and understanding of the poetic idiom), and the sphere of panegyric composition. While he was in Mrauk U, Ālāol was a master of saṅgīta and literature; later Chittagongian authors conveyed traces of this activity. In the early seventeenth century, authors attending the courts of local zamīndārs started compiling anthologies of lyrics and manuals that would help them gain some basic knowledge of the mythology surrounding musical modes [rāgas] and rhythms [tālas] as well as the proper times when those should be performed. Given that they convey almost no technical knowledge about the performance of music or even on aesthetics, these Rāga-​ and Tāla-​nāmās cannot properly be called full-​fledged treatises on saṅgīta. The knowledge that is provided in these texts focuses more on fostering general connoisseurship and therefore is intended for the connoisseur rather than for the performer. Ālāol’s name is invoked by several anthologists such as Debān Ālī (ca. eighteenth century CE) and Phājil Nāsir (fl. 1727, Sultanpur). The latter composed a treatise-​cum-​anthology on rāgas and rāgiṇīs that provided Sanskrit dhyānas—​that is, stanzas describing the personification of a musical mode in a given scene. These short poems were the subject of miniature paintings, called rāga-​mālās, that became increasingly popular in regional courts and were the epitome of courtly aesthetics and its manifestation through the three media of poetry, music, and painting.67 66. After the conquest of Chittagong, the Mughals gave jāgīrs in the area to families originally settled in the neighboring region of Feni. These families were known as Dā̃dārā or Dā̃rāilẏā and called the Muslim population of Chittagong “Magh” (i.e., Arakanese). They kept a dialect of their own rather than using the Chittagongian dialect, and they had their own places of worship. Tensions remained among this community and the local Muslim population until the end of the nineteenth century and the intervention of Muslim reformist movements in the region. Ḥamīd Allāh Khān’s Persian work on Chittagong seems to focus on the history of these families. Khān Bahādur, Aḥādīth al-​khawānīn; Ābdul Haq Caudhurī, Caṭṭagrāmer samāj o saṃskr̥tir rūparekhā (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1988), 108–​12. 67. A. Sharif, Madhyayuger rāg-​tāl-​nāmā. On musicological literature and courtly culture in eastern South Asia, see infra, Chapter 7.

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The texts differ greatly from one manuscript to the other; sometimes they include lyrics that they give as examples and sometimes they give only the Sanskrit dhyānas, their close translation in paẏār verses, or a poetic transcreation in tripadī.68 In those texts, Ālāol is praised as a master of the lyrical arts: The authors quote his versified rendering of the myths of origin of rāgas, rāgiṇīs, and tālas, and they cite some of his lyrics as examples. The style of the fragments that are found in the Rāga-​nāmās is slightly different from the style of those in his other texts. No patron is mentioned; rather, the excerpts are presented as a series of questions and answers between the master and his disciples. The poet also regularly addresses the audience in his signature lines. The dhyānas that are given in the treatise of Phājil Nāsir are, unsurprisingly, taken from Ālāol’s favorite manual of saṅgīta—​Śubhaṅkara’s (ca. fifteenth century CE) Saṅgītadāmodara. The content of the poet’s own teaching is not entirely derived from the Saṅgītadāmodara, though, and we would benefit from a future study of the sources that were used to compose these didactic notes.69 Another field in which Ālāol was considered an example to follow was the composition of panegyric. We studied the lengthy eulogies of the kingdom and of his patrons and the peculiarities of his rhetoric of grandeur. As special features of the structure of his works, the prologues appear to be new elaborations within the domain of premodern Bengali literature; Ālāol’s contemporaries and followers noticed them as such. Two clear examples can be given of the conscious reproduction of Ālāol’s eulogies, to which many more could be added on the grounds of stylistic comparisons between his prologues and those of later authors. Similarly, his autobiographical accounts were recycled by copyists and added to the beginning of some manuscripts containing texts composed by other poets.70

68.  This remark is based on my reading of Phājil Nāsir’s Rāga-​nāmā in Ahmad Sharif’s edition, which contains only the dhyānas and their Bengali translation and of ms. no. 482 of Abdul Karim’s collection in which examples of padas of Hindu and Muslim authors are given. A.  Sharif, Madhyayuger rāg-​tāl-​nāmā, 42–​77; A.  Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts, 485–​6. 69.  avagata pāiẏā śāstra-​pustaketa | bhāṅgiẏā kahiba saba bujhaha paṇḍita || [After gaining understanding from treatises, I will explain/​translate everything so that scholars may understand.]; racilum ei kathā ādye lekhā pāi | [I composed these words based on writings that I obtained.]; āgama vicāri kahe hīna ālāola || [The humble Ālāol speaks after consulting authoritative texts.]. Ālāol, “Rāgtālnāmā o padāvalī,” 598, 603, 606. 70. This is, for instance, the case of a manuscript of the lengthy narrative poem of Ābdun Nābī titled Āmīr Hāmjā formerly kept at the Bangla Academy (B.A.  n° 27/​ā nabī 3/​ā hā 3) but unfortunately stolen in 1971. In this manuscript the copyist inserted the prologue of

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The two examples here hint at local trends of transmission and redefinition of the history of the local elite. Both authors lived in the eighteenth century and wrote for local zamīndār families of Pathans and Sayyids. In a short poem titled Pāṭhān-​praśaṃsā [The Praise of the Pathans], Naoẏājīs Khān (ca. seventeenth–​early eighteenth century CE) directly refers to Ālāol when discussing the significance of eulogizing the great men of this world: Therefore the poet satisfies great men; Thanks to poets the fame of their own eulogy remains. Who would know about the story of Bahrām Gūr and the seven beautiful women who told nice stories. . . . He composed many other good stories that will remain in books until the end of times. Is there any other way for a king to remain for a hundred thousand years except by means of the composition of a eulogy? Who would know? Think about all this carefully, it is thanks to the composition of the learned Ālāol. Thinking in his mind the humble Naoẏājīs says the Praise of the Pathans with the utmost care.71 Naoẏājīs Khān does refer to the story of Bahrām, whose fame was conveyed by Ālāol’s work—​but not to the king of Arakan or the patrons whom Ālāol praised. In this explanation of the significance of eulogy, we see that the poem is the means for several layers of praises that begin from the very character of the narrative and continue on to the king of the time. We also find in this passage an echo of Ālāol’s own comments on literary patronage and its value over the patronage of architectural and hydraulic projects;72 we also find an echo of Ālāol’s classification of the functions of

Pamāvatī at the beginning of the manuscript. Sukumār Viśvās, Bāṃlā ekādemī pũthi paricaẏ (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 1995), 191. 71.  ei lāgi mohājane kavi santosae | kavi honte āpanā prasaṃsā nāma rahe || ke jānita baharama kathā rahe | sapta nārī saptakāra (i.e. saptapaẏkar) suprasaṅga kahe || [ . . . ] āra katha suprasaṅga bahula racila | pralae avadhi saba pustake rahila || lakṣyāvadhi narapati haïche saṃsāre | prasaṃsā-​racanā binu kari āche kāre || ke jānita e sakala bhāvi cāha mane | gyānabanta ālāola racanā kārane || kahe noājīs hīne bhāvi nija-​mana | pāṭhāna-​prasaṃsā ati kariā jatana || A. Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts, 274–​5, ms. no. 261. 72. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 314.

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speech, the last of which was to display the “resplendent and mysterious greatness of kings” [nr̥patira. . . rahasya-​mahimā surucira].73 The second example is Ujīr Ālī’s (fl. 1713–​1719) Nasle Osmān Islāmābād [The Lineage of ʿUthmān (in) Islāmābād] or Śāhnāmā [The Book of Kings]. In this voluminous account of the foundation of Chittagong, the poet—​who is the brother of a zamīndār of the region—​refers to Daulat Kājī and Ālāol to justify his poetic endeavor.74 Aside from his drawing a direct parallel between his poem and the works of the court poets of Mrauk U, he also borrows verses from Padmāvatī’s eulogy and inserts them in the praise of his brother’s rule—​and then in the story itself when he describes the city of Baghdad. In both cases he changes the proper names but keeps the Arakanese title of “lord of the white and red elephants.”75 This example helps us understand that Ālāol not only established the genre of the panegyric in Bengali, but he also provided the poetic idiom in which the panegyric ought to be performed. Therefore the impact of his panegyric style can be seen in the works of other poets who did not necessarily mention his name but who obviously had recourse to his poetic praise idiom. The poets who were patronized by the zāmīndār of Ramu, Ālī Hosen Caudhurī “Kālācā̃d” (1815–​1866), clearly show their familiarity with Ālāol’s works and his panegyric style.76 The manuscript tradition is also a good indicator of the diffusion of his works and of the use that was made of them. Copying one of Ālāol’s poems was not an easy task because of the complexity of the language for someone unfamiliar with Sanskrit and for the sometimes-​exotic images he used when following his Avadhi and Persian models closely.77 Some

73. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 199. 74.  Mohāmmad Ujīr Ālī, “Nasle Osmān Islāmābād vā Śāhnāmā,” ms. no.  253, 43, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad,” Dhaka University Library. A.  Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts, 260–​4. 75. d’Hubert, “The Lord of the Elephant,” 356–​62. 76. For instance, in the catalogue of Abdul Karim’s collection, it is indicated that Lokmān Ālī, who translated a compilation of traditions of the Prophet in Bengali, used Ālāol’s praises of Mrauk U and Māgan as a template to compose his eulogy of Ramu and Ālī Hosen Caudhurī. A.  Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts, 564–​5, ms. no.  560, especially p. 566. 77. The historian of Chittagong, Ḥamīd Allāh Khān, assumes that Ālāol also composed in Persian just by observing the peculiar features of his diction:  chunān mī-​numāyad ki dar fārsī ham shāʿir būd chunānchi az istirāq-​i maḍāmīn wa tashbīhāt wa ṭawr-​i guftārish ẓāhir mī-​ shawad ammā shiʿr dar fārsī na-​dīda-​am magar ba-​ʿillat-​i qillat-​i fārsī-​dān-​ān-​i ān waqt maḥfūẓ wa maktūb na-​mānda wa Allāh aʿlam. [It seems that he was also a poet in Persian; this fact

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manuscripts show traces of the great care with which his texts were transcribed and proofread. A rather uncommon feature for a vernacular text is that of the few marginal notes, one of which was written in Persian, on some difficult words used by the poet.78 These marginalia also show the special status of his poetry—​at least for some copyist—​in that it did not lend itself to the traditional transformations that were performed on the text in the pā̃cālī tradition. One manuscript with the text of the description of the charms of Badiujjāmāl and Padmāvatī even contains a word-​to-​word gloss in a comparatively modern written Bengali with some dialectal features.79 Such commentarial practices in Bengali are extremely rare. Ālāol certainly used his own poems in didactic contexts when he was teaching the children of Mrauk U’s dignitaries. Such a manuscript shows that his texts continued to be used to teach vernacular poetical language. Finally, another incomplete manuscript of a poetic lexicon bearing Ālāol’s name shows that he was engaged in an effort to set standards for the Bengali poetic idiom, and, like his notes on saṅgīta, this text circulated among the local literati of Chittagong until the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.80 The last phase of the diffusion of Ālāol’s texts took place in the popular presses of Calcutta, in the neighborhood of the Baṭtalā where Padmāvatī, Sikāndarnāmā, Saptapaẏkar, and Saẏphulmuluk were published several times. The texts were presented as rare masterpieces from Chittagong, written in “the language of Chittagong.” In the case of Saẏphulmuluk, the editor relates that he had to go to southeastern Bengal to collect a manuscript of the text. The manuscript he found was written in the Arabic

appears clearly from his borrowing of themes and similes (from Persian poetry), and from the style of his diction. But I have not seen any Persian poem of his and perhaps, due to the dearth of Persian knowing people at that time, they were not memorized or committed to writing—​and God knows best.] Khān Bahādur, Aḥādīth al-​khawānīn, 55. 78.  Here are some of those marginal notes that we find in ms. no. ā 1  p.  1 of the Bangla Academy: ḍighi = tālāb-​i kalān (fol. 16r); bhuja = bāzū; amarāvatī = bihisht; upavana = bāghīcha (i.e., bāghcha); malaā svamira = bād-​i khūsh-​bū; nidāgha samae = dar ayām-​i chayt wa baysākh (fol. 15v); utphala lāje jala māje giā baise | tāmbhula rātula haila adara parase || Next to each verse the reader wrote:  zāʾid (“interpolation”; fol. 36r); In addition to the marginal comments, the owner of the manuscript wrote in red in Arabic script on fol. 9r: ḥaqq-​i mālik Aḥmad ʿAlī. 79.  Ālāol, “Padmāvatī o Badiujjāmāler rūpavarṇanā,” ms. no.  264, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārada,” Dhaka University Library; d’Hubert, “Histoire culturelle et poétique de la traduction,” 882–​7. 80. See infra, Chapter 7.

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script, and he therefore had to transliterate the text into the Bengali alphabet. The Baṭtalā editions of Ālāol’s texts are notoriously corrupted and in some cases hardly readable.81 This illegibility is the result of several factors, the first of which is the gap between Ālāol’s literary culture and that of his nineteenth-​century editors. The language and cultural references—​especially in the prologues—​ were not immediately understandable by readers in nineteenth-​century Calcutta. We saw that the manuscript transmission in Chittagong evinces the fact that that his readership already had to make substantial efforts to transcribe his works in an intelligible way. Outside of this context, and when taken as a mere pā̃cālī in which the refinement of speech did not prevail on narration, Ālāol’s texts were given a new, almost symbolic significance. His poems arrived in a market of popular literature cultivating a new literary idiom. Since the late eighteenth century, Muslim authors in western Bengal had been fashioning a new poetic idiom that was later called Dobhāṣī [Bilingual] or Musulmani Bengali.82 This idiom, which was pioneered by Shāh Garibullāh, retains the grammatical framework and prosody of Bengali but includes an important number of lexical items from Hindustani—​and therefore many Persian and Arabic words and expressions. Not only did the language incorporate Persianized lexical items, but the poets’ images were often related to Persian rhetoric. One consequence was a reaction to the old, Indic [hinduẏānī] style of Ālāol. Therefore Māle Mohāmmad, in his version of Saẏphulmuluk that he composed in 1828, claimed that he was writing a new version of the story because the previous one—​possibly Ālāol’s—​was written in Sanskrit (which, of course, was actually Sanskritized Bengali).83 This reaction to the old school of Arakan’s Bengali poetry, which was perpetuated in Ramu until the second half of the nineteenth century, also found its detractors in eastern Bengal. Ḥamīd Allāh Khān (ca. 1789–1870), a scholar of Persian who also authored texts in Bengali, complained about 81.  See, for instance, Abdul Karim, “Bāṅgālār prācīn musalmān kavi,” in Ābdul Karim Sāhityaviśārad racanāvalī, ed. Abdul Ahsan Chaudhuri, vol. 1 (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Bangla Academy, 1997), 322–​6. 82.  Thibaut d’Hubert, “Dobhāshī,” ed. Denis Matringe, Everett Rowson, and Gudrun Krämer, Encyclopaedia of Islam, THREE (Brill Online, 2014), http://​dx.doi.org/​10.1163/​1573-​ 3912_​ei3_​COM_​27851. 83.  Anisuzzaman, Muslimmānas o bāṃlā sāhitya, 1757–​1918, reprint (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Papyrus, 2001), 155.

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the elements of Hindu culture that he found in Ālāol’s poems. Despite the relative success of the Baṭtāla editions of Ālāol’s works, their style and poetic idiom became less and less relevant to the new Bengali Muslim readership. Although Ālāol was never entirely forgotten or ignored by scholars or the larger public, we observe a clear shift over time in the understanding of his texts and in the awareness of the actual scope of his oeuvre. The author of an anthology that was probably compiled in the nineteenth century presented Ālāol as the Bengali translator of an extended version of Niẓāmī’s oeuvre and misattributed the Bengali version of Lāẏlī Majnu to Daulat Kājī. 84 The author states that his father came from Dhaka, which may explain his attempt to familiarize himself with the local literary tradition. A similar mistake was made by the son of a publisher of the Baṭtalā who published several Chittagongian texts, Abdul Ghuffur Siddiqi (1872–​ 1959), who was blamed by Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad” for spreading misconceptions about Ālāol’s works and for producing poorly edited printed versions of his poems. Among the mistakes that Abdul Karim highlighted was a claim about Ālāol’s translation of Niẓāmī’s entire Khamsa.85 The afterlife of the Bengali literary tradition of Arakan and of Ālāol’s works in particular is complex, and I provide here what I consider to be the central features of this story. Ālāol expressed very self-​aware positions about the notion of literary tradition and his practice as a poet–​translator. As we see in the next chapter, he extended the scope of the Bengali pā̃cālī and tried to endow the vernacular literary idiom with a new focus on speech and meaning without neglecting the fundamentally narrative qualities of the form. When his works were transmitted to the western region of Arakan and then farther west to Calcutta, they were received in very different contexts. His texts reintegrated a more traditional conception of the pā̃cālī tradition, and the poetic density of his speech and the content of his prologues lost their relevance as they traveled away from Mrauk U

84. To the five poems of the Khamsa he added Saẏphulmuluk, Padmāvatī, Tohphā (he does not give the title but says:  aṣṭama kitāba tāna śāstra jata nīti [his eighth book is a treatise on rules of proper conduct], thus echoing Ālāol’s qualification of the book as being a nīti-​ śāstra). Then he states: aṣṭa kitāba bāṅgālā kaila ālāẏala kavi | [The poet Ālāol made (i.e. translated) [Niẓāmī’s] eight books into Bengali.] To Ālāol’s oeuvre he added Rāgatālamālā—​which was not preserved as an independent book—​Bāhāri julajālā, Emrān pādasāra kitāba, and Naphas duniẏār kitāba. The last three books are completely unknown. A. Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts, 265–​7, ms. no. 256. 85. See “Mahākavi Ālāol-​prasaṅga” and “Ālāol-​carit: Mithyā o kalpanā saṃyojan,” in Ābdul Karim Sāhityaviśārad racanāvalī, ed. Abdul Ahsan Chaudhuri, vol. 1, 189–​201, 326–​7.

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and as the memory of the original audience became gradually lost.86 Abdul Karim’s partial and posthumously published edition of Padmāvatī (which was based on the manuscripts he collected) and the insightful and critical articles that he wrote on Ālāol’s poems reveal a certain mid-​twentieth-​ century need to recover the poet’s voice after two centuries of transmission during an age of deep cultural, social, and political changes among the Muslims of eastern and western Bengal.87

Summary The crisis of 1661 that followed Shāh Shujāʿ’s arrival created a deep split within the courtly milieu of Mrauk U. The consequences in Ālāol’s works were radical: The poet set aside kāvya in favor of śāstra. The intention of the scholar and his patron was to provide a straightforward definition of Islam not only in terms of orthodoxy but also of orthopraxy. The shared principle of sincerity [satya] was challenged and the interests of the Bengali Muslim dignitaries at the court were threatened. The crystallization of religious identities meant a withdrawal from regional shared cultural references and a further opening on the cosmopolitan Muslim adab of the trading networks. On the literary plane, the rupture was equally radical. The śr̥ṅgāra [erotic aesthetic emotion] gave way to the śukrānā nāmāja [prayer of thanksgiving]; gītas became scarce and almost disappeared in Sikāndarnāmā to be replaced by sāqī-​nāmas. The poet gave a greater importance to the format of the source text. In this regard, the case of Tohphā (1663) is striking because it is nearly a line-​to-​line rendering of the Persian original. However, as Ālāol reminds his reader, one should take into account the fact that it is a treatise and that it cannot be subject to the hermeneutical transcreation that poetry inspires.88 It is mainly in Sikāndarnāmā (1671) that we witness the poet’s submission to the poetics of his model. From the very beginning, Niẓāmī had a deep influence on how Ālāol conceived

86. See infra, Chapter 5 for a discussion on the topic of Ālāol’s intervention on the conventions of the traditional Bengali pā͂cālī. 87. Ālāol, Ālāoler Padmāvatī, ed. Abdul Karim (Chittagong: Bāṃlā Sāhitya Samiti, Caṭṭagrām Viśvavidyālaẏ, 1977); A.  Karim, Ābdul Karim Sāhityaviśārad racanāvalī; Abdul Karim, Ābdul Karim sāhitya viśārader prabandha saṃgraha, viṣaẏ Ālāol, ed. Abdul Karim (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Jātīẏa Grantha Prakāśan, 2003). 88. See infra, Chapter 5.

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of his art. But the translation of the Sharafnāma shows that the persona of Ālāol as a poet gradually disappeared behind the figure of Niẓāmī. Peter Gaeffke noticed a very orthodox tone in Ālāol’s discourse in Sikāndarnāmā that was not present in his model.89 He saw, in this attitude, an awareness on the parts of the Bengali Muslims of Arakan that they were living on the edge of the Muslim world—​in the “house of war” [dār al-​ḥarb].90 This analysis is accurate insofar as that we understand Ālāol’s last poem to be symptomatic of a crystallization of religious identities. But it is the conclusion of a process that lasted over twenty years. To this argument we might add that, compared with the case of Tohphā, one can see in Sikāndarnāmā’s reference to the crowning ceremony of Candasudhammarājā and in its royal eulogy that there was a return to some kind of equilibrium in the relationships between the Muslim dignitaries and the royal court. Sikāndarnāmā is the conclusion of a poetic reflection on mundane and spiritual duties. The two aspects of the hero, the ascetic and the princely, synthesize within the character of Sikandar. Ālāol’s oeuvre therefore fashions a poetical idiom that seeks to answer questions that arise when men are split, anxiously, between two worlds. His oeuvre was the positive response to this demand; a fragile political equilibrium made it possible. The dissolution of the courtly milieu did not mean that Ālāol’s works, which had already spread within the boundaries of the kingdom (and most of all within Chittagong, where they continued to live until the early twentieth century), fell into oblivion. But it did cause the loss of a engaged understanding of a poetic idiom that had been closely associated with the cultural horizons of the Bengali Muslim dignitaries of Mrauk U. It is this poetic idiom that I propose to explore in the following chapter.

89. Peter Gaeffke, “Alexander and the Bengali Sufis,” in Studies in South Asian Devotional Literature:  Research Papers, 1988–​ 1991, Presented at the Fifth Conference on “Devotional Literature in New Indo-​Aryan Languages,” Held at Paris-​École Française d’Extrême-​Orient, ed. Alan W. Entwistle and Françoise Mallison (New Delhi; Paris: Manohar; École française d’Extrême Orient, 1994), 275–​84. 90. See d’Hubert, “Living in Marvelous Lands.”

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Ālāol’s poetics in the perspective of Bengali literary history The present chapter attempts to describe and interpret the constitutive elements of Ālāol’s poetics by surveying the technical terms and concepts that are present in his texts. The motivation behind this seemingly narrow methodological constraint is the very limited information that is available in modern scholarship on the vernacular poetic terminology of Middle Bengali.1 The study of this terminology is therefore a project of its own that does not compete with alternative literary critical approaches one could choose to interpret such texts. It is a philological endeavor, the outcome of which is to define concepts and technical terms and try to see how they could work as a system for the author and his audience or readership. I adopt a synchronic approach to Ālāol’s poetics, in which one will find several aspects of the previous chapter’s diachronic analysis of the poet’s work. My reconstruction is framed by an argument about literary history; I begin with a discussion of how Ālāol’s conception and practice of poetry constituted an intervention on the existing poetic tradition. I consider how Ālāol, as a result of his multilingual training and of the specific features of his Indo-​Afghan cultural background, extended the paradigm of composition and performance of the pā̃cālī—​the literary form that he chose to build his career as poet. As a preamble to the study of his poetics, I introduce 1. K. Das, Bāṃlā kāvyer rūp o rīti (Calcutta: Deś Publishing, 1994); Wakil Ahmed, Madhyayuge bāṃlā kāvyer rūp o bhāṣā (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Khan Brothers, 1994); L.  Rahmān, Bāṃlā sāhitye nandanbhāvanā.

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the issue of literary forms in Middle Bengali literature and define more precisely what I  mean by “extending the paradigm of composition and performance.”2 As I demonstrate, the nature of the poet’s intervention in the praxis of Bengali literature also translates into the elaboration of a new terminology in his discourse on poetics.

Extending the paradigm of Bengali literary performance To understand the kind of intervention that Ālāol made on the Bengali literary tradition, I must define the forms of it that were available to him in the first half of the seventeenth century. To do so, I first turn to the definition of the basic forms of Bengali literature that the best specialist on the subject, Sukumar Sen, provided.3 In his history of Bengali literature, Sen, synthesizing his observations on Bengali texts, identified two primary forms that were manifested independently and that were sometimes combined: the short poems [gīti-​kavitās] that were sung and the longer narrative poems [ākhyāẏikās] that could be either sung or read aloud. To these categories he added a variable that I do not consider significant in terms of formal analysis: whether the text is an adaptation of Purāṇic material or not. Nevertheless, he himself admitted that narratives, whether adapted from the Purāṇas or not, belong to one form: the pā̃cālī.4 The origin of the term pā̃cālī is a matter of conjecture. According to Sukumar Sen, the word originally referred to a type of performance in which puppets were used to illustrate the narrative poem, which was sung and accompanied by music and dance.5 As a matter of fact, the term pā̃cālī refers to a mode of performing versified texts rather than to a specific 2. d’Hubert, “Patterns of Composition.” 3. S. Sen, Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās, vol. 1, 103. 4. The presence or absence of Purāṇic literature in the background of the pā̃cālī has been emphasized by scholars to highlight the difference between Hindu and Muslim pā̃cālīs, the latter being thought to have brought a human dimension to the tradition that otherwise relied either on the Sanskrit Purāṇas and epics or on locally grounded cults. Sukumar Sen’s student Satyendranath Ghoshal based his entire approach of Ālāol’s work on those basic categories and went further by attributing the invention of secularism in Bengali literature to the Muslim poets of Arakan. Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature. For a discussion on the notion of secularism applied to Middle Bengali literature, see supra, introduction. 5. S. Sen, Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās, vol. 1,14–​16, 103; Sukumar Sen, An Etymological Dictionary of Bengali, C. 1000–​1800 A.D. (Calcutta: Eastern Publishers, 1971), s.v. “Pā̆ñcālikā.”

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genre. In the historical period of the pā̃cālī, that is, when authors use the term to designate their own literary compositions, its basic components are the narrative dimension, the possibility of performing the text with music, and a verse form called paẏār that in Ālāol’s time became synonymous with both the pā̃cālī form—​also called paẏāra-​prabandha (a composition in paẏār meter)—​and the language itself [paẏāra-​bhāṣā].6 To this definition we must add the alternation with the other verse form that would become characteristic of the pā̃cālī: the tripadī. We observe a basic repartition of the functions of paẏār and tripadī, the former being used to describe the action and the latter being used for ornate descriptions and emotionally loaded passages.7 Some sections are labeled lācārī in the paratext of manuscripts.8 This term, according to Sukumar Sen, indicates that the passage must be performed in an elaborate way, with music and dance.9 In terms of meter, a lācārī section can be either in paẏār or in tripadī, or it can be a song [gīta] that is composed in some other meter and inserted into the basic structure of the pā̃cālī. Lācārī is a term that is also found in Sanskrit technical literature (as lahacarī) on lyrical arts and its definition only partially agrees with what can be observed in passages that are identified here as lācārī.10 The next constitutive element of the pā̃cālī is the presence of signature lines, or bhaṇitās, at the end of each narrative section.11 Bhaṇitās give the modern reader a sense of the rhythm in which the text was performed. In some cases, the arrangement of the text in several pālās makes even more explicit the way the text was performed throughout several days and

6.  Ālāol, “Sapta Paẏkar B,” n.d., fol. 5v, Facsimile no.  4 (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Bangla Academy); Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 199; Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 449. 7. Max Stille, “Metrik und Poetik der Josephsgeschichte Muhammad Sagirs,” Master’s thesis (Heidelberg University, 2013); “Śāh Muhammad Śagīrer Iusūph-​Jolekhā: paẏār evaṃ tripadī chander adal-​badal,” Bhāvnagar 2 (2015): 177–​90. 8. In Ālāol’s works occurrences of lācārī are found in the following passages: “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 33, 74, 109; “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 157; “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 355. 9. S. Sen, An Etymological Dictionary of Bengali, s.v. “Lācārī.” 10. See infra, Chapter 7 for references on lahacarī/​lācārī as a technical term used in Sanskrit, Persian, and vernacular musicological literature. 11. Devipada Bhattacharya, “Three Topics in Mediaeval Bengali Poetry: Ātmaparicaya, Bhaṇitā and Puṣpikā,” Bulletin of the Deccan College Research Institute 20, no. 1/​4 (1960): 31–​41.

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nights.12 Because of this structural function and the fact that it is an actual element of the text of the poem, bhaṇitās lie halfway between text and paratext. The basic structure of the bhaṇitā—​which is also found in shorter pada forms—​consists of the name of the poet and of his patron (or of the deity to which the poem is dedicated), and sometimes also includes a brief reference to the content of the narrative section that it closes.13 Historians of Bengali literature have used bhaṇitās to identify and date texts, but they are also the locus of the author’s voice as both a performer and a critic of his oeuvre. It is in bhaṇitās that we can find the beginning of a discourse of literary self-​awareness in Bengali literature; they are also a window onto the reception of the text. When observing Ālāol’s intervention in the pā̃cālī tradition, we will see that he took advantage of the space that was provided by signature lines to elaborate his discourse on poetics and introduce his technical digressions. The last basic element of the definition of the pā̃cālī is the presence of the other typical form of premodern Bengali literature: the pada or gīta.14 The pā̃cālī is essentially a composite and open-​ended form. If, for the sake of a clearer exposition, we were tempted to draw a clear line between the long pā̃cālī and the short pada or gīta, we must also note that beginning from the earliest period of Bengali literature, the short gīta form had been combined with the long pā̃cālī form.15 From the sixteenth century onward, however, poets tended more frequently to include gītas within pā̃cālī

12. W. Ahmed, Madhyayuge bāṃlā kāvyer rūp o bhāṣā, 32,–​51; France Bhattacharya, “A propos d’une représentation du Caṇḍī Maṅgal au Bengale Occidental,” Adyatan “d’aujourd’hui,” no. 3 (1984): 7–​26. 13. ābhoge kavi-​nāma syāt tathā nāyaka-​nāma ca | [In the concluding stanza should be given the name of the poet and of the hero (i.e., the protagonist or the patron).] Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, trans. Mahuẏā Mukhopādhyāẏ, 33 [2.88]. For a discussion on this topic outside the context of Bengal, see Prema Lata Sharma, “Dhrupad ke padoṃ meṃ ‘chāp’ aur us-​se adhbut samasyāyeṃ,” Dhrupad Annual 2 (1987): 84–​101. 14. There is an abundant literature in Bengali on the history and poetics of padas. The best works remain to this day S. Sen, A History of Brajabuli Literature and Nilratan Sen, Vaiṣṇava padāvalī paricaẏ, 2nd ed., reprint (Kolkata: Sāhitya lok, 2013). 15. The earliest Middle Bengali text that came down to us is the Śrīkr̥ṣṇakīrtan. Bhavānanda’s Harivaṃśa and some of the early specimens of Middle Bengali courtly poems, such as Śrīdhara and Śā’bārid Khān’s Vidyāsundar, combine narrative with lyrical forms as well. These texts almost constitue a category of their own that may be called nāṭyagīti following Śā’bārid Khān’s own use of the term to designate his poem. Śā’bārid Khān, Śā’bārid Khāner granthāvalī, 8; A. Sharif, Bāṅālī o bāṅlā sāhitya, vol. 2, 179. For a very insightful reading of the Śrīkr̥ṣṇakīrtan and its place in the transition from Sena Sanskrit courtly poetry to Middle Bengali, see Knutson, Into the Twilight of Sanskrit Court Poetry, 89–​114.

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compositions.16 It is also important to remember that although padas are more closely associated with musical performance, both forms are lyrical.17 Gītas have a regular structure that may or may not be indicated in the paratext. They can be composed in paẏār or tripadī, but are more typically in some other meter, and sometimes they are composed in a mix of various types.18 Authors of Sanskrit treatises described (and therefore standardized) the structure of gītas. Each gīta contains an opening [udgrāha], a refrain [dhruvaka], alternative phrases [antarā], and a closing couplet [ābhoga] that usually corresponds with the bhaṇitā.19 Gītas are often characterized through recourse to a different language called Brajabuli—​a poetic idiom made of Maithili and Bengali. Brajabuli originates in the success of the gītas of Vidyāpati (ca. 1370–​1460) in the courtly milieus of the region. In those courtly lyrics, Vidyāpati often gives the roles of the protagonists [nāẏaka-​nāẏikā] to Kr̥ṣṇa and Rādhā and he sets the scene in the forest of Vrindavan, or the Braja country, which explains the name that was later given to this literary idiom: “the idiom of Braja.”20 These are the basic components of the pā̃cālī that are present in poems composed from the fifteenth to the early nineteenth centuries; the form is still present in contemporary performances.21 There is also a diachronic 16. See supra, Chapters 3 and 4 for a discussion on the insertion of short lyric poems within the frame of the pā͂cālī and analyses of such poems in Ālāol’s oeuvre. 17. The lyric dimension of the narrative pā̃cālī appears in the musical indication given in the paratext. If rāga indications are expected in lācārī or gīta passages, even narrative sections in paẏāra are associated with rāgas. See, for instance, Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 62, 100, 119, 123, 125. For a study of the musicological aspects of the pā̃cālī based on contemporary performances of Sylhet Nagari puthis, see David Michael Kane, “Puthi-​ Poṛā: ‘Melodic Reading’ and Its Use in the Islamisation of Bengal,” PhD dissertation (School of Oriental and African Studies, 2008). 18.  The prosody of gītas sometimes follows the model of Vidyāpati’s Maithili padas. The prosodic patterns of those songs are very irregular. For a clear introduction to the subject, see Dimock’s introduction in Edward C.  Dimock and Roushan Jahan, “Bengali Vaiṣṇava Lyrics:  A Reader for Advanced Students” (Chicago:  South Asian Languages Research Program at The University of Chicago, 1963). G. A. Grierson also made an attempt to systematically describe the prosody of Vidyāpati’s poems in the introduction to his Maithili Chrestomathy and Vocabulary, ed. Hetukar Jha and Vedanatha Jha, Kameshwar Singh Bihar Heritage Series (Darbhanga, India: Maharajadhiraj Kameshwar Singh Kalyani Foundation, 2009), 36–​8. 19. Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Gaurinath Sastri and Govindagopal Mukhopadhyay, 19, 42; trans. Mahuẏā Mukhopādhyāẏ, 33, 73. 20. S. Sen, A History of Brajabuli Literature, 1–​10. 21. Saymon Zakaria, Bāṃlādeśer lokanāṭak: Viṣay o āṅgik-​vaicitrya (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 2008).

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evolution of the components of the pā̃cālī and of their mutual relationships. The description of this evolution is based on preliminary remarks regarding the form of what I would call the early pā̃cālī that is represented by texts such as Kr̥ttivās’s Rāmāẏaṇ (ca. fifteenth century CE), Mālādhar Vasu’s (Guṇarāj Khān’s) Śrīkr̥ṣṇavijaẏ (ca. fifteenth century CE) and Kavīndra’s Mahābhārat (ca. 16th AD).22 Early pā̃cālīs are characterized by an overwhelming presence of paẏār sections and a relatively limited number of tripadī passages. Gītas are seldom present, and the poem’s treatment of the plot is predominantly narrative and linear.23 Neither didactic nor ornate passages are emphasized; the bhaṇitās rarely exceed two lines. Even if these poems were originally produced in courtly settings, the context of the court and the patron are mentioned in a very laconic way.24 One must wait until the sixteenth century to witness a diversified use of the potential of the pā̃cālī for didactic purposes—​in this regard, the monumental Caitanyacaritāmr̥ta (ca. 1615) is a good illustration25—​and for more elaborate expressions of courtly aesthetics, and Ālāol is certainly the most eloquent representative of this latter trend. The pā̃cālī is thus an inclusive form that could be performed and consumed with various degrees of textuality and lyricism.26

22. Kr̥ttivās, Kr̥ttivāsī Rāmāyaṇ, ed. Harekrishna Mukhopadhyay (Kolkata: Sāhitya Saṃsad, 2002); Kr̥ttivās, Kr̥ttivāsī Rāmāyaṇ. Mahākavi Kr̥ttivās viracita Rāmāyaṇ, Ādikāṇḍa, ed. Nalinikantha Bhattashali (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Śrīnāth Press, 1936); Mālādhar Vasu, Śrīkr̥ṣṇa-​vijaẏ, ed. Amitrasudan Bhattacharya and Sumangal Rana (Kolkata: Ratnāvalī, 1409); Kavīndra Parameśvar Dās, Kavīndra-​Mahābhārat. 23. Benoît, “Le Rāmāyaṇa de Vālmīki et le Rāmāyaṇa de Kṛttibās,” 136–​7. 24.  Kshetra Gupta highlighted the fact that it is only from “Kavikaṅkan” Mukundarām’s Caṇḍīmaṅgal (1589) that we start having substantial contextual information given in the prologue of pā̃cālīs. By comparing the autobiographical passages found in Kavikaṅkan’s, Ālāol’s, and Bhāratacandra Rāẏ “Guṇākar” ’s works, he argued for the formation of a discourse of individuality [vyaktitva] of the author in Medieval Bengali literature. The comparison he makes among the authors and their personalities though, is based on uncritical cultural a priori—​such as Ālāol’s “Semite” mind that is supposed to transpire in the depiction of the “overly exultant Bedouin ways of Ratnasen” [ratnasenera ati-​ullāsita beduin-​vr̥tti] in Padmāvatī. On the other hand, K. Gupta praises the balanced and wise character of the idealized rural poet Mukundarām. Kshetra Gupta, Kavi Mukundarām (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Jātīẏa Prakāśan, 1999), 18–​22. 25. Kr̥ṣṇadās Kavirāj, Caitanya Caritāmṛta of Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja, trans. Edward C. Dimock, ed. Tony K. Stewart, (Cambridge, MA; London: Harvard University Press, 1999); Stewart, The Final Word. 26. d’Hubert, “Patterns of Composition,” 434–​7.

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This brief overview of what constitutes a pā̃cālī and of the broad orientations of its development is based on personal observations. There exists within the tradition itself no treatise or (to my knowledge, at least) a poet who explicitly defined the pā̃cālī. It is interesting, though, to speculate and to try to see how Ālāol could have conceptually analyzed the pā̃cālī with the tools that were at his disposal. It is striking to see that vernacular poets who display some kind of self-​awareness and inform the reader about their theoretical backgrounds usually hint at the domain of lyrical arts [saṅgīta] rather than at the realm of rhetoric [alaṅkāra].27 There is here a rapprochement to be made between the central role of performance in articulating the definition of pā̃cālī and the meaning of saṅgīta that is given by śāstra authors: “A song performed by female artists accompanied by rhythmical instruments and dance is called saṅgīta.”28 This definition is the doorway to the discipline in which Ālāol and most (if not all) professional vernacular poets underwent formal training. Let us remember that although saṅgīta-​śāstras were written in Sanskrit and used the exposition methods of the Sanskrit didactic tradition, the matter under scrutiny largely partook to the vernacular. This distinction also explains why saṅgīta-​śāstras were among the first Sanskrit works translated into Persian: Unlike other fields of śāstric inquiry, saṅgīta had a life outside of the self-​contained realm of Sanskrit knowledge.29 Ālāol saw himself as a practitioner and teacher of this specific domain of saṅgīta (taken in its premodern technical sense).30 The pā̃cālī was one deśī manifestation of this complete form of art that was made up of singing, instrumental music, and dance. The notions of deśī (or “worldly,” “local”) manifestation of lyrical arts in contrast with the mārga (or “divine,” 27. Even in Vaiṣṇava treatises on poetics, the absence of classical alaṅkāra-śāstras is striking. The authors turn either to the refashioning of Sanskrit poetics by the Gosvāmins—​and in particular Rūpa’s Ujjvalanīlamaṇi—​and to non-​Vaiṣṇava Saṅgīta-śāstras, even to discuss matters such as the types of heroin [nāẏikā-​bheda] or central topics of aesthetics such as rasa and bhāva. See infra, Chapter 7. 28. tālavādyānugaṃ gītaṃ naṭībhir yat tu gīyate | nr̥tyasyānugataṃ raṅge tat saṅgītakam ucyate || Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 16; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 29 [2.63]. 29. Françoise “Nalini” Delvoye, “Indo-​Persian Accounts on Music Patronage in the Sultanate of Gujarat,” in The Making of Indo-​Persian Culture, Indian and French Studies, ed. Muzaffar Alam, Françoise “Nalini” Delvoye, and Marc Gaborieau (New Delhi: Manohar Publishers, 2000), 253–​80; Françoise “Nalini” Delvoye et  al., eds., Hindustani Music:  Thirteenth to Twentieth Centuries (New Delhi: Manohar, 2010), 253–​80. 30. Note that in most modern South Asian languages saṅgīta is a generic term for “music” and does not convey the technical meaning given in the śāstra.

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“cosmopolitan”) is a structuring notion in saṅgīta literature.31 One way to look at this dichotomy is as an opposition between two approaches to the science and practice of music, but it seems that a more relevant way to consider the issue is to see the continuity between standard and context-​ sensitive knowledge. As has been argued in the case of sāhitya [literature], this dichotomy is a way to formulate the Sanskrit episteme in terms of space and to allow its regional manifestation to exist without causing a break with the cosmopolitan space.32 On the one hand, regional musical practices could be described using Sanskrit epistemological tools as they clearly appear in Sanskrit saṅgīta-​śāstras. On the other, the act of recording changing deśī practices updated śāstric musicological knowledge through the centuries; it is even more striking in Persian renderings of Sanskrit works. It is within this space between the Sanskrit scholarly, the regional and performance-​based, and the context-​sensitive Indo-​Persian intellectual traditions that Ālāol located himself. As a result, it was possible for him to fashion a conceptual idiom that seemed new but that actually constituted a finely tuned update on aesthetics and poetics from a deśī perspective. To give just one crucial example, which I discuss further on in the present chapter, Ālāol envisioned the sentiments of artistic performance first and foremost within the context of dance. The poetics of signs [iṅgita], which, I  argue, is the poet’s major contribution to poetic hermeneutics, shows that even textual considerations of meaning—​which would typically be addressed with the terminology of rhetoric [alaṅkāra-​śāstra]—​are formulated through the terminology of dance [nr̥tya]. Of the three main constituents of saṅgīta, dance and instrumental music I  leave for the moment and turn to singing. Saṅgīta is literally “something with songs” (sam + gīta). Śāstra authors also precisely defined songs as displaying two aspects: a text [mātu] and a melody [dhātu].33 The composer—​an expert in both the textual and the melodic features of the song—​was known as a vaggeyakāra, “a maker of words and melodies [literally what ought to be sung].”34 When Ālāol mentioned his activity as the 31. See infra, Chapters 6 and 7. 32. Pollock, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, 189–​222. 33. It is actually in the definition of the vāggeyakāra [author and composer] that the textual and melodic dimensions constitutive of a gīta are mentioned. See the following note for the definition of the author and composer. 34.  Vāg-​varṇa-​samudayas tu mātur ity u[cya]te budhaiḥ | geyaṃ dhātur dvayoḥ kartā prokto vāggeyakārakaḥ || [The combination of the letters of words is called mātu by wise men, what ought to be sung is dhātu, the one who composes both is called “author and composer.”]

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preceptor of the children of the Mrauk U elite, he identified three disciplines in which he considered himself an expert:  pāṭha [reading], gīta [song], and saṅgīta [lyrical arts].35 That he enumerates the disciplines in this order suggests Ālāol’s awareness of their mutual relationship and of the gradual movement from textuality to the complete form of art that is saṅgīta. Pāṭha is the mātu aspect of gīta, whereas gīta itself is one of the three components of saṅgīta. At this point, it is crucial to remind ourselves that, from the point of view of saṅgīta, one who wanted to be considered an “excellent author and composer” [uttama-​vāggeyakāra] needed to display mastery over the textual components of the performance, but the “bad author and composer” [adhama-​vāggeyakāra] was characterized by his mere ability to compose the lyrics of a song. Putting the emphasis on speech, as Ālāol did, was an even bolder—​or at least more noticeable—​act in this particular tradition than it would have been in some other context. If we combine the terms of the definition of the pā̃cālī with the śāstric definition of sāṅgīta and the terms of Ālāol’s areas of expertise, we have at our disposal a nomenclature with which to draw the paradigm of composition and performance of the saṅgīta or pā̃cālī. The gīta part of the pā̃cālī is what the modern commentator can actually assess and analyze; the dhātu, nr̥tya, and tālavādya (i.e. rhythmic and instrumental) dimensions have left few traces that could be studied. I take textuality and musicality as the two poles that delimit the paradigm of composition and performance of the pā̃cālī. According to my scheme of analysis, early pā̃cālīs, with their limited number of gītas and narrative nature, would be located toward the center of the paradigm and characterized by terms such as kathā (in the general sense of “telling”), vivaraṇas (“descriptions” of scenery or an action), and prasaṅga (“a story” that illustrates some topic and that can serve as the basis for further comments). A term such as lācārī would stand on the dhātu end of the paradigm. Early pā̃cālīs thus consist primarily of gīta and saṅgīta aspects, and their textuality [pāṭha/​mātu] remains somewhat limited to the phonic dimensions of poetic speech and to narration.36 Dāmodara Miśra, “Saṃgītadarpaṇa,” ms. Sanscrit 771, fol. 32r, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris. 35. bahuta mahantera putra mahā-​mahā-​nara | pāṭha-​gīta-​saṅgīta śikhāilũ bahutara || ([To the children of many nobles, all very great men,/​I taught extensively reading, singing, and lyrical arts.) .] Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 313. 36. Horst Brinkhaus, “On the Transition From Bengali to Maithili in Nepalese Dramas of the 16th and 17th Centuries,” in Maithili Studies: Papers Presented at the Stockholm Conference on

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To this core of the traditional Bengali pā̃cālī Ālāol, as well as other contemporary poets, added elements on both ends of the paradigm: the dhātu (through consistently including more gītas in poems) and the mātu (through taking recourse to sophisticated rhetoric). Both tendencies are actually concomitant, and the presence of songs in a pā̃cālī also fosters its textual dimension. Gītas are more dense, poetically, and they are occasions on which poets display virtuosity. But in the oeuvre of a poet such as Ālāol, gītas are not the only expression of a deliberate emphasis on textuality. In the following pages, through a systematic survey of Ālāol’s poetics, I  argue that the new emphasis on textuality and meaning in his works links to a reflection, formulated in the vernacular, on the status of speech and to eloquence as it was then conceived in Indo-​Persian courtly milieus. Ālāol’s notion of speech is fundamentally informed by a Persian—​and even Niẓāmīan—​understanding of speech as a cosmological agent, which he articulates using Sanskrit notions of aesthetics, and the whole system is framed by a vernacular, performance-​based approach to poetry.

Reconstructing Ālāol’s poetics The paradigm of performance and composition that I  discussed in the previous pages implies that an exhaustive study of the poetics of Ālāol’s works should also include elements of dance and music. I  also argued that Ālāol contributed further attention to speech to the traditional modes of performance and composition of the Bengali pā̃cālī. It is therefore on the topics of speech [vacana] and poetic art [kavitva], as Ālāol conceived of them, that I focus now. I also address the idea and practice of “translation” in Ālāol’s poetics. We will see that translation plays a fundamental role in the perspective of Ālāol’s understanding of poetics: As far as the poet was concerned, translation was not distinct from “original” poetic composition. Given the status of translation in Ālāol’s discourse on poetic composition, I include it within the structure of his ars poetica. Ālāol’s poetics consists of a reflection on the ontology of speech [vacana] and an introduction to the constituent elements of his poetic art [kavitva]. Let us remember that there was no tradition of prescriptive or speculative Maithili Language and Literature, ed. William L. Smith, (Stockholm: Department of Indology, University of Stockholm, 2003), 76–​7.

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treatises on poetics in the regional literary language during this period.37 The comments of Arakan’s poet on poetics are thus largely an innovation within the vernacular tradition of eastern South Asia. Ālāol elaborates on his theoretical discourse and its twofold division—​ speech and poetic art—​on the basis of theoretical considerations that stem from both the Persian and the Indic traditions. It is noteworthy that Sanskrit alaṅkāra-​śāstras [treatises on poetic ornaments] reflected on the nature of poetic speech and what constitutes poetic art. The opening section of a Sanskrit treatise on poetics typically defined the “soul of poetry” [kāvyātman]: the distinctive nature of poetic speech that distinguished it from other kinds of utterances. Authors used to question the views on the topic that their predecessors had expressed; schools of Sanskrit poetic thought distinguished themselves on the basis of these generically prescriptive opening sections.38 But Ālāol’s comments on the soul of poetry did not proceed along the lines that the Sanskrit poeticians drew. Like Avadhi and Dakani poets, Ālāol turned to the prologues of Persian mathnawīs and their eulogies of speech.39 Niẓāmī’s prologues certainly served as generic models for later 37. The only vernacular texts that dealt with some of the topics of poetics discussed by Ālāol are the Rasakalpavallī of Rāmgopal Dās (ca. 1673, Bardhaman) and the still-​unpublished Bengali epitome of Rūpa’s Ujjvalanīlamaṇi titled Ujjvalakiraṇa, possibly composed by the prolific Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava translator Yadunandan Dās (fl. 1607). Both texts are sectarian, and despite the fact that they are not really concerned with theology, and therefore could have been relevant readings for Ālāol, it is highly unlikely that he ever consulted them. I nevertheless occasionally refer to those texts to highlight some convergent views and common interests of the vernacular theoreticians of poetry. R. Dās and P. Dās, Rāmagopāl Dās-​viracita Rasakalpavallī o anyānya nibandha, Pītāmbar Dās-​viracita Aṣṭarasavyākhyā o Rasamañjarī; Saiẏadā Pharidā Pārbhīn et  al., eds, Pāṇḍulipi pariciti:  Ḍhākā viśvavidyālaẏ granthāgārer saṅgr̥hīta bāṃlā pāṇḍulipir varṇanāmūlak tālikā (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Dhaka University, 2006), 21, ms. no. 21/​si. 38. Sushil Kumar De, History of Sanskrit Poetics, 2nd ed., vol. 2 (Calcutta: Firma KLM, 1960), 34–​35, 90, 157. 39. J. T. P. De Bruijn, “Mathnawī,” ed. P. Bearman et al., Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition (Brill Online), http://​dx.doi.org/​10.1163/​1573-​3912_​islam_​COM_​0709. Ālāol uses several terms for “speech” but the most common one is vacana. The Persian equivalent is sukhan, which is typically praised by poets in the prologue of mathnawīs. It is interesting to observe the wide range of images and terms that are associated with the realm of speech in Ālāol’s translations from Niẓāmī. In Sikāndarnāmā vacana also translates the Persian nafas (literally “breath”; glossed sukhan in Dastgerdi’s commentary). In the same poem vākya is used to translate the word nukta [a point, a subtle conceit], sukhan is occasionally translated by kāvya [poetry], and sukhan guftan [to speak] by kāvyavāṇī [poetic utterance]. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 309–​10; Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Sharafnāma, ed. Dastgirdī and Saʿīd Ḥamīdīyān, 38. On sukhan in Niẓāmī’s works and Persian poetry, see Kamran Talattof, “Nizāmī Ganjavi, the Wordsmith: The Concept of Sakhun in Classical Persian Poetry,” in A Key to the Treasure of the Hakim Artistic and Humanistic Aspects of Nizami Ganjavi’s Khamsa, ed. J. Christoph. Bürgel and

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authors. Ālāol thus went directly to the source of the Indo-​Persian tradition to fashion his discourse on speech. It will also become clear that he did not set aside Avadhi authors’ contributions on the topic. On the other hand, all of his references to poetic art per se—​that is, to the more concrete tools of poetic composition—​are drawn from the Sanskrit tradition. For the reasons that I expressed earlier, Ālāol did not turn to alaṅkāra-​śāstras to ground his discussions of aesthetics and literary conventions, but to saṅgīta-​śāstras, which were his true specialty. To gain a complete and coherent picture of Ālāol’s discourse on poetics, I gathered together comments that were scattered among his prologues alongside scholarly digressions that he inserted within the narratives themselves. Considering the variety of Ālāol’s scholarly background, no term should be taken a priori. His vocabulary reflects the fact that he participated in composite courtly cultures in which Sanskrit constituted a ground of common scholarly interests. Behind this seemingly Sanskritic lexical homogeneity hides an astonishing semantic complexity. Approaching Ālāol’s technical terminology without questioning the meaning of each term within the context of his oeuvre—​and with respect to the intellectual preoccupations of his time—​would lead us gravely to misunderstand his recourse to Sanskrit language. To call his style “panditic” or to say that he was a “Vaiṣṇava poet” are simplistic and vague ways of defining the nature of his work, and they bring us back to categories that themselves lack historical definition. What did it imply to be a Pandit or a Vaiṣṇava poet in seventeenth-​century Arakan?40 How, if at all, do these categories inform our contextualization of his works and help define the intertextual nexus in which he inscribed his poems? To sum up his poetics as Sufi allegorical speech would be a similarly convenient way to avoid engaging with the texts and to use rather some external paradigm to interpret them.41 C. van Ruymbeke, Iranian Studies Series (Amsterdam: Leiden University Press, 2011), 211–​45. In Dakani the Persian sukhan and the Indic bachan are used by poets in their prologues. See for instance Wajhī, Qut̤ub Mushtarī, ed. Mawlavī ʿAbd al-​Ḥaq (New Delhi: Anjuman-​i Traqqī-​i Urdū [Hind], 1953), 14–​19; Ghawwāṣī, Mathnawī Sayf al-​Mulūk wa Badīʿ al-​Jamāl, ed. Saʿādat ʿAlī Riḍwī (Hyderabad: Majlis-​i Ishāʿat-​i Dakinī Makhṭūṭāt, 1938), 12–​13; Marguerite Gricourt, “Le Sab Ras de Vajhi (1634–​35). Premier exemple de prose littéraire en langue Dakkini, présentation, étude linguistique et traduction,” PhD dissertation (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris III, 1988), 239. In Avadhi we may mention the praise of poetic speech by Mañjhan in Madhumālatī (stanza nos. 24–​25), which deeply influenced Ālāol, and in Usmān’s Citrāvalī (stanza no. 29). See also Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 299–​307. 40. Bālā, Padmāvatī samīkṣā, 224–​7. 41. This is sometimes the case in Arif Billah’s reading of Ālāol’s Padmāvatī. See Influence of Persian Literature on Shah Muhammad Sagir’s Yūsuf Zulaikhā and Alaol’s Padmāvatī.

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My aim is to reveal the general scope of the poet’s discourse on his art. My method consists of systematically surveying the technical terms that fall within the realm of poetics and then relocating them within Ālāol’s larger theoretical framework, which is represented by the sources that he explicitly mentions. Because Ālāol never composed a full-​fledged, independent treatise on the topic that would have covered all components of this discipline, some terms cannot be defined precisely, and I have to conjecture carefully. We might also view the lack of comprehensiveness or depth in the explanation of his technical language as characteristic of a specific register of didacticism that was already present in his main theoretical source, Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara (ca. fifteenth–​mid-​sixteenth centuries CE). This treatise has an erratic structure, and its author does not aim at any sort of comprehensiveness in his exposition.42 Śubhaṅkara, following a trend in early modern Sanskrit didacticism, adopted a selective mode of exposition that privileged what was relevant for the readership of his time.43 Similarly, Ālāol’s scholarly digressions on poetics and lyrical arts aimed to orient the reader toward what were, at that point, important topics in vernacular poetics. His remarks are never too speculative. When

42. The organization of the work gives the impression that we are dealing with hypomnemata—​ or teaching notes—​that were later turned into a “monograph” [Verfasserwerk] by simply framing it with stanzas equating Kr̥ṣṇa’s līlā with the matter discussed in each chapter and adding a short introduction. Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay; Śubhaṅkara, trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ; see also the Hindi translation in Saṅgītadāmodara, trans. Harirām Ācārya (Jaipur: Publication Scheme, 1998). 43. In Śubhaṅkara’s work the frequent use of expressions such as bāhulyabhayād atra noktam [by fear of prolixity this has not been mentioned here] shows a concern for concision. See Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 18. The same expression comes under the qalam of the scholar of the Lodi courtly milieu Yaḥyá Kābulī, who, in his selective translation and commentary of the Saṅgītaratnākara, also uses this panditic formula: sabab-​i īn maʿnī niwishta nashud tā kitāb dirāz na-​gardad [The definition of this term was not given so the book does not become too long]. Lahjāt-​i Sikandar Shāhī, ed. Shahab Sarmadee,208. Ālāol himself often uses his own version of the same expression in Bengali: pustaka viśāla hetu tāke na likhila. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 140. Such a concern for brief and essential expositions of the relevant aspects of a given domain points at both the courtly consumption of those texts—​which were not addressing specialists—​and at the development of manual and handbook literature from the fifteenth century onward. These short texts compiling the introductory sūtras and kārikās of influential scholastic works—​one could also mention works such as Sadānanda’s Vedāntasāra (ca. fifteenth century) or Annambhaṭṭa’s Tarkasaṅgraha (ca. seventeenth)—​were often the actual means to gather some introductory knowledge about those disciplines. About the writing of introductory manuals of logic [nyāya] during the Mughal period, see Jonardon Ganeri, The Lost Age of Reason: Philosophy in Early Modern India 1450–​1700, The Oxford History of Philosophy (Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 98–​101.

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taken as a whole, his comments constitute a vademecum for the reader of his works; they allow the reader to appreciate better the form and content of his poetry. His intention was not to compose a treatise, nor did he discuss all of the devices that he actually used to compose his poems. Nevertheless, in the selection of topics discussed by Ālāol, one can see the most relevant parts of vernacular poetics as it was conceived in the sabhās of Mrauk U. I therefore try to present systematically—​in a brief treatise of my own, if you will—​the poetics for which Ālāol himself provided the main components. The (somewhat artificial) exercise of writing a book that was never written in actuality is an opportunity to begin to explore premodern Bengali poetics in an organized fashion. Ālāol’s self-​awareness as a poet has given us the opportunity to establish a landmark in the history of premodern Bengali poetics that could be used for further investigations of works that may have been composed by less self-​aware authors.

Speech, cosmology, and distinction Ālāol’s prologues contain praises of speech [vacana], which, given that each section corresponds to a different approach to cosmology, we should read in connection with the inaugural invocations to God and the Prophet. We could schematize those respective functions in the following way: The invocation to God introduces the theme of creation as an emanation from unqualified unity to qualified multiplicity; the praise of the Prophet reveals the doctrine according to which Muḥammad stands for God’s consciousness that was manifested as light and that allowed for creation to be revealed;44 the third part, which is the praise of speech, echoes God’s primeval injunction at the beginning of creation. We thus have three ways to conceive of creation, namely, as the manifestation of consciousness, light, and sound. Now is not the time to analyze these invocations to God and the Prophet, but it is nonetheless important to recall that Ālāol’s discourse

44. The creation of the world through the light of Muḥammad [nūr-​i muḥammad] is usually what is put forward in Muslim Bengali literature. On cosmogonical literature and the Nūrnāmā tradition in Bengali, see Cashin, The Ocean of Love, 59–​115; although it is a very rich comparative study of Nath, Sahajiya, and vernacular Islamic creation stories, the readings of the Middle Bengali manuscripts and translations are often misleading. See also Thibaut d’Hubert, Meaningful Rituals: Persian, Arabic and Bengali in the Nūrnāma Tradition of Eastern Bengal. Delhi: Primus Books (forthcoming).

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on speech—​which is the starting point of his poetics—​is fundamentally rooted in Islamic cosmology.45 It is through speech that men and beasts become different; It is in speech that the distinction between the fool and the savant lies.46 Implicitly following Niẓāmī in Makhzan al-​asrār [The Treasure-​Trove of Secrets,  1166], the discourse on speech is general at first, but gradually becomes more concerned with poetic speech specifically. Speech therefore becomes the object of a series of distinctions that leads to the poet being characterized as the only creature who is able to reveal to humankind the most advanced form of speech. The first distinction is between humans and animals.47 From a religious perspective, God has given humans the gift of speech, which means that humans are privileged creatures; they have inherited the divine creative ability that speech lends (Qurʾān 3.47). Niẓāmī frequently refers to this primeval function of speech: The first movement of the pen created the first letter of speech. When the veil of non-​existence was removed, the first manifestation was speech.48 45. The role of Islamic theology in the very conception of the ontology of speech is another argument against a secular understanding of Ālāol’s oeuvre. See supra, introduction. 46.  vacana-​saṃyoge haẏa nara-​paśu-​bhina | vacana-​antare mūrkha paṇḍitera cina || Ālāol, Padmāvatī, ed. Debnath Bandyopadhyay, vol. 2, 22. See also Ālāol’s comments in the prologue of Satī Maẏnā. For instance:  saṃsāreta yata jīva sr̥jiẏāche vidhi | manuṣye kariche śreṣṭha diẏā kāvya-​nidhi || [(Among) all the living beings that God created in this world, he exalted humankind with the treasure of poetry.] Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 149. 47. Compare with Mañjhan, Madhumālatī 25.4: bidhanai jagat bacana baṛa kīnhā | bacana huteṃ pasu mānusa cīnhā || [The Creator gave a high rank to speech in this world, it is through speech that one distinguishes between beasts and humans.] There are other passages that show that Ālāol was certainly familiar with the very text of Mañjhan’s poem. See A.  Behl’s translation of this verse and his comment on it in Mañjhan, Madhumālati:  An Indian Sufi Romance, trans. Aditya Behl, Simon Weightman, and Shyam Manohar Pandey, Oxford World’s Classics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 12. 48. junbish-​i awwal ki qalam bar girift/​ḥarf-​i nukhustīn zi sukhan dar girift. parda-​yi khalwat chū bar andākhtand/​jilwat-​i awwal ba sukhan sākhtand. Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Makhzan al-​asrār, ed. Ḥasan Wahīd Dastgirdī and Saʿīd Ḥamīdiyān (Tehran: Nashr-​i Qaṭra, 1378), 38; ed. Bihrūz Tharwatīyān (Tehran: Intishārāt-​i Tūs, 1363), 78.

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And: What is both old and new is speech, and in this speech lie other speeches. In this creation, the mother who is the primeval injunction did not give birth to a better progeny than speech. Don’t say that eloquent men are dead; they drowned their head in the water of speech. When you call the name of one of them, he lifts up his head above the water like a fish. He whose speech is as pure as his soul is free from flaws, is the treasurer of the unseen. He knows untold stories and reads unwritten books. See that among everything that was created, nothing remains besides speech. Man’s memorial is speech, the rest is mere wind. Look at plants, minerals, even beings endowed with intelligence and living beings, And see what of their existence will remain up to the end of time. All who know what is within them endow their life with endless glory. He who ignores the letters of his being is destroyed, [only] lives the one who reads them.49 These few lines of Niẓāmī’s sum up the essential aspects of speech: It is demiurgic, omnipresent, and imperishable; knowledge of it allows one to access eternal life. Niẓāmī’s definition of speech articulates the court poet’s mundane and spiritual ambitions. Speech is identified with the divine 49. ānchi ū naw ast u ham kuhan ast /​sukhan ast u darīn sukhan sukhan ast. z’āfarīnish nazād mādar-​i kun /​hech farzand khūbtar zi sukhan. [tā nagū’ī sukhanwarān murdand /​sar ba āb-​i sukhan furū burdand. chūn barī nām-​i harkirā khwāhī /​sar bar ārad zi āb chūn māhī.] sukhan-​e k’ū chū rūḥ be-​ʿayb ast /​khāzin-​i ganjkhāna-​yi ghayb ast. qiṣṣa-​yi nā-​shinīda ū dānad /​nāma-​yi nā-​nibishta ū khwānad. bin’gar az harchi āfarīd khudāy. tā az’ū juz sukhan chi mānd ba jāy. yādgār-​e k’az ādamīzād ast/​sukhan ast ān digar hama bād ast. jahd kun k’az nabātī u kānī /​tā ba ʿaqlī u tā ba ḥaywānī. bāz dānī ki dar wujūd-​i ān chī’st /​k’abad al-​dahr mītawānad zīst. harki khwud rā chunān ki būd shinākht /​tā abad sar ba zindagī afrākht. fānī ān shud ki naqsh-​i khwesh nakhwānd /​harki īn naqsh khwānd bāqī mānd. Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Haft paykar, ed. Dastgirdī and Ḥamīdīyān, 36–​7; ed. Tharwatīyān, 103; The Haft Paykar, trans. Meisami, 22–​3.

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essence, which, according to the doctrine of emanations, is manifested through the various levels of reality. In its essential form, it is beyond human perception, as the obscure matter [ẓulmāt] of the essence [dhāt] of light [nūr] in the doctrine of the light of Muḥammad [nūr-​i muḥammad]. Speech is what the mystic seeks on the path that leads him upstream through the created world until he reaches the creator. As speech is the only source of life and the only imperishable element, all quests for eternal life imply the discernment of primeval speech within creation. Here we touch on the core of Niẓāmī’s poetics:  Niẓāmī abolishes oppositions between divine and mundane by considering the essential functions of speech. The mystic and the ruler both desire eternal glory. Because the only path to eternity is to recognize the imperishable nature of speech, the poet manifests speech and associates his patron to this poetic manifestation of divine speech. In the created world, poetic speech becomes the vehicle of the king’s glory and secures its continued existence. But it is by reading and truly understanding the purport of this poetic speech that the patron can “read the letters of his being” and access eternal life. More than a panegyric, the poem allows the reader—​or, rather, the listener—​to engage in a spiritual exercise in which his spirit experiences each level of creation. The poet–​demiurge, heir to the creative power of speech, unfolds images of a new creation with all its levels of reality that the reader–​listener perceives and internalizes through aesthetic emotions. It is because of the experience of this new creation, rather than through some allegorical meaning hidden in the structure of the work, that mystic poetry constitutes a spiritual exercise.50 The cosmological function of speech also intervenes when Ālāol talks about his duty to complete an unfinished poetic work. In the prologues of Satī Maẏnā and Saẏphulmuluk, he justifies the completion of the work by invoking the perfection of the creation of God, who also completed incomplete [khaṇda, asāṅga] speech. The poet also adds that “He created everything separately and after uniting it called the whole thing ‘one world.’ ”51 But by contrast to Niẓāmī, who developed from the outset the idea of speech as preexistent and abstract, “borrowing its color to no existing

50. On the various contexts of the reception of Avadhi Sufi romances, allegorical readings and spiritual exercises, see De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust, 78–​84; Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 218–​63, 307–​24. 51. sei prabhu khaṇḍa-​vākya karae pūraṇa || sarva-​jīve sr̥jileka khaṇḍa kari | sabe mili nāma laila ekahi saṃsārī || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 147.

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sign [nishān]” and “suiting no existing tongue,” Ālāol begins by praising speech as a marker of cultural distinction among humans. The previously mentioned distich suggests that speech is a matter of knowledge [vidyā/​ʿilm]: The one who masters speech is a savant [paṇḍita], and he who neglects it is ignorant [mūrkha]. Therefore, speech is the distinctive mark [cina] of cultural refinement. As is often the case in Ālāol’s poetry, the formulation of the distich is reminiscent of the literature of well-​turned verse [subhāṣita]. The identification of the ignorant with the beast is common in this kind of literature. Here is a famous example attributed to Bhartr̥hari (ca. seventh century): He who ignores the disciplines of literature and lyrical arts is obviously a beast without tail and horns. He is alive although he does not graze; this is the lot of the worst sort of cattle.52 This mode of equating speech with cultural refinement is also rooted in Sanskrit culture’s place in Ālāol’s courtly milieu. Sanskrit was, first and foremost, a cultivated [saṃskr̥ta] idiom, and one had to be familiar with the sciences that were conveyed in this idiom. Sanskrit theoretical knowledge was the main episteme for Ālāol’s conceptual understanding of the vernacular tradition as well as of Avadhi and Persian literatures.

Defining kavitva The second part of Ālāol’s discourse on poetics addresses the disciplines with which the connoisseur is supposed to be acquainted. Poetic art [kavitva] was one branch of the set of disciplines that the poet expects “people of considerable importance” [mahanta-​loka] to master. Ālāol gives several lists of those disciplines when praising his patrons and those who attend their gatherings. The list found in Māgan’s praise is certainly the most representative of what constituted the cultural horizons of Ālāol and his milieu: Describing the beauty of the Supreme Agent’s creation is endless, the Creator endowed him [i.e., Māgan] with diverse qualities;

52.  sāhitya-​saṅgīta-​kalā-​vihinaḥ sākṣāt paśuḥ puccha-​viṣāṇa-​hīnaḥ | tr̥ṇaṃ nā khādann api jīvamānas tad bhāgadheyaṃ paramaṃ paśūnām || 716. Bhartr̥hari., Bhartr̥hari-​viracitaḥ Śatakatrayādi-​subhāṣitasaṅgrahaḥ, ed. D. D. Kosambi (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers, 2000), 199.

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[versed in] Arabic, Persian, Arakanese, and Hindustani, expert in many domains, he is a gifted connoisseur of the meanings of words; he is also connoisseur of the ornaments of poetry, of hand gestures, and dramatic art, of craftsmanship’s qualities, remedies, and the teaching of mantras’ rules. Friend of those devoted to Br̥haspati,53 protector of his allies, with a mere sign he fulfills wishes and satisfies those who seek his help.54 To this list we can add horse riding, which was so important within courtly culture that it is the first thing that Gandharvasena wants to assess in order to judge Ratnasen’s qualities before he marries Padmāvatī.55 Poetry and the lyrical arts are thus part of a larger set of cultural practices that constitute the adab of Ālāol’s milieu. If all were expected to be familiar with those sciences and practices, an individual could have his own domain of specialty. Ālāol was aware of his ability in music and poetry and emphasized his skills in both disciplines. Beyond the passages in which he speaks of his own skills, Ālāol states that the poet occupies a particularly high rank among humankind: Never was the poet an ordinary man, scriptures say he is the Lord’s disciple. The jewel of poetry placed in the Lord’s treasure-​trove is taken out for the audience’s satisfaction.56 When we think about this statement, we must keep in mind the discourse on speech that we find in his prologues. The poet is the interpreter of 53. Br̥ahspati is the “teacher of the gods” (surācārya, Amara, 1.3.223) and the embodiment of scholarly knowledge. 54. kartāra sr̥jana-​rūpa kahite ananta | tāhāte karila vidhi nānā guṇavanta || ārabī-​phārasī āra magī-​hinduānī | nānā-​guṇe pāraga saṅketa-​jñātā guṇī || kāvya-​alaṅkāra-​jñātā hastaka-​nāṭikā | śilpaguṇa-​mahauṣadhi mantra-​vidhi-​śikṣā || devagurubhakta-​mitra bāndhava-​pālaka | iṅgite vāñchita pure toṣanta yācaka || Ālāol, Padmāvatī, ed. Bandyopadhyay, vol. 2,17. 55. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 56–​59. 56. kadācit[a]‌nahe kavi sāmānya manuṣya | śāstre kahe kavi-​gaṇa īśvarera śiṣya || kāvya-​ratna īśvarera bhāṇḍe praveśiẏā | śrotāra santoṣa hetu denta niḥsvariẏā || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​ Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 149.

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subtle realities and, as Niẓāmī put it, he is second only to the prophets. “One cannot be a poet if he is not a seer” [nānr̥ṣiḥ kavir iti], said Bhaṭṭa Tauta (ca. tenth century), the author of a now-​lost treatise on poetics.57 From the point of view of the Sanskrit tradition, the idea according to which the poet is God’s disciple is reminiscent of the myth of origin of theater that is given in the Nāṭyaśāstra.58 Ālāol declares that mankind became excellent [śreṣṭha] thanks to the treasure offered by God. But elsewhere he adds that this gift was not distributed equally among men: The capacities of the poet come from God’s treasure-​trove; The Supreme Agent does not endow everyone similarly. Some speak, others understand, and yet others understand somehow, only fools fight without understanding.59 This hierarchy, with its three kinds of recipients of poetry’s treasure, relies upon a potential that is bestowed by God alone. Behind those three levels, one recognizes the traditional ranking of Sanskrit didactic literature: uttama [excellent], madhyama [mediocre], and adhama [bad]. But natural skills are not enough, and Ālāol insists that the poet acquire a certain quasi-​artisanal know-​how. The poet can therefore display other criteria of excellence that give the patron the opportunity to distinguish between potential rivals: Poetry is an Ocean, the word a pearl, and the poet a diver. He strives to dive and bring back beautiful jewels. He knows well what is proper for what; the mat-​maker ignores how to insert jewels in gold.60 57. Lyne Bansat-​Boudon, Poétique du théâtre indien: lectures du Nāṭyaśāstra (Paris: École française d’Extrême-​Orient, 1992), 319, n. 198. 58. Bansat-​Boudon, Poétique du théâtre indien, 54; Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 70; Ālāol, “Rāgtālnāmā o padāvalī,” 597–​8. 59.  kavi-​sakti vidhātāra ratnera bhāṇḍāra | sakalere samāna nā diche karatāra || keha kahe keha buje keha alpa buje | murkkhera sthāne mātra nā bujiẏā yujhe || Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no.  185/​ā 32, maghi 1216/​1854 AD, fol. 6v–​7r. These verses are not in the edited text. Compare with Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 458. 60. kāvya sindhu śabda muktā kavi se ḍubāru | bahu yatne ḍubi tole ratana sucāru || yāra yei yogya sei jane jāne bhāla | hema-​ratna-​juḍana nā jāne pāṭiẏāla || Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 61. The poet repeated almost verbatim these verses in the conclusion of a

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We frequently encounter the metaphor of the diver in the poetry of this period. Jāyasī used the same image to talk about the mystic’s introspection and search for truth.61 The poets of Golkonda also liked to compare poetic creation with a diver’s search for pearls. The pen name of the Dakani poet Ghawwāṣī [The Diver] is inspired by this image. Ālāol makes a case for the difficulty that the poet must face when composing a poem—​“composing a poem is like crossing an Ocean”62—​and, like Niẓāmī, he introduces himself as a craftsman of speech: Since ordinary and rhyme-​less speech is like a jewel to jewelers, Pay attention and see what becomes of a subtle point when weighed and versified.63 We now turn to what makes the poet’s speech and the audience’s appreciation so special that it turns ordinary speech into a semantically rich entity. In his responses to imagined critics, the poet of Mrauk U emphasizes the parallel functions of the one who produces poetry and the one who judges its quality. He even requires that no critic blame someone else’s composition without actually being able to compose a poem himself. In the following pages, we explore in further detail what Ālāol held to be the exact components of this craft.

The sciences of kavitva If, after reflection, you find a mistake, correct my feet; but if you don’t understand, don’t blame my poetic art.64 It is in addressing his critics that Ālāol first brings up his poetic art [kavitva]. Kavitva is an abstract noun that is based on the word kavi [poet]; description of the beauty from head to toe in Sapta paẏkar: kavi se ḍubāru kāvya sindhu śabda muktā | bahu yatna kari kavi bāndhi tole cāruyuktā || yogya karma nija vr̥tti jāne bhāle bhāla | svarṇa-​ratna-​jāraṇa nā jāne pāṭiyāla || “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 251. 61. The image of the diver is also found in the prologue of Akharāvaṭa. See De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust, 52. 62.  pustaka-​granthana-​karma samudra-​sañcāra | Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 538. 63. chunki nasakhta sukhan-​i sarsar-​e/​hast bar gawharīyān gawhar-​e. nukta nigahdār bibīn chūn buwad/​nukta ki sanjīda u mawzūn buwad. Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Makhzan al-​asrār, ed. Dastgirdī and Ḥamīdīyān, 40; ed. Tharwatīyān, 81. 64. vicāri pāile doṣa akṣara śudhio | nā bujhiẏā āmāra kavitva nā duṣio || Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 61.

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it means “fact of being a poet” or “poet-​ness.” The use of an abstract noun instantly brings the discussion to a metadiscursive level. Boast, gestures of humility, and invitations to correct or improve one’s text are stereotypical in the work of premodern Bengali authors. His words also contrast with later scribal colophons in their confessions of ignorance regarding the literary language and their admitted lack of familiarity with the subject matter of the manuscripts.65 But Ālāol expresses himself as an author who is aware of the technical aspects of his poetic art and the necessity to take these into account when assessing his works. This characterization points to an atypical authorial voice in Middle Bengali literature. We might call it the voice of an early modern author—​one who is breaking away from anonymity and grounding his work in a subjectivity that rests on individual skills and context-​specific expectations. It is also a clear invitation to pay attention to the subtleties of Ālāol’s poetic idiom and appreciate every akṣara [syllable], the smallest unit of the poet’s language. What’s more, his comment implies a analytical approach to vernacular literature that contrasts with the fluid semi-​orality of the pā̃cālī tradition and the absence of spelled-​out vernacular epistemological frames (in the form of treatises on poetics) and grammatical knowledge. Ālāol’s literary consciousness pushes him to go beyond endowing formulaic expressions with new relevances. Indeed, there are several occasions on which the poet of Mrauk U brings to light the components of his poetic art. Here is an example from Saẏphulmuluk: The sincere sage with a righteous behavior never despises for a small mistake; only does the fool blame abundantly, though unable to compose a single foot. Sentiments, emotions, prosody, meaning, morae, measured speech, cleverness of speech/​citation, unable to understand all this, the barbarian criticizes.66 65. On this topic and the sociology of Bengal’s manuscript culture, see the remarkably rich study of colophons of Bengali manuscripts by Juthika Basu Bhowmiek, Bāṃlā puthir puṣpikā (Calcutta: Suvarṇarekhā, 1999). 66. je jana sadguna h[a]‌e sādhu-​sucarita | ṭoka doṣe nindā nā karae kadācita || murkhera caritra ei nindā kare ati | padeka racite puni nāika sakati || bhāva rase chande artha gana miakṣara | ukti-​chanda na bujhiẏā dosae barbara || Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no.  185/​ā 32, maghi 1216/​1854 AD, fol. 6v. Compare with Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol

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The first methodological guideline of my investigation into Ālāol’s poetic art requires that we identify and clarify any obviously technical vocabulary. This list is based on subjects that Ālāol discusses in the scholarly digressions on poetics that can be found in Padmāvatī and Saptapaẏkar.67 Ideally, his terminology should be compared with his theoretical sources, so I have arranged the topics that constitute the core of Ālāol’s poetic art by combining his nomenclature with the nomenclature that his sources provide. 1. Prosody [chanda] 2. Sentiments and emotions [bhāva-​rasa] 3. The eight kinds of heroine [aṣṭa-nāẏikā-​bheda] 4. The states of love in separation [viraha-​daśās] 5. Poetic ornaments [alaṅkāras] 6. The arrangement of all meanings [sarva-​artha-​gā̃thani] 7. Cleverness of speech/​citation [ukti] The small treatise that I drew up does not correspond organizationally to any one existing model. Prosody is usually not included in treatises on poetics and, in the Indic tradition, it is the subject of independent treatises.68 On the other hand, prosody is discussed in treatises on lyrical arts [saṅgīta] and is closely related to the subject of rhythms [tālas].69 Ālāol states that prosody is “the root of poetic art” [kavitvera mūla].70 I therefore followed the poet’s injunction and placed this topic at the beginning of

racanāvalī, 2007, 149. The word miakṣara found in the text of the Bangla Academy manuscript is derived from the Sanskrit mitākṣara (literally measured syllables). In A. Qayyum’s edition of Satī Maẏnā we find mitrākṣara [rhyme], which must be an attempt by a later scribe (or the editor?) to make sense of this tadbhava. With the possible exception of Vijaẏgupta’s prologue of the Padmāpurāṇa (1495) in which he blames his predecessor Haridatta for his lack of mastery in the domain of rhymes [mitrākṣara]—​which may also be the result of an editorial intervention—​the word mitrākṣara is only attested much later in Bengali. See Naskar, Prāgādhunik bāṃlā sāhitya, 374; Murshid, Bāṃlā ekāḍemī vivartanmūlak bāṃlā abhidhān, s.v. “Mitrākṣara.” 67.  In addition to the prologues, the most important passages for technical discussions on poetry and saṅgīta are in Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 59–​61, 109–​10; “Sapta paẏkar,” 252–​3. For a complete annotated French translation of Ālāol’s prologues, see d’Hubert, “Histoire culturelle et poétique de la traduction,” 745–​881. 68. On vernacular prosody in eastern South Asia, see infra, Chapter 7. 69. Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 54–​5 [3.19–​22]. 70. Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2,160.

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my introduction to his poetic art. Prosody forms the external structure through which the poetic idiom is defined—​even before one considers any ethnic, geographic, or linguistic factors. It has to be “broken” [bhāṅg-​] in order to transfer the semantic and aesthetic content of the source text to a newly versified recipient. The prominent function of prosody as the marker of a text’s identity explains why Ālāol tends to qualify a text using the name of its dominant metrical form or prosodic pattern rather than a language name. Therefore, when talking about his own texts, he prefers to use the term paẏār—​the name of the typical meter of Bengali narrative poetry—​rather than bāṅgālā [Bengali].71 At one point he even uses the compound paẏāra-​bhāṣā, “the language of the paẏār,” thus completely bypassing the geographical and ethno-​linguistic appellation.72 Prosody is therefore prominent on two counts: first, as the point of entry in the cognitive process of understanding the poem, and second, as the marker of the poem’s literary identity.73 The “sentiments and emotions” [bhāva-​rasa], the “eight kinds of heroine” [aṣṭa-​nāẏikā-​bheda], the “stages of love in separation” [viraha-​daśā], and, to a lesser extent, “the ornaments of poetry” [kāvya-​alaṅkāra] constitute the core of vernacular poetic training in the seventeenth century.74 The last two topics given in the preceding list are the more obscure items

71. The term bāṃlā/​bāṅlā/​bāṅgālā was seldom used by authors to designate the language of their texts before the eighteenth century. The historical dictionary records two uses from the seventeenth century and both are from Arakan: Saiẏad Sultān and Ālāol. In the latter case it is the only instance that I have found of the use of this term in his poetic oeuvre: se saba bāṅālā bhāṣe duṣkara kahana | pariśrame kahileha saṅkaṭa bujhana || [Telling all this (i.e., the items of Sikāndar’s banquet for Naośabā) in the Bengali language would be difficult,/​and, even if I  strove to render them, it would be hard to understand.] Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” 368. Another instance is found in a fragment of treatise on saṅgīta attributed to him: kahe kavi ālāole raciẏā bāṅgālā | cāri kutuba sthāpanā karilā cāri kalā | [Composing in Bengali, the poet Ālāol says/​that the establishment of the four axes formed the four kalās.]. On the use of bāṃlā to designate the Bengali literary idiom, see S. Sen, Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās, vol. 1,1–​6. 72. Ālāol, “Rāgtālnāmā o padāvalī,” 598. 73. To which we may add the quasi magical properties of specific groups of short and long syllables [gaṇa] that Ālāol mentions in a digression on prosody in Padmāvatī. “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 56–​60. This passage is based on the first sūtras of Piṅgala’s Chandaḥsūtra and Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara. The auspicious and harmful effects of the gaṇas refer to Śubhaṅkara’s comment: śubhaṃ kurvanti te sarve prathame ye caturgaṇāḥ | śeṣe gaṇāś ca catvāro viparīta-​phala-​pradāḥ || [The first four gaṇas are auspicious, whereas the last four have harmful effects.] Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 31–​2; Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, 2009, 54 [3.20]. 74.  For a comparison with Braj poetry, see Busch, Poetry of Kings, 64–​101. See also infra, Chapter 7 regarding poetics and saṅgīta in eastern South Asia.

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in his terminology; Ālāol did not comment on them, nor do his theoretical sources shed light on their exact meanings. I nevertheless propose some possible interpretations of what these terms may have meant for the poet and his audience. For the sake of clarity and to be as systematic as possible, I give translations of the technical digressions in which Ālāol discussed those matters. This allows us to grasp how he articulated the various topics alongside each other and to have a comprehensive understanding of his definitions. We will see that Ālāol’s poetic art, despite being grounded in his śāstric training, contains some subtle variants from his theoretical models. So far, there has not been any close comparison between Ālāol’s texts and the sources that he explicitly mentions. It goes without saying that this exercise sheds tremendous light on the meaning of those passages and it allows for substantial and definitive emendations.

Prosody [chanda] By piercing jewels and pearls [poets] adorn ears and chest, and with the qualities⁞thread of prosody carefully string them together. Children will [ just] play with the jewels before them, striking one against another, making a racket.75 Ālāol used the term chanda to designate prosody as well as another term related to this domain:  gaṇa (i.e., a metrical unit based on combinations of long and short syllables). Ālāol’s source on prosody is Piṅgala’s Chandaḥsūtra (ca. tenth century) to which he explicitly refers three times in Padmāvatī.76 It is noteworthy that the system that he unfolded for his audience does not apply to the bulk of his poetry—​which is composed in syllabic and not moraic meters—​and only partially applies to the short lyrics studied in the previous chapters. Therefore the relevance of Piṅgala’s system and terminology reaches beyond the context of Ālāol’s own poems. It is a matter of the general literary culture that one should acquire to

75. maṇi muktā haile [viddha] karṇe kaṇṭhe paire | chanda-​guṇa diẏā tāre yatne gā͂thi dhare || sammukhe laïẏā kheri khele śiśu-gaṇa | ekatre bājile se bāje ghana ghana || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” 2007, 149. 76. Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2, 19, 72, 160. For the study of those passages, I mainly used D. Bandyopadhyay’s edition that provides a richer critical apparatus.

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read and appreciate Sanskrit, Prakrit, Avahattha, and vernacular—​such as Avadhi—​compositions. Ālāol does not elaborate on how rhyme should be used. Rhyme is a defining feature of Avadhi, Brajabuli, Bengali, and Persian poetry.77 Whether they were Bengali pā̃cālīs, Avadhi premākhyānas, or Persian mathnawīs, all of Ālāol’s models were exclusively composed in rhyming couplets. This seemingly common feature actually shows that there was a rationale of prosodic equivalence behind the choices that the poet–​translator made in fashioning his oeuvre. When praising Māgan in the prologue of Padmāvatī, Ālāol comments on his patron’s name. The poet begins with an acrostic on the three syllables of Mā-​ga-​na, and then he turns to Piṅgala and, implicitly, to Śubhaṅkara to unpack the inner meaning of the name: Now, O great men, listen to this comment on the name. Thinking about its various aspects, I will tell each syllable.* To the ma of venerable [mānya] and the ga of guru was added the na at an auspicious celestial [nakṣatrera] conjunction.* From those three syllables was formed the name Māgana. The illustrious man [i.e., his father, Baṛa Ṭhākur] named him thus during a great celebration.* O learned men, listen to this other explanation: the root of poetic art is prosody, which is explained in Piṅgala’s book.* In Piṅgala are found the eight great gaṇas. Poets, you know that the first gaṇa is ma.* Dhī, śrī, strī and “obtaining the desired thing” [kalpa-​prāpti] are among the ma-​gaṇa. Magaṇa and Māgana only differ by a long [ā].* By adding an [ā] we obtained the name Māgana; this is why he benefited from such prosperity.* Now I  will tell some of my story; learned men, listen to the origin of the book.* 78

77. Regarding this topic in the context of Braj rīti literature, see Busch, Poetry of Kings, 2011, 119. In Persian, rhyme was crucially important in the development of theoretical literature on rhetoric and grammar. See Justine Landau, De rythme et de raison: Lecture croisée de deux traités de poétique persans du XVIIIe siècle, Bibliothèque iranienne 77 (Paris: Presses Sorbonne Nouvelle, 2013). 78. nāmera bākhāna ebe śuna mahājana | akṣare akṣare kahõ bhāvi guṇāguṇa || mānyera mā-​kāra āra gurura ga-​kāra | śubhayoge nakṣatrera ānila na-​kāra || e tina akṣare nāma māgana sambhava | rākhilenta mahājana kariā utsava || āra eka kathā śuna paṇḍita sakala | kāvya-​śāstra chanda-​ mūla pustaka piṅgala || piṅgalera madhye aṣṭa-​mahāgaṇa-​mūla | tāhāte ma-​gaṇa ādye bujha kavi-​ kula || {dhī śrī strī} kalpa-​prāpti magaṇa bhitara | magaṇa māgana eka ā-​kāra antara || ā-​kāra saṃyoge nāma haïla māgana | adhika maṅgala-​phala pāi tekāraṇa || akhane āpanā kathā kahimu kiñcit[a]‌ | pustakera sūtra śunaha paṇḍita || Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2, 19. Compare with

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By establishing prosody as the root of poetic art, Ālāol confirms the idea that, beyond the vernacular tradition, one had to master the basics of Sanskrit literary culture, the shared reference of seventeenth-​century Arakanese courtly milieu.

Sentiments and emotions [bhāva-​rasa] In accordance with the Sanskrit tradition, sentiments and aesthetic emotions [bhāva-​rasa] are central elements of Ālāol’s poetics. This fact first emerges when Ālāol discusses discourses on love [prema-​kathā] as excellent forms of speech. The explanation of sentiments and emotions is provided through scholarly digressions in Padmāvatī as well as in Saptapaẏkar. These passages are included in an introduction to lyrical arts. Ālāol mentions the Pañcamasārasaṃhitā of Nārada (ca. sixteenth–​ seventeenth centuries CE) when he talks about the three kinds of bhāva, but then he translates the definitions provided by the Saṅgītadāmodara of Śubhaṅkara.79 Ālāol discusses bhāvas and their relation to rasas from the perspective of dance and the complete form of art that is saṅgīta: A song relies on the limbs: hands bring about the meaning, the eyes the sentiments, and the feet determine the rhythm. The gaze follows the hands and the heart is under its sway. Where the heart resides, so do the sentiments and the nine aesthetic emotions.80 “It is because they generate aesthetic emotions that sentiments are called bhāvas” [rasān bhāvayantīti bhāvāḥ].81 Thus does Śubhaṅkara introduce the topic of bhāvas in his Saṅgītadāmodara. Ālāol’s introduction illustrates how this generation of aesthetic emotions takes place in a saṅgīta show. He first recalls that sentiments are conveyed by bodily signs—​here performed by a dancer who coordinates his or her movements with the “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 8–​9. Emendation: dhī śrī strī] nidhisthira. Compare with the first sūtra of Piṇgala’s Chandaḥsūtra: dhī śrī strī mā | 79. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 109; Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2,301–​2; compare with “Sapta paẏkar,” 252–​53. 80. aṅge avalamba gīta, haste artha laẏa | cakṣe bhāva pade kari tālera nirṇaẏa || yathā hasta tathā dr̥ṣṭi dr̥ṣṭi mana-​vaśa | yathā mana tathā bhāva āche naẏa rasa || Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2,301. 81. Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 2; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 3.

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accompanying music. These signs are interpreted by the heart [mana] of the beholder and listener within which the nine rasas are manifested. The role of the heart in this process refers to the “dialogue among hearts” [hr̥daya-​saṃvāda] and to the perfect connoisseur, who is called sahr̥daya, within whom this alchemy takes place.82 The alchemical metaphor is the one that renders best aesthetics as the poet conceived of it. In the prologue of Saẏphulmuluk, the poet describes the effect that hearing the poem had on his patron Māgan: “He, whose vital breath was consumed by the fire of viraha,/​turned copper rings into pure gold.”83 The Bengali poet provides close renderings of Śubhaṅkara’s Sanskrit definitions of the permanent [sthāyī] and transitory [sañcārī] sentiments, as well as a list of the physical signs [sāttvikas], after which he adds:84 I have duly explained the three kinds of sentiment and aesthetic emotion. If I told all the types of performance, starting with hand movements, the book would increase too much.85 82. Bansat-​Boudon, Poétique du théâtre indien, 153–​4. Although this passage clearly refers to the process of sahr̥dayatva/​hr̥dayasaṃvāda, I have not located any instance of the use of this term in Ālāol’s works. 83. viraha-​ānale yāra dahila parāṇa | pitala āṅguṭi kaila hema daśabāṇa || Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2,23. 84.  bhāva-​rasa-​kathā ebe kahiba kiñcita | samasta kahite śakti nāhi mora cita || binu bhāve vākya (read: kāvya?) nāhi binu bhāva rasa | binu bhāve nr̥tya nāhi nahe jaga-​vaśa || {saṃhitā pañcamasāra} nārade kahila | saṃsāre trividha-​bhāva pracāra haïla || sthāẏī āra sañcārī sāttvika anupāma | kāra kona bhāva buli śuna tāra nāma || Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2, 301–​2. saṅgītā pañcamasāra is the reading of the ms. used by D. Bandyopadhyay who makes the faulty emendation: saṅgīta pañcama svare. The same mistake is found in the previous editions of the text and in “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 109. For an edition and partial Hindi translation of this text see Dāmodara Sen Nārada, Pañcamasārasaṃhitā and Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Guru Bipin Singh, trans. Lalmani Tiwari (Calcutta:  Manipuri Nartanalaya, 1984). The confusion regarding the sources mentioned earlier suggests that Ālāol was citing from memory. The role of memory in the transmission of theoretical knowledge on saṅgīta—​and this applies to other disciplines of Sanskrit culture—​is shown in William Jones’s seemingly paradoxical comment about the popularity of this work, and the difficulty he encountered when trying to obtain a manuscript. Śubhaṅkara’s authoritative status in Bengal in the eighteenth century is also attested by the presence of manuscripts of the work among texts collected by the Jesuit father Pons and the collection of Henry Colebrooke. Henri Omont, Missions archéologiques françaises en Orient aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles. Partie 2/​documents publ. par Henri Omont (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1902), 1180; Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, (39). 85. kahila trividha-​bhāva-​rasa yena rīti || hastakera ādya āra yata abhinaẏa | se saba kahite pothā bahula bāḍaẏa || Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2, 302. Compare with “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 109–​10.

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Even when he mentions hand movements, he is actually translating Śubhaṅkara, who, in the original Sanskrit text, refers the reader to his treatise titled Hastamuktāvalī [The Pearl-​Necklace of Hand Movements].86

The nine rasas and the prema-​rasa Now that we have exposed the three kinds of sentiment, listen carefully what are their respective aesthetic emotions. Know for sure that these are sensual delight, fear, anger, enthusiasm, disgust and amazement, sorrow, peace and laughter. Listen! These permanent sentiments are absorbed in the nine aesthetic emotions.87 Ālāol’s list might be a little confusing for someone familiar with Sanskrit aesthetic theory. The poet says that he will introduce the rasas corresponding to the nine [sthāẏi]bhāvas. What he actually does is enumerate the sthāẏibhāvas themselves; he only eventually points to the rasas, which he leaves unnamed. This seeming confusion in the exposition of the sthāẏibhāvas and the rasas can be explained by the Saṅgītadāmodara’s treatment of those topics, in which bhāvas and rasas are not discussed together. Bhāvas are addressed in the first chapter, and rasas appear only at the end of the work. Śubhaṅkara, who seems to go ahead of the protests of the informed readers, justifies his choice by stating that bhāvas are actually preeminent: “Now, we first illustrate the sentiment because it is preeminent, it is the cause of [the generation] of emotions, and because of its role in [Bharata’s rasa-​]sūtra’s nirukta [section].”88

86. Śubhaṅkara, Śrīhastamuktāvalī, ed., trans. Maheswar Neog, Kalāmūlaśāstra granthamālā 3 (New Delhi: Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts, 1991). 87. trividha-​bhāvera kathā kahi [vicār]iẏā | kona bhāve kona rasa śuna mana diẏā || rati-​bhaẏa-​ krodha-​utsāha-​jugupsā-​vismaẏa | śoka āra śānta hāsya jānio niścaẏa || sthāẏī-​bhāve ei nava-​rasa[-​ līna] śuna | Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2,302. 88.  ato bhāvasya pradhānatvād rasa-​ hetutvāt sūtra-​ {niruktatvāc ca} prathamato bhāvam evodāharāmaḥ | Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 2; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 3.  Emendation:  niruktatvāc ca] nibaddhatvāc ca. The scribble mistake can easily be explained by the confusion of the syllables vaddha with rukta in the Bengali script. See Dragomir Dimitrov, “Tables of the Old Bengali Script (on the Basis of the Nepalese Manuscript of Daṇḍin’s Kāvyādarśa),” in Śikṣāsamuccayaḥ:  Indian and Tibetan Studies (Collectanea Marpurgensia Indologica et Tibetica), edited by Dragomir Dimitrov, Ulrike Roesler, and Roland Steiner (Vienna:  Arbeitskreise für Tibetische und Buddhsitische

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Because rasas are located in a different section of his source text, Ālāol simply does not dwell on the matter in his technical digressions. As in the Saṅgītadāmodara, the focus was on the means to obtain aesthetic relish, rather than on the end of this process—​a topic that was better suited to what we might call scholastic works on poetics and was beyond the scope of a manual on the basic principles of lyrical arts. On the other hand, it is noteworthy that Śubhaṅkara’s approach announced the later Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava understanding of the matter. Gauḍīya authors were more concerned with bhāva and its subdivisions than they were with rasa—​the treatment of which was completely revised from the traditional list that was still recognized by Śubhaṅkara. The latter’s teaching thus retained the old categories, and we find no trace of the theory of the Gosvāmins.89 Śubhaṅkara treats prema-​rasa as a tenth rasa, but the meaning that he lends to this term suggests that it was still a secondary matter. It is not the essential attribute of the divine game [līlā] of Kr̥ṣṇa, in which the goal [sādhya] of the devotee [sādhaka] is to seek grace through his discipline [sādhana]. Here is his definition of preman: In this regard, someone said that there is another aesthetic emotion called preman. According to his view, there are ten aesthetic emotions. Examples for the aesthetic emotion preman are: the mother hugs her son; the father hugs his son; etc. . . . In the commentary on Mālatīmādhava, the name of this aesthetic emotion is vatsala.90 This definition does not agree with the one that later Vaiṣṇava scholars give. Technically, they consider preman to be a form of the sthāyibhāva rati

Studien, Universität Wien, 2002), 27–​78, especially §2.4.1 (kta) and §2.4.4 (ddha), §3.4 (ru) and §5.3 (similarity between ra and ba/​va). The reference here is not to the sequence of the sūtras in the Nāṭyaśāstra—​because rasas are treated before bhāvas, but rather to the nirukta, or etymological explanation, given in this passage. Compare with Bharata Muni, The Nāṭyaśāstra: English Translation with Critical Notes, trans. Adya Rangacharya, rev. ed. (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers, 1996), 55. 89. Although he eventually refrains from actually applying the theories of Rūpa to works produced by Muslim authors in Arakan, Lutphar Rahmān seems to consider that his aesthetic theory, and the Ujjvalanīlamaṇi in particular, was a complete watershed in the history of Bengali poetics. Rahmān, Bāṃlā sāhitye nandanbhāvanā,158–​220. 90.  kaścid atrāha—​prema-​nāmā aparo raso’sti [|]‌ tan-​mate daśaḥ rasāḥ bhavanti | prema-​ rasodāharaṇaṃ ca:  mātā putram āliṅgati, pitā putram āliṅgatītyādi | etasyaiva premanāmno rasasya mālatīmādhava-​ṭikāyāṃ vatsala iti nāma | Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 118; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 212–​13.

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(Ujjvalanīlamaṇi, 14.63). But according to Kavikarṇapūra (fl. 1524−1572), himself a poet and scholar who lived in Orissa on the eve of the period in which Gauḍīya theories were elaborated, what Vaiṣṇavas called prema-​rasa went far beyond what earlier treatises had said on the topic. Karṇapūra illustrates prema-​rasa with the following stanza: “I am your beloved and you my lover,” are merely words; “You are my vital breath and I am yours,” alas, is only chattering; Claiming that I am you and you are me, Rādhā, is not correct. It is improper that in our speech we employ the pronouns “you” and “I”.91 As illustrated in this stanza, preman, whether a sthāyibhāva or a rasa, conveys the idea of love in separation. It thus represents a form of love that unites the two traditional aspects of śr̥ṅgāra (sambhoga and vipralambha). Kavikarṇapūra foregrounds the later developments of theological speculations on prema-​rasa in his commentary on the aforementioned stanza: Because all rasas are included within prema-​rasa, it is its supreme manifestation. Fearing that the book becomes too long, I just give the orientation [ for further reflection on this topic]. According to some, only the śr̥ṅgāra between Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa is deemed a rasa. If one follows this line of argument, the example [given above] is not irrelevant. Śr̥ṅgāra is the generic term and preman is specific, and in some cases the specific term gains prominence. But for us, preman is generic and śr̥ṅgāra is specific.92

91. preyāṃs te’haṃ tvam api ca mama preyāsīti pravādas: tvaṃ me prāṇā aham api tavāsmīti hanta pralāpaḥ | tvaṃ me te syām iti yat tac ca no sādhu rādhe:  vyāhāre no na hi samucito yuṣmad-​asmat-​prayogaḥ ||5.11|| Compare this stanza with the famous verses by Amīr Khusraw Dihlawī (d. 725/​1325): man tu shudam tu man shudī/​man jān shudam tu tan shudī. tā nagūyad kasī pas az-​īn/​man dīgar-​am u tu dīgar-​ī. [I have become you, you have become me./​I have become life, you have become body. From now on, let no one say that/​I am other and you are another.] Text and translation from Amīr Khusraw Dihlavī, In the Bazaar of Love: The Selected Poetry of Amīr Khusrau, trans. Paul E. Losensky and Sunil Sharma (New Delhi:  Penguin Books India, 2011), xxx. 92.  premarase sarve rasā antarbhavantīty atra mahīyān eva prapañcaḥ | grantha-​gaurava-​ bhayād diṅmātram uktam | keṣāṃcin mate śrīrādhā-​kr̥ṣṇayoḥ śr̥ṅgāra eva rasaḥ | tan-​mate’py etad udāharaṇaṃ nāsaṅgatam | śr̥ṅgāro’ṅgī premāṅgam, aṅgasyāpi kvacid udriktatā | vayaṃ tu premāṅgī śr̥ṅgāro’ṅgam iti viśeṣaḥ | Kavikarṇapūra, Lokanāthacakravarti, and Sivaprasad Bhattacharya, Alaṅkārakaustubhaḥ, ed. Raviśaṅkara Nāgara, Parimala Saṃskr̥ta granthamālā 3 (Delhi: Parimala Pablikeśansa, 1993), 148–​9.

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I think that through this comment, Kavikarṇapūra is doing something very important for the systematization and delimitation of the meaning of prema-​rasa that will occur in later Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava works. Preman as the supreme manifestation of all rasas is already, at this point, presented as an all-​encompassing emotion. Emulating Jāyasī, in Padmāvtaī Ālāol labeled himself a “poet of love” [prema-​kavi] and claimed that Saẏphulmuluk was a “book of love” [premera pustaka].93 In the case of Ālāol’s discourse on prema, I would argue that it is because of his Indo-​Afghan background—​which exposed him to Avadhi literature and to some late aesthetic considerations of saṅgīta-​ śāstras such as the Saṅgītadāmodara—​that the Bengali poet seems to share views on prema-​rasa with Vaiṣṇavas. Ālāol actually recycles the śāstric formula used by Śubhaṅkara to demonstrate the preeminence of bhāvas in Padmāvatī to explain the cosmological dimension of the prema of Avadhi romances:  “Without love, no sentiments, without sentiments, no aesthetic emotions./​Everything that you see in the triple-​world is under love’s sway.”94 One should therefore not see in this parallel an influence of Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava literature, which did not reach eastern Bengal in Ālāol’s time, but, rather, the consequence of a contemporary formation of speculative discourses on prema-​rasa. Such discourses were themselves the result of a gradual overwhelming predominance of śr̥ṅgāra in both the practice and theory of poetry in South Asia. In the case of the Vaiṣṇava tradition, the essential nature of preman occasioned a complete reformulation of aesthetic theories and the creation of a new and very specific terminology. In contrast to this very precisely 93. premakavi ālāol prabhura bhāvaka | [Ālāol, the poet of love, is a lover of God.] Compare with Jāyasī’s muhammada kabi jo pema kā nā tana rakata na mā̃su | [Muḥammad is the poet of love, is body is skin and bones.] (Trans. De Bruijn, Ruby in the dust, 187). Ālāol elaborates on the notion of prema in both the prologues of Padmāvatī and Saẏphulmuluk. See Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 10; “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 458. 94. prema binu bhāva nāhi bhāva binu rasa | tribhuvane yata dekha prema hante vaśa || Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 10. A variant of this verse is given in the prologue of Saẏphulmuluk: prema binu bhāva nāhi bhāva binu rasa | prema-​pathe āche bahu madhura karkasa || [Without love there is no sentiment, without sentiment, no aesthetic emotion; love’s path is full of things, sweet and harsh.] Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no. 185/​ ā 32, maghi 1216/​1854 AD, fol. 7v. Compare with “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 458. The model for this verse is found in Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara: kāvyam na bhāvena vinā na bhāvena vinā rasaḥ | na bhāvena vinā nr̥tyaṃ na bhāvena vinā jagat || [Without sentiment, no poetry; without sentiment, no aesthetic emotion; without sentiment, no dance; without sentiment, no world.] Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 2; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 2 [1.8].

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defined doctrine, in the Avadhi tradition, the foregrounding of prema-​ rasa was not necessarily thought of in relation to the former systems of Sanskrit aestehtic theory. It evolved, rather, as a matter-​of-​fact phenomenon that was never systematized beyond the comments provided by poets in their prologues and through the voices of their characters in the narratives. It was a loosely defined notion expressing the need to render into the vernacular literary idiom Persianate notions of love and a general trend of emphasizing the erotic emotion within Indic literature. I do not wish to downplay the importance of prema-​rasa in South Asian literary history, but rather to assess its true degree of conceptualization and prevent overly restrictive definitions of the term, regardless of the context. Outside of Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism, prema-​rasa needs to be defined within the conceptual boundaries of the texts in which it is found. Ālāol departed from his Avadhi model by interpreting prema-​rasa using a Sanskritic terminology. But he did not go so far in this process as to insert prema-​rasa in the traditional list of nine rasas. The aphorism that is found in the prologue of Padmāvatī establishes prema-​rasa as the ultimate cause and agent of the control [vaśa] of the world. The speech of the poet, who is himself heir to the primordial divine injunction, perpetuates the efficacy of prema. By revisiting Śubhaṅkara’s aphorism, and by using an oft-​encountered strategy in śāstra literature that consists of claiming the crucial cosmogonical function of the matter under scrutiny, Ālāol performs a bold integration of the Avadhi prema-​rasa into the Sanskritic epistemic framework. This integration is clearly distinct from Vaiṣṇava authors’ contemporaneous and comparable attempts. Ālāol treats the topic of prema-​ rasa outside the framework of the traiditonal rasas and highlights the cosmologic function of speech, of which prema-​rasa is the most achieved form. He creates a straightforward parallel between the preeminence of speech within creation—​both as a process and as the created world—​and the high rank that śr̥ṅgāra-​rasa occupies in contemporary Indic poetics.

The eight kinds of heroine [aṣṭa-​nā̄ẏikā-​bheda] The classification of various kinds of heroine [nāyikā-​bheda] stands as a corollary to the growing success of śr̥ṅgāra in South Asia, and it is perhaps the aspect of Ālāol’s poetics that most grounds the poet of Arakan in his time. The classification of the heroines has a long history that begins with the Nāṭyaśāstra of Bharata. As P. S. Filliozat observes, in this text, nāyikās were associated with the life of the royal court and with the activities of

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the king. Later authors such as Dhanañjaya (ca. tenth century), who composed the Daśarūpaka (ca. tenth century CE), generalized those categories by dissociating the heroines from the women of the royal gynaeceum.95 It is nevertheless obvious that the representation of the nāyikās remained closely associated with courtly life. As is shown by the amount of vernacular literature on the topic, as well as the space dedicated to nāyikā categorization in Viśvanātha’s (ca. 14th fourteenth century CE, Orissa) treatise on poetics, the Sāhityadarpaṇa [The Mirror of Literature]—​which was rightly seen as a landmark in the history of Sanskrit poetics—​and, finally, in the success of Bhānudatta’s (ca. fifteenth century CE) Rasamañjarī [Bouquet of Rasa], a work entirely devoted to nāyikā-​bheda, this domain constituted an essential part of literary hermeneutics from the fourteenth century onward.96 If we turn to the reception of Indic poetics by Indo-​Persian authors, we reach the same conclusion: In the Āʾīn-​i akbarī, Abū al-​Faḍl (1551−1602) devotes the bulk of his chapter on literature (Per. sāhittī < Skt. sāhitya) in Hindustan to the topic of nāyikā-​bhedas.97 Indo-​Persian works of the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries display a similar and actually ever-​growing interest in what was undeniably the central feature of South Asian poetics in the early modern period.98 The science of defining types of heroes and heroines is based on the combination of variegated features. Whereas Bharata treated heroines relative to character types, later poeticians approached the topic from the perspective of bhāvas and rasas, namely the śr̥ṅgāra-​rasa. Ālāol’s theoretical authority, Śubhaṅkara, proceeded in the same way and located the discussion on nāyikā-​bhedas at the beginning of ­chapter 2, after he had discussed bhāvas in c­ hapter 1. Moreover, the introductory stanzas in this section of

95.  Vidyānātha and Kumārasvāmin, Le Pratāparudrīya avec le commentaire Ratnāpana de Kumārasvāmin, trans. Pierre-​ Sylvain Filliozat (Pondichéry:  Institut français d’indologie, 1963), 296. 96.  Bhanudatta, Bouquet of Rasa & River of Rasa, trans. Sheldon Pollock, Clay Sanskrit Library (New York: NYU Press, 2009). 97. Abul Fazl Allami, The Āʾīn-​i Akbarī, vol. 3, 254–​60; Āʾīn-​i Akbarī, ed. Henry Blochmann, 3 vols. (Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press, 1877), vol. 2, 130–​4. Note that the section on literature is immediately followed by that on sangīt (saṅgīta). 98. Sunil Sharma, “Translating Gender: Āzād Bilgrāmī on the Poetics of the Love Lyric and Cultural Synhtesis,” The Translator 15, no. 1 (2009): 87–​103; Carl W. Ernst, “Indian Lovers in Arabic and Persian Guise: Āzād Bilgrāmī’s Depiction of Nāyikas,” Journal of Hindu Studies 6, no. 1 (2013): 37–​51.

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the Saṅgītadāmodara remind the reader of the divisions of śr̥ṅgāra, which are love in union [sambhoga] and love in separation [vipralambha]: The woman called “betrayed” and “the one who was deceived”, “the one who sets off to a rendezvous” and “the one who prepares a bed”, “the one separated by anger” and “the impatient”, “the one who possesses her husband” and “the one whose husband left”; we consider that they are either experiencing love in union or love in separation.99 Let us now turn to Ālāol’s introductory section on the matter and pay close attention to how he renders this canonical list: I will now carefully expose the kinds of heroine, pay attention to their names and attributes. First comes “the betrayed” woman, second “the one who sets off to a rendezvous”, third is “the one who prepares a bed”, fourth “the one who is disappointed”, fifth is “the impatient,” sixth “the one separated by anger”, seventh the category of “the messenger for herself”, and eighth “the one who possesses her husband”. Listen to their respective, incomparable attributes.100 The emphasis in this quote is mine, and it is meant to highlight the replacement of “the one whose husband left” by “the messenger for herself.” It was not uncommon to add a new element to Bharata’s canonical list, but to replace one category by another was rather unusual.101 To understand what

99.  khaṇḍitā vipralabdhā ca vāsasajjābhisārikā | kalahāntaritā caiva tathaivotkaṇṭhitāparā || svādhīnabhartr̥kā cānyā tathā proṣitabhartr̥kā | sambhoge vipralambhe ca ity aṣṭau nāyikāḥ matāḥ || Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 12; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 22 [2.25–​26]. 100. aṣṭa-​nāẏikāra bheda kahiba bhāviẏā | ye nāma-​lakṣaṇa tāra śuna mana diẏā || ādye nārī khaṇḍitā duẏaje abhisārī | tr̥tīẏe vāsakasajjā vipralabdhā cāri || pañcame utkaṇṭhitā kalahāntari ṣaṣṭhame | svaẏaṃdūtikā-​bheda jānio saptame || svādhīna-​bhartr̥kā aṣṭame laimu nāma | yāhāra yemata guṇa śuna anupāma || Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2,161–​2; “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 60. 101. In Sanskrit we may mention the rather innovatiove lists of Rudraṭa’s Kāvyālaṃkāra and Bhoja’s Sarasvatīkaṇṭhābharaṇa. Bhānudatta adds the proṣyatpatikā to the list. Braj rītigranths

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could have motivated Ālāol to perform such a bold act, we must turn to the detailed definitions that he provides for each type of woman: She, whose husband spends the night with another, and gets caught [as] a thief in the morning, is “the betrayed”.102 When the lover waits in an isolated meeting place, hoping to make love, [and] the woman comes to the man, this woman is of course “the one who sets off to a rendezvous”. She spends the night in erotic games and pleasurable delights.103 She who, filled with desire, having prepared a bed in an isolated location, wakes up and sets off at night remembering the meeting time, she is called for sure “the one who prepares a bed”.104 Now listen how “the one who is disappointed” behaves. She is constantly seeking pleasure and she is exceedingly naïve, she invokes the Lord and tells the sorrow of her heart. When her husband remains silent, she gets upset, when she makes love, she gains peace. The great man [i.e. Bharata] calls her “the one who is disappointed”.105 repeat the list of the Nāṭyaśāstra and sometimes add a few types, but do not seem to remove any. The list of ten nāyikās given in Matirām’s Rasarāja (mid-​seventeenth century CE) seems to impose itself as the standard for later Braj poeticians. Rākeśagupta, Studies in Nāyaka-​ Nāyikā-​Bheda (Varanasi, India: Chowkhamba, 1967), 385–​426; Busch, Poetry of Kings, 79–​87. 102.  Ālāol follows Śubhaṅkara:  yasyāḥ kuto’pi gr̥ham eti patiḥ prabhāte | sā nāyikā nigaditā khalu khaṇḍiteti || [She whose husband returns home from God knows where in the morning, this heroine is for sure called the “betrayed.”] Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 13; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 22 [2.27c–​27d]. 103.  This definition differs from Śubhaṅkara’s:  uddāma-​manmatha-​mahājvara-​vepamānā romāñca-​kaṇṭakitam aṅga-​talam vahantī | niḥśaṅkinī vrajati yā priyasaṅgamotkā sā kāminī kila bhaved abhisārikā || [Shaking from Love’s violent fever, moving her horripilated body, fearless, she who goes hoping to reunite with her lover is called “the one who sets off to a rendezvous.”] Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 13; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 23 [2.60]. 104. Ālāol follows closely his model: yā rāsa-​veśmani sukalpita-​talpa-​madhye tāmbula-​puṣpa-​ vasanaiś ca samaṃ susajjā | kāntasya samayaṃ samavekṣamāṇā sā kathyate kavi-​varair iha vāsasajjā || Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 13; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 22 [2.29]. 105.  It differs from Śubhaṅkara:  aharahar anurāgād dūtikāṃ preṣya pūrvaṃ, sarabhasam abhiyātā kvāpi saṅketadeśe | na milati khalu yasyā vallabho daivayogāt, kathayati bharatas tām nāyikāṃ vipralabdhām || (The one who, everyday, out of love sends a messenger and swiftly sets off to a place of rendezvous but whose lover does not meet her, Bharata calls this heroine

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Now I will tell the characteristics of “the one separated by anger”. Proud, she feigns indifference, she does not look up and agrees to nothing, her friends’ words do not calm her down, [and] if her lover manages with much solicitation to convince her, then only does she agree to make love again. This young woman is called “the one separated by anger”.106 Listen to the behavior of “the one who is messenger for herself”. Her husband is not here and she is tormented by desire. When she sees a clever man, the young clever woman conveys her intentions using various tricks; herself the messenger she uses signs, Therefore this woman is called “the messenger for herself”. The characteristics of “the impatient” are a treasure-​trove of qualities, she can suffer no delay when meeting with her lover.107 The one who enjoys the pleasures of love with her husband, and then talks about it to her friends, know that she is “the one who possesses her husband”;108 when “separated” she sinks in the thoughts of her husband day and night. [Even] sandalwood and moon-​rays burn the body of this virtuous woman; flowers, cuckoos and bees seem like poison [to her]. “the one who is disappointed.”) Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 12; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 22, [2.28]. 106.  It differs from Śubhaṅkara:  cāṭukāram api jīvita-​nāthaṃ kopataḥ samavadhīrya punar yā | tapyate anuśaya-​manmatha-​bhāvaiḥ kathyate kalahantaritā sā || [She who, after angrily scolding her dear husband who was flattering her, burns with remorseful feelings induced by Love, is called “the one separated by anger.”] Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 13; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 23 [2.31]. 107. The definition differs from Śubhaṅkara: naivāgataḥ samuciteṣv api vāsareṣu, prāṇeśvaro’ti-​ guru-​kārya-​vaśena yasyāḥ | durvāra-​manmatha-​mahājvara-​vepitāṅgīm, utkaṇṭhitāṃ vadati tāṃ bharataḥ kavīndraḥ || [The one whose beloved did not come on the agreed upon days because of some important business, the Indra among poets, Bharata calls her whose body quivers because of the irresistible fever induced by Love, “the impatient one.”] Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 13; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 23 [2.32]. 108.  Śubhaṅkara has:  āśleṣa-​cumbana-​śataiḥ kusumādi-​dānaiḥ, premottara-​praṇaya-​komala-​ cāṭuvāgbhiḥ | saṃstūyate priyatamena ca yānurāgāt, svādhīnabhrtr̥ka-​pada-​prakaṭīkr̥tā sā || [She who is lovingly celebrated by her dear husband with hundreds of embraces and kisses, gifts of flowers and the like, and gentle, flattering words that are full of love, she is known

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Ālāol only partially follows Śubhaṅkara’s definitions of the eight heroines. There are two possible explanations for this shift: Either the Bengali poet was using a text other than the Saṅgītadāmodara, or he wished to express his own views on the matter. In the present case, I would argue for the latter option. Ālāol announces a list of eight heroines [aṣṭa-​nāẏikāra bheda], but in fact describes nine types. The reason for this apparent incoherence lies in the introduction of the svaẏaṃdūtikā [the one who is messenger for herself ] who is already mentioned in the introductory verses. Without naming her, or, to be more exact, by giving her the alternative name of virahiṇī, he describes the proṣitabhartr̥kā in the same breath as the svādhīnabhartr̥kā. To have the right number of nāẏikās, one must therefore count them together as two aspects of the bhartr̥kā (i.e., the married woman). The svayaṃdūtikā is mentioned in none of the lists of nāyikās that I have reviewed. But she is mentioned in the Kāmasūtra of Vātsyāyana and by some Braj authors as a subcategory of parakīyā nāyikā (i.e., a heroine who belongs to another; an adulterous woman). Viśvanātha also mentions the svayaṃdūtī at the end of a list of messenger characters in a play. He gives a verse (of his own composition) in Prakrit that illustrates the cunning speech of “the messenger for herself”: Hey traveler! You look thirsty; why do you walk away? In this house there isn’t the least obstacle for those who drink rain water.109 The woman in this illustrative verse is married and, while her husband is absent, she invites a traveler to make love with her. This should be read alongside the first part of Ālāol’s definition, in which he states that her husband is absent, and she is expected to use signs [iṅgita] to express her desires. Note that neither of those features—​the absence of the husband or the use of signs—​can be inferred merely from the name svaẏaṃdūtikā

as “the one who possesses her husband.”] Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 13; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 23 [2.33]. 109.  panthia piāsio bia lacchīasi jāsi tā kim aṇṇatto | na maṇaṃ bi vārao idha atthi ghare ghaṇarasaṃ piantāṇaṃ || Viśvanātha, Sāhityadarpaṇa, vr̥tti ad 3.130a. The chāyā given in the Vivr̥tti of Rāmacaraṇa Tarkavāgīśa (fl. 1700, Bardhaman) is pāntha pipāsita iva lakṣyase yāsi tat kim anyatra | na manāg api vāraka ihāsti gehe ghanarasaṃ pibatām || Viśvanātha Kavirāja, Sāhityadarpaṇam with the commentaries Vivṛtiḥ, Vivṛtipūrtiḥ, Vijñapriyā, Locanam, Kusumapratimā, Vimalā, Lakṣmī, Rucirā, ed. Yogeśvaradatta Śarmā Pārāśaraḥ (New Delhi: Nāga Pabliśarsa, 1999), vol. 1756.

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[messenger for herself ], which means that Ālāol, if not familiar with Viśvanātha’s views, at least was familiar with some similar discourse on this subtype of heroine. In his section on dūtīs, Śubhaṅkara gives a list in which the svayaṃdūtikā does not figure. By including the svaẏaṃdūtikā in his list, Ālāol translates into theoretical terms the popularity of such characters in the literature of his time. These typified characters were omnipresent in theoretical and poetical texts, both vernacular and Sanskrit. It is therefore no surprise to see that Ālāol shares his specific views on the subject and introduces elements that he deems important for the appreciation of poetry in his time and place. Beyond his theoretical discourse, his poetical compositions confirm his interest in characters that could be identified as “messengers for themselves.” In the story of the goldsmith’s wife in Saẏphulmuluk, the young princess is a good example of a svaẏaṃdūtikā.110 In this story, Ālāol openly expresses his preference for such female characters and states that “the messengers of clever lovers are always the eyes” [catura janera duti naẏāna sarvathā].111 But it is certainly in the mention of “language made of signs” [iṅgita-​vacana] that one must find the deep motivation behind Ālāol’s innovation. The svaẏaṃdūtikā, with her signs and suggestive language, was endowed with the crucial qualities that characterized courtly sociability and rhetoric. It was by the same means of indirection that the member of the sabhā was to express his or her desires and expectations. It is invariably through signs [iṅgita] that the king gives his orders in Ālāol’s poems, and it is also by recourse to signs and indirection that poetry—​courtly speech par excellence—​conveyed its message.112

Poetic ornaments [alaṅkāras] I have noticed no digression on the topic of alaṅkāras in Ālāol’s works. The science of “ornaments of poetry” [kāvya-​alaṅkāras] does figure in the

110. Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 463–​72. See Appendix 1b for summary of the story. 111. Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no. 185/​ā 32, maghi 1216/​1854 AD, fol. 13r. 112. The popularity of the svayaṃdūtikā is also recorded in the contemporary emerging vernacular Vaiṣṇava theoretical literature in western Bengal. The end of the sixth chapter of Rāmagopāldās’s Rasakalpavallī, the earliest Bengali rasa-​śāstra, is dedicated to indirection and provides several examples of the use of gestures and signs in pada literature. Rāmagopāl Dās and Pītāmbar Dās, Rāmagopāl Dās-​viracita Rasakalpavallī o anyānya nibandha, Pītāmbar Dās-​viracita Aṣṭarasavyākhyā o Rasamañjarī, 85–​92.

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list of Māgan’s skills, but the poet never reflects on this area of expertise.113 On the other hand, we have already seen the use of recognizable figures of style, and there is no reason to doubt that the poet was at least familiar with its basic principles. How can we explain the absence of alaṅkāra, a discipline so closely linked to courtly poetry in South Asia? We know that Ālāol conceived of poetry mainly as a component of lyrical arts. In śāstric terms, the pā̃cālī was equated with a type of saṅgīta and fulfilled the requirements of its definition as an artistic form that combined singing—​and its two aspects, melody and lyrics—​with instrumental music and dance. Although aesthetic rules and speculations regarding sentiments [bhāvas] and emotions [rasas] were common to both saṅgīta and alaṅkāra-​śāstras, the science of ornaments pertained only to the latter theoretical tradition. Neither Ālāol’s main theoretical sourcebook, the Saṅgītadāmodara, nor the other saṅgīta treatises that he mentions—​nor, of course, Piṅgala’s work on prosody—​ address alaṅkāras. Nevertheless, a careful survey of Ālāol’s terminology reveals the presence of some technical terms that belong to this field. For instance, we find several instances in which the poet uses a term that nearly subsumes the entire domain of poetic ornaments: upamā, “simile.” We are able to distinguish three ways in which Ālāol uses upamā. First, there is a nontechnical usage of the term in expressions such as nirupamā/​ niropamā/​anupāma, “incomparable,” which does not contribute to our inquiry into Ālāol’s terminology. Other instances partake of the terminology of South Asian narratives, a topic to which I will return in the present chapter. In particularly ornate passages, such as the descriptions of the beloved’s beauty from head to toe, the poet uses upamā in the (clearly technical) sense of simile. For instance, the term appears when Ālāol admits his inability to describe the ineffable beauty of the heroine: No simile [upamā] for this girl who charms the three worlds; the Lord strove to endow her with such beauty and greatness.114

113. kāvya-​alaṅkāra-​jñātā hastaka nāṭikā | Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 8. 114.  trilokamohinī kanyā nāhika upamā | bahu yatne diche prabhu se rūpa-​mahimā || Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 247.

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Similarly, Ālāol, when describing Padmāvatī’s breasts, makes the following comment: The shape of her breasts overcomes golden bowls; golden cups put upside down. Poets compare them with fruits; I looked carefully, but found none similar.115 In those lines, Ālāol challenges the poetic convention, according to which the beautiful heroine’s breasts should be compared to fruits, and, as a poet concerned with the accuracy of the images that he uses in his similes, he comes to the conclusion that no standard of comparison suits his purpose. Note that in both cases, the impossibility of building similes results in the formulation of another figure of style:  the vyatireka [contrast]. The vyatireka and the utprekṣā [poetic fancy] are by far the figures of style that Ālāol and other vernacular poets of the region used most often.116 These two examples are rare instances of Ālāol’s use of the vocabulary of alaṅkāra-​śāstra. The total absence of references to authors of such theoretical works and the scarcity of the terms belonging to this field in Ālāol’s self-​reflexive discourse must be attributed to the predominance of saṅgīta in his training. In saṅgīta, the mastery of alaṅkāras is expected of the vāggeykāra [composer of lyrics and sung melodies], but these matters are not discussed by śāstra authors within this domain.117 Moreover, the ornaments of the pā̃cālī partially reside in the theatrical and musical dimensions of the performance. 115. svarṇa-​sthālī jiniẏā hr̥daẏa-​paripāṭi | kanaka-​kaṭorā dui rākhiche ulaṭi || phalera upamā kibā kahe kavi-​kula | vicāri cāhilũ saba nahe samatula || Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 27. Compare with this distich by Vidyāpati:  tei udasala kuca-​jorā | pālaṭi baiṭhāẏala kanaka-​kaṭorā || [Thus, her breasts were uncovered,/​two golden cups put upside down.] Vaiṣṇavdās, Śrī Śrī Padakalpataru, ed. Satīścandra Rāẏ, 4 vols.(Calcutta:  Baṅgīẏa-​Sāhitya-​ Pariṣat-​Mandir, 1322), vol. 1,140 (song no.  209). See also Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature, 81. 116. Vyatireka [contrast] is typically signaled by the dyotaka (“indicator,” i.e., a word instrumental in the formulation of a figure of speech) jini [after conquering, overcoming], and the utprekṣā is indicated by the presence of jena [as if]. We may add that the sandehālaṅkāra [figure of doubt] is introduced by the interrogative kibā. See, for instance, the use of these figures of speech throughout the description of Padmāvatī’s charms. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 25–​ 9; Ālāol, “Padmābatī,” trans. Qazi Abdul Mannan and Clinton B. Seely (New York: Learning Ressources in International Studies, 1974). See also the discussion on figures of speech in the Kr̥ttivāsī Rāmāyaṇ in Benoît, “Le Rāmāyaṇa de Vālmīki et le Rāmāyaṇa de Kṛttibās,” 217–​18. 117.  See, for instance, the description of the vāggeyakāra in Emmie te Nijenhuis, ed., Saṅgītaśiromaṇi: A Medieval Handbook of Indian Music, Brill’s Indological Library 5 (Leiden, The Netherlands; New York: Brill, 1992), 490–​3, [14.37–​45].

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The arrangement of all meanings [sarva-​artha-​gā̃thani] In the list of the sciences that constitute kavitva, which are given in Padmāvatī, Ālāol uses the compound sarva-​artha-​gā̃thani, “the binding/​ arrangement of all meanings.” The author does not furnish any additional indications regarding the meaning of this term. The fact that it stands in the list of the skills and disciplines that one must master to formulate relevant criticism on poetry suggests that it partakes of the poet’s technical terminology. I see three possible interpretations of this term. The first one would be to consider artha in the sense that authors of alaṅkāra-​śāstras give to this term. The second comes from dramaturgy, in which the word appears in the term artha-​prakr̥ti. The third option would be that Ālāol translated a fashionable term of seventeenth-​century Indo-​Persian literary criticism: maʿnī-​band (literally “tying [i.e., fashioning] meanings”). The first chapters of alaṅkāra-​śāstras typically discuss the ability [śakti] of speech to convey meaning [artha]. They tend to outline three kinds of meaning: the “primary meaning” [abhidhārtha], the “figurative meaning” [lakṣaṇārtha], and the “suggested meaning” [vyaṅgyārtha]. In that case, sarva-​artha-​gā̃thani designates mastery of the various kinds of meaning in a poetic text. But, as I have already pointed out, the technical language of alaṅkāra-​śāstra is seldom present in Ālāol’s discourse on poetry. Therefore it seems unlikely that the poet had this definition in mind when he used this term. Both the form of the pā̃cālī and Ālāol’s traditional models in the field of Sanskrit technical literature bring him closer to the domain of theater, and, when it comes to composition, to dramaturgy. This relationship to theater is why it seems legitimate to wonder whether artha could refer to the artha-​prakr̥ti—​“the elements of the meaning”—​that are the “seed” [bīja], the “drop” [bindu], the banner [patākā], the “rescue” [prakarī], and the “object” [kārya]. The “elements of the meaning” are mentioned, briefly, in the Saṅgītadāmodara: After acknowledging the five elements of the meaning, which are the seed, the drop, the banner, the rescue, and the object, these must be used properly.118 118. bījaḥ binduḥ patākā ca prakarī kāryam eva ca | arthaprakr̥tayaḥ pañca jñātvā yojyā yathāvidhi || Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 72; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 131 [4.255].

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In her analysis of the Nāṭyaśāstra, L. Bansat-​Boudon observes that the five artha-​prakr̥tis serve, alongside the kāryāvasthās [the stages of the action] and the sandhis [segments], as one of the three series that a poet must take into account when building his plot.119 Together, the three correspond to a triple dynamic: that of the hero who engages in pursuit of something, that of the action that progresses with artha-​prakr̥tis, and that of the general organization of the play whose various segments are formally organized through the sandhis. Considering the role of narration in the pā̃cālī tradition, it would be no surprise to see Ālāol stress the theoretical aspects of plot construction when enumerating the skills of a good poet and a competent critic. As a matter of fact, Ālāol was especially careful when reworking the source text, or even crafting altogether new episodes and embedded secondary narratives within the framework of his models. In some cases, Ālāol’s intervention on the source text seems to be motivated precisely by a will to increase the linearity of the narrative structure and, in doing so, to meet the requirements of the pā̃cālī tradition and of classical Sanskrit dramaturgy.120 One final suggestion about the possible meaning of the term sarva-​ artha-​gā̃thani would be to see it as an Indic rendering of terms that were central to contemporary Indo-​Persian literary criticism such as maʿnī-​band [ forming meaning] or maʿnī-​āfarīnī [creation of meaning]. The anxiety of semantic innovation [maʿnī-​i tāza] was central in debates on poetic composition in seventeenth-​century Iran and Mughal India.121 As this chapter has shown, Ālāol made much of the literary relationship between a poet and his predecessors. He was concerned with the issue of how a poet might carry out his duty to bring a certain freshness to his own compositions—​ despite the fact that his predecessors, both ancient and modern, may have exhausted much of the basic poetic material at hand. It is therefore 119. De, History of Sanskrit Poetics, vol. 2, 239; Bansat-​Boudon, Poétique du théâtre indien, 130–​5. 120. For instance, in the seventh tale of Niẓāmī’s Haft paykar the narrative structure is characterized by its circularity. Ālāol’s rewriting of the body of the narrative reinforces the linear progression of the action and seems to bring it closer the the requirements of the śātras. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 289–​95; Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Haft paykar, ed. Bihrūz Tharwatīyān,309–​24; The Haft Paykar, 216–​33. 121. Paul Losensky, Welcoming Fighānī: Imitation and Poetic Individuality in Safavid-​Mughal Ghazals (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers, 1998), 193–​249; Shamsur Rahman Faruqi, “A Stranger in the City:  The Poetics of Sabk-​e Hindi,” Annual of Urdu Studies 19 (2004):  1–​ 93; Rajeev Kinra, “Make It Fresh:  Time, Tradition, and Indo-​Persian Literary Modernity,” in Time, History, and the Religious Imaginary in South Asia, ed. Anne C. Murphy, Routledge South Asian Religion Series 6 (London; New York: Routledge, 2011), 12–​39.

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possible that Ālāol had this notion in mind when speaking of the necessity to pay attention to the “binding/​arrangement of all meanings.” Whatever the exact meaning of sarva-​artha-​gā̃thani may be, the term highlights Ālāol’s emphasis on meaning and the complexities of composition in his discourse on poetry. If we understand this term to be a reference to the “elements of meaning,” his statement indicates a theoretical mode of thinking that drew upon the terminology of Sanskrit dramaturgy and applied it to the vernacular narrative performance tradition. It would be more daring, conceptually, to see it as a rendering of the Indo-​Persian notion of the creation of new meanings; this view would foster the idea of a translinguistic relevance of contemporary literary debates. We should not rule out a more general understanding of the term that would take into account both understandings of meaning, that is, both in relation to the progression of the action in the narrative and also to the semantic content of poetic speech. The multilingual literacy of the gatherings that Ālāol attended allowed such multiple references. On all occasions, the poet invites his audience and readership to an understanding of poetry that is both intellectually active and informed by reflection—​a sentiment that Ālāol conveys through frequent use of the compound verb vicāri bujhana [critically understanding].

Cleverness of speech/​citation [ukti] Like sarva-​artha-​gā̃thani, the term ukti can assume various meanings depending on whether one understands it from a Sanskritic or a Persianate perspective. Ukti can refer to the nāṭyoktis that are the ways in which the characters of a play should address one another, or it can be one of the qualities [guṇas] of poetry—​namely, “cleverness of speech.”122 Less technical meanings of the term include the general expressive quality of speech and the use of citations. There is a clear instance of the latter understanding of ukti in the Sikāndarnāmā, in which Ālāol states that when it comes to ensuring that one’s name is remembered, composing a poem is more efficient than building a mosque or having a pond dug. According to him, it is “by means of citation” [ukti-​bhāve] that the patron’s fame lasts and spreads far and wide.123 In favor of this interpretation is the status of the

122. Bansat-​Boudon, Poétique du théâtre indien, 139, 145. 123. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 314.

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practice of citation, either conscious or unconscious, in Persian poetry.124 Citations of and poetic responses to the verses of ancient and contemporary poets were the main means to build and innovate within the boundaries of the Persian poetical tradition. Ālāol’s entire literary project rests on a complex relationship with his predecessors in the realm of vernacular courtly poetry—​Vidyāpati, Jāyasī (and other Avadhi authors), Daulat Kājī—​and to Persian poets such as ʿAṭṭār and, most important, Niẓāmī. I therefore tend to understand ukti in connection with Ālāol’s conception of poetic tradition as a dynamic engagement with, and extension of, the speech of his predecessors.

Analogical and suggestive speech:  upamā and iṅgita Persian and Avadhi authors, as well as their later commentators, have often used analogy as a tool for composition and interpretation of poetry. In Ālāol’s time, the conventions by which analogical readings of poetry would uncover or instill spiritual meanings were well known and widely diffused through treatises and commentaries, and they were even part of common lexicographical knowledge. Poems such as the Gulshan-​i rāz (1317) of Maḥmūd Shabistarī (d.1318) or the Mirʾat al-​maʿānī of Shaykh Jamālī (d. 1535) offered to unveil the spiritual meaning of the conventional images of love poetry.125 In a treatise titled Badāʾiʿ al-​afkār fī ṣanāʾiʿ al-​ashʿār [Wondrous Thoughts on Poetical Tropes], Wāʿiẓ Kāshifī (d. 1504), the polymath of Herat, recognized as a specific type poetry that could be qualified by the term asrār (the plural of sirr, “secret”), or mystic poetry—​tattva-​ kathā, in Ālāol’s terminology.126 Ālāol was well aware of the multiple semantic layers that poetry could contain; he invited his audience and readership to ponder texts to unveil their inner meanings. As he reminds us in his prologues, speech is not 124. Hasan Anushe, ed., Farhangnāma-​yi adabī-​i fārsī (Tehran: Sāzmān-​i Chāp wa Intishārāt-​i Wizārat-​i Farhang wa Irshād-​i Islāmī, 1381), s.v. “Tawārud” and “Istiqbāl.” 125. Ibrāhīm Sabzvarī, Sharḥ-​i Gulshan-​i rāz, ed. Parvīz ʻAbbāsī Dākānī (Tehran: Nashr-​i ʿIlm, 1386); Hamid Ibn Fazl Allah Jamali, The Mirror of Meanings, ed. Nasr Allah Purjavadi, trans. Ali Asghar Seyed-​Gohrab (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers, 2002). 126. Maḥmūd Futūḥī Rūdmaʿjanī, Naqd-​i adabī dar sabk-​i hindī (Tehran: Sukhan, 1385), 140; the translation of the title is taken from Marta Simidchieva, “Imitation and Innovation in Timurid Poetics: Kashifi’s Badāyi’ al-​Afkār and Its Predecessors, al-​Mu’jam and Ḥadā’iq al-​ Siḥr,” Iranian Studies 36, no. 4 (2003): 509–​30.

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vain:  The poet and the audience bear the responsibility of deciphering what lies within [marme]. The meaning of poetic speech can belong to one of the three domains of tattva [spirituality], iśaka-​bhāva [love], or nīti [proper conduct, politics], but it must generate a meaning that reaches beyond the progression of the action in the narrative.127 This interpretative effort requires the use of an analogical understanding that is associated with the technical terms upamā and iṅgita. Upamā is the term that commonly designates simile in Sanskrit rhetoric. I have shown some examples of the way in which Ālāol uses this term that confirm his familiarity with it and its technical meaning within the context of alaṅkāra theory. But in other passages of his works, upamā designates something different: a secondary narrative. An equivalent term that is also present in his poems is upakathā, which is a secondary story that is inserted into the main (or frame) story.128 The use of upamā as a technical term within the realm of narration shares a sense of illustration by means of analogy with the eponymous figure of style. Upamā—​unlike upakathā, in this context—​implies an analogical relation with the frame text. The poet of Arakan was not the first to use the term upamā in the sense of an edifying story. N.  Balbir has studied the uses of the Prakrit term uvamā (Skt. upamā) in Jaina narrative literature; she has also highlighted that upamāna takes on the meaning of “parable” in a passage of the Mahābhārata and, finally, shows how upamā designates parabolic discourses in the Buddhist Pali commentarial tradition. In the latter context, upamā is a story whose comprehension presents no obstacles, but with which, through the aid of certain interpretative keys, one may learn specific doctrinal teachings.129 In Ālāol’s texts, upamā is, on the one hand, used to designate secondary stories that are openly presented as edifying tales. On the other, it is used to qualify the tales that are contained in Saptapaẏkar, the didactic dimension of which is revealed only in the conclusion. In that sense it is closer to the Arabic and Persian mathal [edifying tale] in texts such as Kalīla wa 127. See supra, Chapter 3. 128. For instance, the poet clearly indicates the shift from the secondary to the frame tale in Satī-​Maẏnā. To do so, he uses the space provided by the signature line to mention the request of his patron, Solemān, who says that “he carefully listened to the sweet rasa of his upamā” [madhura-​upamā-​rasa śunilũ śravaṇe], and that the poet may go back to “his own story” [nija-​kathā]. Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 179. 129. Nalini Balbir, “Formes et terminologie du narratif jaina ancien,” in Genres littéraires en Inde, ed. Nalini Balbir (Paris: Presses de la Sorbonne nouvelle, 1994), 223–​61.

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Dimna, or ḥikāyat-​i tamthīlī (literally “a story that establishes a similarity”) in didactic mathnawīs.130 In Satī Maẏnā, after hearing the story of Ratanakalikā, Solemān, Ālāol’s patron, says to the poet that he has “heard the rasa of his sweet upamā.” The topics of this upamā are the virtues of steadfastness [dhairya] and the oft-​encountered issue of whether one can benefit (or, in other cases, suffer) from deeds that have been performed by another individual [karma-​ phala].131 Similarly, in the second tale of Saptapaẏkar, a king who wants to find out why his wife refuses to share his bed praises the virtues of sincerity [satya] and adds, “First, pay attention to this edifying tale about sincerity [satyera upamā], and then I will let you know what I long for.”132 Then he tells a story about the prophet Solemān and his wife, who had a child whose limbs were crooked but who managed to be cured thanks to the sincerity that they displayed toward each other. These two examples show that Ālāol understood upamā as an edifying tale rather than as a parable. The topic is announced at the beginning of the story and the moral, given at the end, comes to remind the reader of the edifying purpose of the story. Ālāol uses the same term upamā to qualify the stories that the princesses tell to Bahrām in Saptapaẏkar.133 In those tales, the didactic dimension of the narration is less explicitly formulated than it is in the example drawn from Satī Maẏnā. It is only at the end of the story that the poet gives the moral—​which follows, to some extent, the one that is already present in Niẓāmī’s text.134 130. R. Sellheim et al., “Maṯẖal,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, ed. P. Bearman et  al. http://​dx.doi.org/​10.1163/​1573-​3912_​islam_​COM_​0707; Anushe ed., Farhang-​i adabī-​i fārsī, s.v. “Mathal” and “Tamthīl” 131.  Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 179. On steadfastness [dhairya] in the Bengali Muslim literature of eastern Bengal during this period, see d’Hubert, “La réception d’un succès littéraire persan dans les campagnes du Bengale,” 133–​4. 132. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 261. 133.  śuna śuna prāṇa-​ samā:  kalāvati anupamā:  kaha eka prasaṅga upāma (= upamā) ||; praṇāmiẏā āśīrvāda-​śeṣe rāja-​rāmā | bale nr̥pa-​man-​vaśa nā jāni upamā || Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 271, 283. 134.  Ālāol also uses the term upāma/​upamā when introducing the themes of Niẓāmī’s poems: bahula eskera kathā kitābe upāma | śiri-​khosaru baliẏā thuila tāra nāma || [In the book that he called Śiri-​Khosaru (i.e., Khusraw u Shīrīn) there are many stories of love and edifying tales.] Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 199. Mardān in his Sādhur vacan (aka Nasibnāmā) also uses the term upamā to designate his edifying tales: saiẏada ibrāhima pīra guṇera nāhi sīmā | hīna mardāne kahe sādhura upamā || [There is no limit to the qualities of Pir Saiẏad Ibrāhim; the humble Mardān tells the merchant’s edifying tale.] A.Sharif, “Śatero śataker Rosāṅgarājyer kavi Mardān racita Nasibnāmā,” 220.

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Unlike the examples from the Jaina and Buddhist traditions surveyed by Nalini Balbir, Ālāol does not provide any key by which to interpret the upamā. His use of the term upamā does not suggest a strict analogical relationship between key concepts of some doctrine and the material of the narratives; we must therefore consider the possibility that it suggests other kinds of analogical relationships. As one does when reading or listening to a fable, one derives—​with the help of the poet’s comments—​the didactic content directly from the exemplary actions of the characters. It is what the Arabic and Persian narrative tradition calls a mathal or a ḥikāyat-​ i tamthīlī.135 Despite the fact that Ālāol uses the term upamā more in the sense of “edifying tale” rather than “parable” or “allegorical narrative”—​ genres with which, considering his reference to ʿAṭṭār’s Manṭiq al-​ṭayr, he must also have been familiar—​one cannot overlook the role that analogical hermeneutics play in his poems. It is in relation to Qurʾānic hermeneutics that one must consider the subject of analogical discourse within Sufi contexts (or within the context of Persianate narrative poetry that is spiritually oriented in a more general sense). The verses of the Qurʾān are “signs” [āyāt] of God, and one way to interpret them is through analogical thinking [qiyās].136 Besides, the poet, as a translator of subtle realities, is a mediator in the creative process of primordial speech. But, as Niẓāmī reminds his readers, creative speech is not bound by human languages. Therefore, in a way similar to the Qurʾān—​whose manifestation is seemingly bound to the capacities of human speech—​the poet has recourse to signs in order to manifest the inner content of speech. Niẓāmī regularly states that his poems contain signs [ishārāt] and that it is up to the reader to interpret them. Ālāol was

135.  Vidyāpati’s use of the abstract noun upamānatā in the prologue of his Sanskrit Puruṣaparīkṣā clearly shows that upamā could be used with the meaning of dr̥ṣṭānta [example]: ye yugāntara-​puruṣāḥ kalau na śikṣāyām upamānatāṃ yānti | [Men of another age cannot be examples (literally “do not reach exemplarity”) in order to teach (people) in the Kali age.] Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Puruṣaparīkṣā, ed. Śaśinātha Jhā, Mithilāsaṃskr̥tavidyāpīṭha-​granthamālā-​ puṣpam 39 (Darabhaṅgā, India: Mithilāvidyāpīṭha, 2009), 5. 136.  In Islamic legal terminology qiyās is one possible means to derive legal statements. See G.  Troupeau and M.  Bernand, “Ḳiyās,” ed. P.  Bearman et  al., Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition (Brill Online), http://​dx.doi.org/​10.1163/​1573-​3912_​islam_​COM_​0527. Niẓāṃī uses the expression ba rūy-​i qiyās [by analogy] when inviting the readers to read together the sāqīnāmas found in each narrative section of the Sharafnāma. Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Sharafnāma, ed. Tharwatīyān, 532; ed. Dastgirdī and Ḥamīdīyān, 523. Ālāol refers to the knowledge of God through signs [lakṣaṇas] in the first chapter of Tohphā. Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 414. On analogy in Persian court poetry, see Julie Scott Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987), 30, 37–​8.

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fully aware of this recourse to the language of signs and of the efforts that one would need to make to unfold their meanings. Ālāol’s vocabulary reveals that he considered Niẓāmī to be a poet who, like God through the Prophet, manifested subtle realities through signs [iṅgitas]. In his prologue to Sikāndarnāmā, he establishes a direct association between Niẓāmī’s language and the Qurʾān: Then, after some reflection, I came to the conclusion that there is no book like the Sikāndarnāmā. The gathering radiates, and so does the story to an even greater extent, to all scholars [Alexander’s story] is a priceless jewel. The attributeless God spoke in the Qurʾān through signs; speculations on the meaning of the words increase endlessly. The obscure language of Niẓāmī is hard to understand, [but] if one breaks and tells it, it is full of rasa.137 Ālāol renders equivalent the challenge of accessing the meaning of the poem with the difficulty of interpreting the Qurʾān (muchāpha < Ar. muṣḥaf). In the revealed text, the attributeless God manifests speech through signs [iṅgitas], which here stand in for the Arabic āyāt. Ālāol adds that the use of signs contributes endless debates about the meanings of words [kathā-​artha-​vicāraṇa]. Elsewhere in the prologue, Ālāol assimilates the poet’s speech to that of God (by way of the Prophet) by stating that Niẓāmī’s language is made of “signs and gestures” [iṅgita-​ākāra].138 Ālāol gave an extreme example of this recourse to a language of signs. In the first tale of Saptapaẏkar, the king tries to unveil the secret of a mysterious guest who is dressed entirely in black; when he finally compels him to speak, what results is a “speech made of signs” [iṅgita-​vacana]: “This good man, seeing my anxiety and deference,/​broke his silence and manifested a 137. tabe āhmi manete bhāviẏā kaila sāra | sikāndaranāmā sama grantha nāhi āra || sabhā śobhā-​ yukta kathā tathodhika | ālima sabera mane amūlya māṇika || muchāpheta iṅgite kahiche nirañjana | bahula bāṛiche kathā-​arthavicāraṇa || niyāmira ghora-​vākya bujhana karkaśa | bhāṅgiẏā kahile tāhe āche bahurasa || Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 314. 138. The dvandva compound iṅgitākāra is found in various contexts in śāstric literature. From Daṇḍin (seventh–​eighth centuries CE) onward the compound is used in the definition of the figure of speech called “subtlety” [sūkṣmālaṅkāra]. Kāvyādarśa 2.258: iṅgitākāra-​lakṣyo’rthaḥ saukṣmyāt sūkṣma iti smr̥taḥ | [Now as for “subtlety,” this is when a message is communicated subtly, either by gestures or by body language.] (Translation by Yigal Bronner.) See also Mānavadharmaśāstra 7.63–​68 and Kāmasūtra 1.5.36 for the use of this term regarding emissaries and messengers.

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speech made of signs.” Then follows a song in what the paratext identifies as upendravajrā meter (i.e., trichanda in this case) on rāga āsāvari. Like the king who hears these words in Ālāol’s poem, the reader wonders, “This speech raises much doubt in my mind,/​he pours gold but hides the ruby.” In all the versions I have consulted, the text of this song is too corrupt to establish a readable text.139 But a few words, when replaced in the context of the story, can give a general sense of the way the character uses “the language of signs” to deliver his message. The poem that Ālāol puts in the mouth of the mysterious traveler seems to comment on the nature of God and the mystic path. Behind the elaborate rhetoric of his poem—​that is, the gold in the king’s comment—​the traveler conceals the ruby of his secret. We may note that this comment is reminiscent of the praise of speech and viraha in Padmāvatī’s prologue and is yet another example of the mediation of Avadhi poetics in Ālāol’s reading of Persian poetry.140 The refrain clearly presents the addressees of the poem as those who have renounced passions [vairāgīs]. It indicates that the central theme is the renouncement of evil behavior and the longing for the liquor of love. The liquor of love is reminiscent of the sāqī-​nāmas that are found in Sikāndarnāmā, in which the term surā [liquor] appears in a variety of images.141 In the sāqīnāmas, Ālāol renders explicit the signs contained in Niẓāmī’s text by translating sāqī [cupbearer] as guru [(spiritual) master]. These sāqīnāmas also teach us that the liquor of love makes one forget his ego [āpanā pāsar-​] and obtain the friend [mitra-​lābha]—​which is to say that 139.  See Appendix 3 for a tentative reconstruction of the text. I  have chosen to give the text found in the following manuscript, which is the best that I  have consulted:  Ālāol, “Saptapaẏkar,” facsimile no.  4, fol. 83v–​84r, Bangla Academy. The text of this passage in “Saptapaẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 241–​2 is the result of faulty conjectures by later scribes; it is close to the text of facsimile no. 33, Bangla Academy, fol. 76v et 77r. 140.  Compare with these lines in Padmāvatī adapted from a famous passage of Jāyasī’s text: yāhāra vacane hae virahera māẏā | kibā rūpa-​rekha tāra kibā kāẏā || āna beśa bāhira viraha abhyantara | gopata māṇikya yena dhūlāra antara || [He who has the delusion of viraha in his speech,/​is he a mere shadow or does he have a body?/​His external appearance may not betray it, but viraha is inside him;/​like a ruby hidden in the dust.] The Avadhi text is jehi ke bola biraha ke ghāyā | kahu tehi {mūkha} kahā̃ tehi chāyā || phere bhesa rahaï bhā tapā | dhūri lapeṭā mānika chapā || [He whose speech is (like) the wound of separation, tell me, does he have a face or merely a shadow?/​He trades his clothes for those of an ascetic, hidden, (like) a ruby covered with dust.] Emendation:  mūkha] bhūkha. I  emended the text on the basis of Ālāol’s verse (kāẏā being closer to mūkha); this may not be the original text but it is probably closer to what the Bengali poet read. Compare with De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust, 187–​8, 302–​3. 141.  Out of the forty-​nine sāqīnāmas of Niẓāmī’s Sharafnāma, Ālāol translated, but mostly freely adapted, twenty-​four of them.

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they allow one to reach union with God. In the present poem, the union is mentioned in the second part of the refrain, when the poet declares that his body and soul belong to God and that he wishes to have a unified heart [ekamati cita].142 The poet establishes an equivalence between the conventional Indic image of the cakora bird longing for the nectar of moonbeams and the wine drinker of Persian poetry who addresses the cupbearer. The complex imagery drawn from both Indic and Persian traditions guides the reader and invites him or her to unfold the meaning of Ālāol’s elliptical and interwoven images. The first line of the poem warns the reader against the nature of speech, which is both deceitful and also able to reveal essential truths: “Speech and words, know that they are lies; I tell the truth, but they think I am deceitful.”143 In the three lines that follow, the poet describes the ineffable nature of God.144 He is deaf [bahara] to humankind’s injunctions but speaks with signs [cinā]. Such a description of an inaccessible God foreshadows the behavior of the character of the queen of Masahud (Ar. madhūsh, “confused, possessed”), who comes later in the tale; she is loved by the king but remains inaccessible. The rest of the song seems to weave together the multiple threads linking the content of the traveler’s speech, the narrative of the tale, and the spiritual meaning that applies both to the song and to the tale as a whole. God is presented in the guise of a beautiful young woman dressed in black. The darkness of her garment is reminiscent of the blackness of the essence [dhāt] from which the light of creation derives. To stay within Ālāol’s referential framework, darkness is also the ẓulmāt in which Sikandar engages to seek the water of life. The royal figure of the beloved in the rest of the story is also announced through the allusion to the coronation and to the divine and kingly wills residing in one body. Then the poet shifts from the beloved to a description of the lover—​the seeker—​who, having reached

142.  The reading found in the Bangla Academy, facsimile no.  33, fol. 76v, is eka-​mita cita [a heart devoted to one friend], which is close to the compound mitra-​lābha [obtaining of the friend] found in two sāqī-​nāmas (i.e., addresses to the cupbearer conveying some spiritual teaching that punctuate the narrative sections) in “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 317, 362. 143.  vacana kathā:  seha jāna mithā:  saitya kaha (read:  kahõ?) kaitava mānae re | Facsimile no. 4, fol. 83r, Bangla Academy. 144. Although I cannot construe the syntax of the last segment of this verse, the poem talks about “diving into [the ocean of ] love that has no shore and is fathomless [ . . . ]” [prema-​ avagāha: akula agāha: jorapare sei jale ||]. Facsimile no. 4, fol. 83r, Bangla Academy.

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union with the divine essence, returns to the world and wanders from land to land, like the traveler who sings this very song. After having heard the poem, the king once again questions the traveler, who eventually agrees to tell his story and explain why he wears this black garment. He reveals to the king the existence of a country in China called Masahud, where inhabitants are all dressed in black. Despite their great beauty, none displays any sign of joy or contentment. He also adds that anyone who goes there penetrates the secret of darkness [śyāma-​ bheda]. It is enough to raise the curiosity of the king, who then eagerly wishes to go to this country.145 By adding this poem to Niẓāmī’s narrative model, Ālāol provides, on the one hand, an example of what he considers language made of signs and, on the other, furnishes the reader with a key that will help him experience the rest of the story through the analogical understanding that the imagery of this song suggests. Ālāol’s open invitation to decipher the meaning of the song is an incentive to perform a similar reading for the whole story. As we will see, this hermeneutic engagement with poetry allows us to bring translation within the fold of Ālāol’s wider understanding of poetics and tradition.

Translation as the recording of  a reading experience The word translation, as one would use it in English, stands both for the process of textual transposition and for its final result. Ālāol discusses translation only as a process. The text that emerges from this process is a pā̃cālī; nothing in its designation distinguishes it from an original work. Translation was performed within the framework of tradition conceived as an archetypal text produced by the accumulation of the speeches of previous authors [agragāmī].146 Ālāol saw in the works of previous poets the sum of the tradition. Ancient poets contributed to the treasure trove of poetry [kāvya-​nidhi], which is the human manifestation of the primordial

145. For the motif of “love without seeing” [adr̥ṣṭakāma] in Avadhi romances, see Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 76, 91. In the Rasakalpavallī this motif is treated in the sixth chapter: śravane darśane rāga dui ta prakāra | [Passion is of two kinds: (induced) through vision or audition.] Rāmagopāl Dās and Pītāmbar Dās, Rasakalpavallī o anyānya nibandha, 71. 146. See the introduction for a discussion on the notion of tradition as it is used in the present monograph.

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speech that runs throughout the creation.147 As a poet “who comes after” [pr̥ṣṭhagāmī], Ālāol had to reformulate the speech of his predecessors, who had emptied the treasure trove of poetry.148 Therefore, what we today read as the result of a process of translation—​that is, as something distinct from an original composition—​was presented by the Bengali poet as the only choice available to him. In terms of contemporary literary criticism, Ālāol would certainly share the view that no creation is truly independent from intertextuality. He thus consciously embraced this conclusion and engaged in a direct intervention, which can be seen as both a commentary on and a response to his predecessors’ works. This perspective on speech—​both primordial and temporal—​makes translation, as the interpretation of signs [iṅgita], prerequisite to all literary creation. Translation is a semantic unfolding—​a vr̥tti, as a Sanskrit commentator would put it—​of a given sign or set of signs. The Sanskrit term anuvāda, which was adopted in most modern South Asian languages to designate a translation, has shifted from its original use within the context of hermeneutics, but its literal meaning—​ “a speech that comes after [another speech]”—​does render fairly well the premodern authors’ understanding of textual transposition.149 The criticism that William Jones (1746–​1794) 147. See supra, “Speech, cosmology, and distinction.” 148.  Both terms, agragāmī and pr̥ṣṭhagāmī, are probably neologisms that Ālāol coined to translate the Arabic–​Persian notions of mutaqaddimīn (Ancients, literally “those who come before”) and mutaʾakhkhirīn (Moderns—​literally “those who come after”). Unlike Bengali authors, Persian poets and theoreticians, especially from the Timurid period onward (ca. fifteenth century CE), were conceiving of the poetical tradition—​and then linguistic usages themselves—​along such a chronological distinction. It is noteworthy that during the same period litterateurs in France were debating using a similar dichotomy between the Ancients and the Moderns. Anne-​Marie Lecoq, Jean Robert Armogathe, and Marc Fumaroli, La querelle des Anciens et des Modernes: XVIIe-​XVIIIe siècles: Précédé de les abeilles et les araignées essai de Marc Fumaroli (Paris: Gallimard, 2001). 149.  In Monier-​Williams’s Sanskrit dictionary, the definition of anuvāda is “A passage of the Brāhmaṇas which explains or illustrates a rule [vidhi] previously propounded (such a passage is sometimes called anuvāda-​vacana).” An early instance of the modern use of anuvāda can be found in Harṣapāla’s commentary on the Prakrit poem Setubandha. Diwakar Acharya, “A Brief Note on Harṣapāla’s Commentary on the Prakrit Kāvya Setubandha,” Newsletter of the NGMCP, no. 2 (2006): 2–​4. For a discussion on translation in Sanskrit literature, see Sheldon Pollock, “Philology, Literature, Translation,” in Translating, Translations, Translators, From India to the West, ed. Enrica Garzilli, Harvard Oriental Series Opera Minor (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 111–​27. See also the brief discussion on translation in Winand M. Callewaert and Shilanand Hemraj, Bhagavadgītānuvāda: A Study in the Transcultural Translation (Ranchi, India:  Satya Bharati Publication, 1983), 75–​7. The authors put forward the relation between the concepts of dhvani and that of “dynamic translation.” About dynamic translation, see Eugene Nida, “Principles of Correspondence,” in The Translation Studies Reader, ed. Lawrence Venuti, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2004), 162–​7.

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formulated about Mughal-​ era translations from Sanskrit into Persian reveals the gap between European perceptions of this literary practice and the way in which it was approached by the intellectual elite of Hindustan and Bengal: The Sangítaderpan, which he [i.e., the author of the Saṅgītanārāyaṇa] also names among his authorities, has been translated into Persian; but my experience justifies me in pronouncing that Mughals have no idea of accurate translation, and give that name to a mixture of gloss and text with a flimsy paraphrase of both; that they are wholly unable, yet always pretend, to write Sanskrit words in Arabick letters; that a man, who knows the Hindus only from Persian books, does not know the Hindus; and that an European, who follows the muddy rivulets of Muselman writers on India, instead of drinking from pure fountain of Hindu learning, will be in perpetual danger of misleading himself and others.150 The comment on the absence of “accurate translation” must be attributed to Jones’s partial understanding of what a tarjuma is, and not to any inability of Mughal scholars to translate a text faithfully. In an intralinguistic or extralinguistic framework, tarjuma designated a process of close textual transposition and of interpretation, both practices being nonexclusive. Jones describes this process in a partial and judgmental way as “a mixture of gloss and text with a flimsy paraphrase of both.” If one removes the adjective “flimsy,” we obtain a rather accurate definition of tarjuma. In societies that were related to the Latin tradition, translation was usually defined according to the double alternative of rhetorical transposition of the source text, which ends up in the creation of an independent work, and of the literal approach encouraged by the church.151 The development of this reflection on translation evolved around the Latin and vernacular renderings of the Bible that ought to be faithful. The term gains all its relevance within a religious context, and it helped narrow the understanding of textual transposition within those traditions. During the Renaissance, which saw the reformulation (or formation) of Europe’s vernacular literary 150. William Jones, “On the Musical Modes of the Hindus; Written in 1784, and Since Much Enlarged,” Asiatick Researches 3 (1799): 65. 151. Michel Ballard, De Cicéron à Benjamin: Traducteurs, traductions, réflexions, Études de la traduction (Villeneuve d’Ascq, France: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 2007), 33.

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traditions, we usually witness comments and debates on translation within the prefaces of translated texts or in pamphlets on vernacular eloquence—​ the most famous of which was du Bellay’s (ca. 1522−1560) Défense et illustration de la langue française.152 In those works, the template remains the double alternative of the Ciceronian rhetorical exercise of re-​creation and the submission of the target text to the letter of its source. In seventeenth-​ century France, the topic of translation was combined with the debate of the Ancients and the Moderns, the grounds of which were established by the poets of the Pléiade. At this point, entire works are devoted to exploring the issue of translation. It is then that, in the realm of belles lettres, the taste of the public of the target language—​with the idea of the génie de la langue—​clearly became the central criterion by which to assess the quality of a translation.153 But if, within the field of scholarship, dynamic translation became the accepted way of rendering a foreign text, being close to the source text and caring for accurate grammatical equivalence remained the rules and were even reinforced as philology developed as a positive science. As the disciplines and fields of scientific and artistic activities became clearly defined over the course of European enlightenment, translation came to be understood as a scholarly activity that was tied to the notion of literalism. Any departure from literalism would then be taken as an original creation—​until theories of intertextuality came to lend nuances to the

152. This text stands among the many pamphlets and treatises advocating for the benefits of using vernacular languages to compose literary works that were written throughout the Eurasian continent, mainly between the fifteenth and the seventeenth centuries. In French, one could also mention Thomas Sebillet’s Art poétique françoys. One of the early attempts to foreground the need to use regional languages in poetry is Dante’s famous De vulgari eloquentia. Inspired by his experience in the Netherlands and the way Dutch poets used the regional language to compose poetry in the vein of French authors such as Ronsard and du Bellay, the German litterateur Martin Opitz similarly discussed the reasons why German poets should follow the same path. In fifteenth-​century Timurid Herat, ʿAlī Sher Nawāʾī composed a treatise demonstrating the ability of Chaghatay (i.e., Eastern Turkish) to equal, and even overcome, Persian as a literary language. In the sixteenth century, in the Ottoman world Kemāl Pāshāzāde also wrote a treatise on the superiority of Persian. This synchronism of this phenomenon has been repeatedly discussed in the last few years in connection with the Middle Eastern, Central Asian, and South Asia contexts. See, for instance, Pollock, The Language of the Gods in the World of Men  ; Busch, Poetry of Kings  ; Landau, De rythme et de raison; Marc Toutant, Un empire de mots: Pouvoir, culture et soufisme à l’époque des derniers Timourides au miroir de la Khamsa de Mīr ʿAlī Shīr Nawāʾī (Paris; Leuven, Belgium: Peeters, 2016). 153. Roger Zuber, Les “Belles infidèles” et la formation du goût classique. Perrot d’Ablancourt et Guez de Balzac (Paris: Arman Colin, 1968).

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various relationships between texts. But even then, the discursive dimension of tarjuma—​rendered by Jones’s “flimsy paraphrase”—​was assigned a specific place, one that was generically distinct from hypertextuality and labeled metatextuality. To put it another way, commentarial practices are hardly conceivable in combination with the production of a text; the commentary must stand as a separate entity. If Western reflections on translation and intertextuality are helpful in studying Ālāol’s texts, it is only insofar as they allow us to identify specific strategies of textual transposition; they fail to provide a relevant generic terminology for translation as a South Asian literary practice. In the last pages of the present chapter, we observe the various strategies that Ālāol employed to turn his models into Bengali pā̃cālīs. We will see that what has been called “translation proper” is present among those strategies, and I would argue that it is often the basis of the way in which the poet performed textual transpositions. Close translation is the first degree of textual transposition; it contains further approaches in which the syntactic and semantic equivalences between the source and the target texts become gradually thinner. As in the preceding discussion, the function and genre of the source text is an important factor in the strategies at work in the rendering. Ālāol made it very clear that there was a difference between translating a treatise [śāstra] and translating a poem [kāvya]: They imply neither the same choices nor the same level of personal involvement on the translator’s part.154 The reproduction of the basic syntactic and semantic units of the source text is a prerequisite to the subsequent liberty that the poet takes with the text. Ālāol does not create without having first closely translated at least part of the poem. It is how the poet seems to kindle his inspiration. It is similarly crucial to stress the presence of literalism in Ālāol’s translations because it constitutes a rather new attitude within the Bengali tradition. Early pā̃cālīs based on Sanskrit works seldom stressed their explicit links with their sources. Modern studies on the Rāmāyaṇa story and its many versions clearly show that many texts other than Vālmīki’s Rāmāyaṇa intervened in the construction of vernacular works that ostensibly took Vālmīki as a source, sometimes radically changing the discourse that the Sanskrit epic conveyed. Distinguishing the difference between Ālāol’s translations

154.  kāvya-​rasa-​vākya nahe nīti-​śātra-​kathā | tekāraṇe bhāviā nā kailũ bahulatā || [A treatise on proper conduct is not the delightful speech of a poem./​This is why I did not think and elaborate too much.] Ālāol, “Tohphā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 414.

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and texts such as Kr̥ttivāsa’s Rāmāẏaṇ or Saiẏad Sultān’s Nabīvaṃśa is crucial for understanding the history of Middle Bengali literature.155 The absence of the constraints of the “serious kind of transformation” [transformation sérieuse] that is translation allowed for a consolidation of the Bengali literary tradition between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. During this period, the composition of many influential and widespread texts that reproduced the features of the early models of pā̃cālī led to a strengthening of the tradition’s archetypal text and to the formation of a poetic idiom that stood independent from the patterns of the Sanskrit poetic idiom. The development of a learned vernacular literary tradition in the courtly milieus of eastern South Asia during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries changed the practice of intertextuality. Authors who were part of the courtly economy had to make explicit their literary awarenesses; such awarenesses made manifest the intertextual canvas of the tradition. But by that point, the regional tradition—​with its prosodic forms, formulas, and poetic conventions—​had acquired such an autonomy that it integrated the supraregional Hindavi, Sanskrit, and Persian material without replacing the basic patterns of the poetics of the pā̃cālī.156 In Ālāol’s discourse on poetry, translation partakes of a larger conception of composition within the context of tradition. Because Ālāol’s poetic idiom was clearly distinct from that of his source text, his textual transposition implied a series of choices of prosodic and lexical equivalents—​ as well as a rhetorical refashioning that would suit the expectations of his audience. But it was also dynamic in the sense that it undertook the semantic unfolding that was typical of the tarjuma and fostered by the Sanskrit commentarial practices with which Ālāol was familiar.157 The traditional incentives to translate dynamically led Ālāol to employ a variety of strategies of textual transposition. We thus observe many degrees of textual transposition. They include translation proper, rewriting passages when motivated by poetic tensions between the source and target texts, and even including narrative sections that are absent in the source text. 155. Benoît, “Le Rāmāyaṇa de Vālmīki et le Rāmāyaṇa de Kṛttibās”; Irani, “Sacred Biography, Translation, and Conversion.” 156. In that sense it is very similar to the relation between emerging Romance and and Latin literature in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and contrasts with Pollock’s model based on the case of Kannada literature (and he does acknowledge the fact that Bengali follows a different trajectory). See Zumthor, Essai de Poétique Médiévale, 76; Pollock, The Language of the Gods in the World of Men, 391. See also Stewart, The Final Word, 18–​23. 157. d’Hubert, “ ‘Bhāṅgiẏā kahile tāhe āche bahurasa,’ ” 59–​76

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Ālāol on translation As is generally the case with authors who composed in premodern South Asian languages, Ālāol does not use any substantive to designate the process of translation, nor does he use the Arabic–​Persian term tarjuma. In his discourse, textual transposition is a succession of interventions on the form and content of the source text that recalls Sanskrit commentarial procedures. At the beginning and end of his literary career, Ālāol uses the same terms to express his overall approach to translation. Three phases in particular show how it is possible for the translator to convey the semantic content of the source through the target text: the first is the deconstruction [bhāṅgana] of the prosodic pattern in order to construe syntactical units; this deconstruction allows for a critical understanding [vicāri bujhana] of the text; finally comes the (re)fashioning [racana] of the semantic content within the prosodic form of the target language. In his prologues and in a few signature lines, Ālāol briefly describes the process that is at work in textual transpositions. Here are a few examples of such passages: The fame of the well gifted Māgan is unequaled in Rosang; Ālāol after hearing his request, broke the caupāi meter and composed a poem in paẏār in which each verse contains a delightful and melodious speech.158 The noble Saiẏad Muhāmmad is a receptacle of virtues, and his incomparable glory spreads throughout the world. By this considerable man Ālāol was ordered to break the Persian language and compose paẏārs.159 Niẓāmī’s deep speech is hard to penetrate; if one breaks and retells it, it contains much rasa.160 He set his mind and ordered me to break the prosody of the bayt and compose paẏārs. Composing a book is like crossing an ocean, especially when it involves breaking the bayts of the Persian language.161 158. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 38. 159. Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 236. 160. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 314. 161. Ālāol, “Sikāndarnāmā,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 315.

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These excerpts show that the poet takes into consideration both the form and content of the text. The aim is not to narrate a story “as it occurs to his mind” [mana-​gata], but to render explicit the very text following its prosodic units—​in the present case, the Avadhi caupāis and the Persian bayts.162 It is important to note that Ālāol recognizes the basic semantic unit as a rhyming distich. The very possibility of elaborating a method of textual transposition based on such prosodic equivalences is certainly a crucial factor in the choices of the texts that Ālāol translates. The key term in this process is the verb bhāṅg-​, “to break,” or, if we want to give it a more technical meaning, “to construe” the verses to collect its rasa. The term rasa can, of course, be understood in its technical sense of “aesthetic emotion,” but it can also be taken in a broader sense, namely, what constitutes the compelling semantic content of the text, what makes it worthwhile for the poet to try to invite some efforts of comprehension [bujhana] on the reader–​auditor’s behalf. The last phase is this rasa, or semantic content, being poured into a new recipient: the paẏār prosodic mold. Ālāol’s procedure is strikingly coherent with the hierarchy that characterizes the organization of the various elements of his poetics, in which prosody [chanda] stands as the root of poetic art [kavitvera mūla]. Piṅgala’s commentator Halāyudha (ca. twelfth century, Bengal) makes clear the close relationship between prosody and understanding and that the latter relies on the former. What is more, the larger metrical unit of the Sanskrit stanza—​typically recorded in written form as a distich—​is the basic unit for the commentator. The usual procedure of commenting on a text includes dividing the words [pada-​ccheda], stating the meanings of the words [padārthokti], analyzing grammatical complexes [vigraha], construing the sentences [vākya-​yojanā], and, finally, answering objections [ākṣepa-​ samādhāna].163 This elementary procedure of textual analysis gives the commentator an opportunity to elaborate on all of the semantic layers of the speech that are contained within the boundaries of a stanza: its explicit [abhidhā], inferred [lakṣaṇā], and suggested [vyaṅgya] meanings. Ālāol was

162. In Saptapaẏkar when relating the circumstances of the commissioning of the poem, Ālāol mentions that he first told the story “off the top of his head”:  managata prakāsilum tāhāna gocara | [I told him the story as it came to my mind.] Ālāol, “Sapta paẏkar,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 201. The term mana-​gata is meant to contrast with well-​thought compositions [racana/​gā̃thana]. 163.  Gary A. Tubb and Emery R. Boose, Scholastic Sanskrit:  A Handbook for Students (New York: American Institute of Buddhist Studies, 2007), 3–​5.

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familiar with this procedure—​which he must have followed while learning Sanskrit—​and it seems fair to assume that this method of unpacking semantic layers was his main analytical template. Sanskrit commentaries are exercises in intralinguistic translation; they may get closer to the extralinguistic domain when it comes to constructing “shadows” [chāyā], which are word-​to-​word renderings of Prakrit texts into Sanskrit.164 Ālāol’s way of talking about translation, with its emphasis on breaking apart and reconstituting the text, is derived from such methods of textual analysis. In the Sanskrit commentarial tradition, the question of linguistic boundaries is somewhat secondary. What matters is the formal approach of prosodic deconstruction, systematic gloss, and reformulation of the text using a word order that facilitates an understanding of syntactical relations. One could say that the first two phases of Ālāol’s method, deconstruction and understanding, would very much look like a Sanskrit commentary if they were formally recorded as text in themselves. The final phase of Ālāol’s method, that is, the reformulation of the meaning using the pā̃cālī’s prosodic form, is the creative portion of his quasi-​scholastic approach. It is because of this phase of re-​creation that the poet will eventually depart from the literal approach and engage in various sorts of transcreation. We have to be careful, though, not to take the matter too simply. Transcreation is not merely the consequence of a poetic rendering: It is not as if the versified vernacular form requires a radical departure from these scholastic methods; it is not a free rendering of the source text, unbound from the requirements of prosodic or syntactical equivalences. As I have already stated in this section, Ālāol typically starts a narrative section by rendering each distich of the source text with a paẏār distich and only gradually turns to transcreation. A comment that he makes in Tohphā even confirms the causal relation between poetic density and re-​creation. In the prologue of his translation of Yūsuf Gadā’s treatise, he warns his reader that he or she should not expect to find any rasa in this work, because it is a purely didactic work [śāstra] and not a poem [kāvya]. The observable consequence for the text is a remarkably close equivalence between the prosodic units of the Persian and those of the Bengali text.165 164. François Grimal, “Pour décrire un commentaire traditionnel sur une œuvre littéraire sanskrite,” Bulletin de l’Ecole française d’Extrême-​Orient 87, no. 2 (2000): 765–​85. 165. d’Hubert, “Histoire culturelle et poétique de la traduction,” 389–​402.

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In contrast with this literal, nonpoetical approach, Ālāol also makes explicit his motivation for departing from the source text:  He wishes to express the poetic speech that his exposure to the contents of the Avadhi or Persian poem has inspired. His justification comes at the end of the prologue of his seminal work Padmāvatī, after he gives a skillful translation of Jāyasī’s stanza: The speech of a poem is a lotus full of fragrance; near when it is far and far when near. Far when it is near as the thorn to a flower; near when it is far, as when ants are in its nectar. Even in the forest the bees are attracted to the lotus, but though it stands next to it, the frog ignores its nectar. Therefore revering the poet Mohammad, I will sometime express what my own heart has to say.166 Only the last two verses have been added by the Bengali poet; in fact, Jāyasī himself repeats a well-​known saying that is also present in Sanskrit and other vernacular texts.167 This saying aims to illustrate the attitude of the connoisseur in opposition to that of the ignorant reader. In a very typical way, the image is organized around the multiple meanings of the word rasa. It is because the connoisseur is aware of the subtleties of the meanings of poetry that he or she will be able to recognize and appreciate them, just as the ant or the bee crosses long distances to relish the nectar of lotuses. The dry and unfriendly thorn, despite its proximity to the flower, has no interest in its nectar. Similarly, the ignorant frog, unaware of the delightful nature of the lotus’s nectar—​and despite living in the same pond in which the flower grows—​neglects its presence. If we remain within the context of Jāyasī’s proverbial use of those images, they make a statement about connoisseurship and the right way to understand poetry. By adding two verses to this passage, Ālāol adapts this general statement on poetic sensibility to his situation as a poet and translator. 166. Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, 2:28. Compare with “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 11. 167.  bhãvara āi banakhaṃḍa huti lehi kãvala bāsa | dādura bāsa na pāvahiṃ bhalehiṃ jo āchahiṃ pāsa || [The bee comes from the forest to inhale the smell of the lotus./​The frogs even though they sit next to it, will never obtain its fragrance.] See also De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust, 13, 303. Sanskrit versions of this saying are found in Vallabhadeva’s Subhāṣitāvalī (eleventh century CE) and in Ānandadhara’s Mādhavānalopākhyāna (thirteenth century CE). It is also present in Ālam’s Hindavi version of the latter work.

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Proximity becomes blind faithfulness to Jāyasī’s words, and distance is the true expression of the rasa that is contained in the Avadhi text. To put it differently: Transcreation is a sure sign of Ālāol’s connoisseurship. As he does for Niẓāmī and Yūsuf Gadā elsewhere within his oeuvre, Ālāol first shows his reverence toward Jāyasī, the author of the source text. He then declares that, despite this deference, he will sometimes share with his audience (or readership) “what [his] own heart has to say” and thus justifies the freedom that he takes in deviating from his model. One should not read those statements on connoisseurship separately from his statements on the occasional departure from the prosodic and syntactic framework of his model. The poet’s comment on creation in the practice of translation derives from his learned and sensitive engagement with the text—​in the present case, it means systematically unpacking the semantic and aesthetic content of the source text. But as the text unfolds and the poetic experience accumulates intensity, the poet’s inspiration is kindled: The systematic rendering of the poem turns into a transcreation. Eventually, the reader of Ālāol’s pā̃cālī is given a record of the poet’s own reading experience. Ālāol’s compositional technique reflects a rather spontaneous engagement with the text, and it displays a remarkably regular pattern of systematic translation that is conceived on the basis of transmetrisation and followed by various forms of transcreation that are inspired by close readings of his models.

Summary Ālāol’s poems, alongside his emphasis on both performative as well as textual aspects of his compositions, constituted what I call an extension of the paradigm of composition and performance of the pā̃cālī tradition. Early pā̃cālīs were characterized by simple prosodic patterns and an emphasis on the narrative aspects of the text; there were few insertions of lyric passages and virtually no technical or didactic digressions. In the seventeenth century, the poetic form termed pā̃cālī underwent a tremendous expansion in scope and became more inclusive and variegated. Along with the traditional narrative-​and performance-​based usage of the form, one observes an increasing use of the pā̃cālī for didactic and even technical literature in different contexts throughout the geographical area in which Middle Bengali was used as a literary language. This extension of the scope of the pā̃cālī was accompanied by a gradually more explicit engagement with Sanskrit language and literary culture.

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Ālāol contributed in many ways to the expansion of the pā̃cālī’s scope. The flexible frame of its format both allowed for innovations—​for instance, the way in which Ālāol used songs in the narratives or used the envois to insert technical digressions that were addressed to his patron and the audience—​and encouraged a closer engagement with the source text. Interestingly, Ālāol managed to build on the performative nature of the pā̃cālī to shift focus from a dominantly phonic and narration-​based poetics to a poetics that was centered on the inner meaning of the text. What mattered for Ālāol was the poet’s ability to craft speech in its formal and semantic aspects; this emphasis contrasted with a more traditional approach to the pā̃cālī, one in which meaning was mainly derived from the plot and ornaments were manifested through the performance, which included music, dance, and dramatic recitations of the text. The courtly setting in which Ālāol practiced his activities as a poet and translator largely shaped his discourse on poetics. The main elements of his poetics, which have been scrutinized in the present chapter, show how much Ālāol relied on the multilingual literary culture of the regional Indo-​Afghan courts. His conception of speech is rooted in a South Asian reading—​one that is mediated through the Avadhi tradition—​of the classical Persian notion of sukhan [speech], and especially Niẓāmī’s understanding of this term. In Ālāol’s cosmological discourse, speech assumes a creative function that, when considered in its worldly manifestation, becomes the ultimate tool for distinction—​first between animals and men, and then among humankind itself. Courtly speech, which, as I argued at the end of the second chapter, is in this context equated with poetic speech [vākya/​kāvya], therefore represents the apex of human distinction and the ultimate realization of the primordial creative utterance. When we turn to the technical aspects of Ālāol’s poetic art [kavitva], it becomes clear that it is the Sanskrit episteme that provides him with the tools that he needs to think about his own practice as a poet and a translator. A crucial fact is his recourse to the domain of the lyrical arts [saṅgīta] and its technical literature—​rather than to that of rhetoric [alaṅkāra]—​ when he discusses aesthetics and tropes. Once again, it is his Indo-​ Afghan background and the approach to Indic culture through the lens of the lyrical arts that explains Ālāol’s way of thinking about poetry and poetics. The topics that he highlights resonate with other contemporary vernacular works in North India and the Deccan; they allow us to locate Ālāol within larger trends of Indo-​Persian culture, which is a subject we explore in further detail in the following chapters. But he also expresses

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original views—​such as the inclusion of the “messenger for herself” [svayaṃdūtikā]—​that reinforce the internal coherence of his oeuvre. What is certainly Ālāol’s most compelling contribution to a general reflection on poetics is his notion of a “language made of signs” [iṅgita-​ vacana]. The term “sign” [iṅgita] pertains to the lexicon of suggestive speech and meaningful gestures, which was the most valued mode of communication in Sanskrit representations of courtly sociability, and it is also a term within dance—​which was one of the three components of saṅgīta (song, instrumental music, and dance). Indirection is central to the definitions of poetry that are given in both of the classical traditions in which Ālāol was versed: Sanskrit and Persian. Ālāol, in his effort to give the vernacular a conceptual idiom, chose the term iṅgita so that he might address the topic of indirection. And because his poetics was grounded in the threefold lyrical arts, he brought together notions of Sanskrit indirection [vyañjanā], Persian analogical hermeneutics [qiyās], and the aforementioned “meaningful gestures” [iṅgita] of courtly sociability and dance. Ālāol’s poetics of iṅgita therefore conditions his discourse on, and practice of, translation. Unlike many of his predecessors and contemporaries, Ālāol provides us with elements of a theory of translation. If we piece together those comments and interpret them in light of the poetics previously described, we see that he understood translation as a hermeneutical practice that was inspired in its form by Sanskrit commentarial methods and informed by his “semiotic” approach. Deciphering the signs of the source text in a systematic way occasions the emergence of meaning, which, in turn, constitutes a source of poetic inspiration. Therefore Ālāol’s translations appear not only as textual transpositions, but also as recordings of a reading experience.

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A retrospective gaze through the lens of Ālāol’s oeuvre The formation of the Muslim society of the kingdom of Arakan, and more specifically of Ālāol’s milieu, seems to be a direct consequence of the migration eastward of the successive Muslim ruling classes of Bengal, the last wave of migration consisting of Indo-​Afghan soldiers and traders reluctant to the idea of integrating the Mughal Empire. Ālāol grew up in a small kingdom ruled by one of the Indo-​Afghan chieftains and Hindu zamīndārs who famously resisted the Mughal conquest of Bengal—​the “Twelve Landlords.”1 The previous chapters demonstrate that the content of his early works clearly shows the impact of Indo-​Afghan literary culture in the fashioning of his taste and poetics.2 From these observations, I  propose to look back at the Indo-​Afghan period (ca. 1451–​1612) in Hindustan, Bihar, and Bengal to study the original impulse that made possible the Ālāol phenomenon.3 The Bengali poet’s oeuvre is characterized by a conscious will to literarize vernacular poetry

1. On the conflict between the Mughals and the landlords of Bengal, see Abdul Karim, History of Bengal, vol. 1, 137–​286; Ray, Adventurers, Landowners and Rebels; Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760, 142–​50. 2. See supra, Chapter 3. 3. I take the accession to the throne by Bahlol Lodī in 1451 as the starting point of the Afghan period in North India and the death of the last Afghan chief of Bengal, Khwāja ʿUthmān in 1612 in Sylhet, as the end of this period. Persian chroniclers would typically use Dāʾūd Khān’s death under Akbar in 1576 as the event marking the end of Afghan rule in Hindustan and Bengal (see my discussion on Afghan historiography later in the present chapter). On ʿUthmān’s death, see K. Ahmed, “Khwajah ‘Uthman, An Afghan Hero of Bengal,” 240–​6.

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while retaining its association with music and performance, the promotion of multilingual literacy in multipolar social gatherings [majālis/​sabhās], and the centrality of love and romance narratives. The topic of music and performance in the making of his poetics is discussed in further detail in the last chapter of the book. In the present chapter, I bring within a single equation the Indo-​Afghan historical imaginaries and modes of courtly sociability, literary multilingualism, and the vernacular aesthetics of the Sufi romance. The basis of my reflection is a now-​classic article by Simon Digby published in 2004 titled “Before Timur Came,” and more specifically the section on “Linguistic Indigenization,” and Aditya Behl’s introductory chapter, “Studying the Sultanate Period.”4 Although I stress the role of the Afghan Lodi and Sūr courtly culture in the strengthening and diffusion of a particular cultural ethos, considering them as the only representatives of indigenizing trends in North India on the eve of the Mughal conquest would be a mistake.5 As Simon Digby clearly showed, the blueprint of Muslim indigenization was already there before Timur (aka Tamburlaine) came in the fourteenth century, and the use of vernaculars in courtly settings can be witnessed either before the Afghan period, or on the peripheries of Lodi Hindustan, in Muslim and Hindu courts in Bihar, Nepal, Assam and Bengal—​to mention only eastern South Asia.6 Therefore, when discussing the spread and development of Indo-​ Afghan culture, one should keep an eye on local developments that were heading in the same direction. Afghan courts often integrated those regional cultural practices throughout the geographical spread of Afghan chieftains and literati. One example of the early confluence of those trends in eastern India is certainly Quṭban’s Mirigāvatī, which was composed in 1503 at the court in exile of Ḥusayn Shāh Sharqī (1458–​1505) in Kahalgaon, in eastern Bihar.7 As we will see, this text is a fulcrum in the transmission of eastern vernacular literary cultures to Bengal and Arakan.

4.  Simon Digby, “Before Timur Came:  Provincialization of the Delhi Sultanate Through the Fourteenth Century,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 47, no. 3 (2004): 330–​52; Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 1–​29. 5. Orsini and Sheikh, eds., After Timur Left. 6. S. Sen, Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās, vol. 1, 204–​27; Brinkhaus, “On the Transition From Bengali to Maithili in Nepalese Dramas of the 16th and 17th Centuries,” 67–​77. 7.  Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, 1494–​1538 A.D.; Bāṃlā romāṇṭik kāvyer Āoẏādhī-​Hindī paṭabhūmi; S.Sen, Islāmi bāṃlā sāhitya, 18–​20.

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Here I  propose to have a retrospective gaze at the courtly cultures that converged in the literature of eastern Bengal and Arakan in the seventeenth century. My analysis of Ālāol’s literary career and poetics is the lens through which I revisit this period of about two centuries. The conclusions that I  reach regarding the multipolar nature of secondary courts, historical referentiality, and the respective functions of Sanskrit and Persian in Ālāol’s poetics, or the (re)conceptualization of vernacular poetics, all help me shed light on the deep historical currents that led to the making of his oeuvre. Whereas the present chapter is mainly concerned with narrative genres, in the next chapter, adopting a similar retrospective approach, I  address the lyric dimension of Ālāol’s poetic genealogy.

The classicization of vernacular literature Historical narratives of the modern nation-​states have emphasized the teleological nature of literary traditions: A language reaches the status of culture language because it was meant to become the marker of a national identity. To this teleological understanding of linguistic identity is also linked a discourse on the affective bond that supposedly ties together a vernacular language and the true spirit of a nation and its people. One could say that vehicular, or cosmopolitan, or classical languages are still seen as the realm of the artificial and sophisticated (with all the positive and negative connotations it may bear with it), and the vernacular is supposed to be the natural, sincere vehicle of emotions and events of domestic life. In recent years, increasingly nuanced analytical frames were put forward to move away from this interpretatively unfruitful approach to vernacular literary cultures.8 One way to make more complex the basic dichotomy between high and low traditions, or the artificial and the natural in literature, is to acknowledge the staging of the familiar in vernacular texts to create effects of reality. We then stop seeing them merely as outbursts of authenticity and begin including those effects of reality in a self-​consciously designed poetics that can be commented upon, taught,

8. Shantanu Phukan, “The Rustic Beloved: Ecology of Hindi in a Persian World,” Annual of Urdu Studies 13 (2000): 3–​30; Sheldon Pollock, ed., Literary Cultures in History: Reconstructions From South Asia (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003); Pollock, The Language of Gods in the World of Men; Busch, Poetry of Kings; Orsini, “How to Do Multilingual Literary History?” 225–​46; Orsini and Sheikh, eds., After Timur Left.

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and emulated—​in other terms it allows the literarized vernacular to enter the realm of the classical. My study of Ālāol’s poetics partly aims at demonstrating the Bengali poet’s attempt to experiment with the deśī-​bhāṣā (literally “regional language”). While retaining the performative features of the traditional Bengali poetic forms, Ālāol radically expanded the ability of the regional idiom in the domains of rhetoric sophistication and speculation.9 Regional languages entered the domain of the literary through orality and performance. The earliest examples of New Indo-​Aryan languages that came down to us were lyrics, and Sanskrit musicological literature did not fail to record the use of those languages in songs.10 As such they were part of the conceptual domain of the deśī as opposed to the Sanskrit mārga.11 To anchor our discussion in a geographically and chronologically relevant understanding of deśī, let us observe how the Saṅgītaśiromaṇi (1428), a Sanskrit musicological compendium of the first half of the fifteenth century compiled by a group of pandits in Kaḍā, at the court of a Hindu vassal of the Sultan of Jaunpur, defined the term: That new type of singing, instrumental music, and dance that in various countries gives intense joy to kings and other people is called “regional” by experts.12 In this definition, we first find the expected reference to various localities—​ as opposed to the shared domain of the mārga. Then, the authors deem it necessary to recall that it gives intense joy

9. See d’Hubert, “Patterns of Composition,” 423–​43. 10.  Harivallabh Chunilal Bhayani, “Bhāṣā-​lakṣaṇa Chapter of Gītālaṅkāra,” in Studies in Deśya Prakrit (Ahmedabad, India:  Kalikāla Sarvajña Śrī Hemacandrācārya Navam Janma Śatābdī Smr̥ti Śikṣaṇ Saṃskār Nidhi, 1988), 114–​54; Pollock, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, 184–​8, 300–​4. 11. Pollock explored the uses of the concepts of mārga and deśī in various disciplinary domains, including music and dance. The argument I make in the present chapter echoes some of his observations regarding the development of a taste for newness and formal diversity put forward by theoreticians from the beginning of the second millennium onward. Pollock, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, 397–​410. 12. deśe deśe nr̥pādīnāṃ yad āhlādakaraṃ navam | gānaṃ vādyaṃ tathā nr̥ttaṃ tad deśīty ucyate budhaiḥ || Nijenhuis, Saṅgītaśiromaṇi, 80–​1. Translation modified.

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[āhlādakara]—​perhaps suggesting that the mundane deśī is more entertaining in comparison with the divine mārga.13 More important, it highlights the fact that deśī is not merely recorded as a category, but actually valued.14 The most striking part of this definition is certainly the association of the deśī with what is new. Shouldn’t we see a paradox in the fact that the local, usually assumed to be familiar, is labeled “new” [nava]?15 Embedded in the notion of deśī is the idea that it allows for creativity and innovation, but also that it travels. For some it is enjoyable because it is local, whereas for others it is appreciated for its being foreign, new, and diverse. Qualifying the deśī as foreign may sound a bit counterintuitive. What we are talking about here can be easily grasped by slightly modifying the definition of “exotic” from “the depiction of remote foreignness,” to “the depiction of near foreignness.” The conceptual domain of the deśī thus covers the immediately familiar and extends to this near foreignness. Writing on a deśī mode therefore implies this particular type of exoticism and the intrinsic value of variety and newness. It is this deśī mode that resonates throughout the cultural life of the Afghan period in northern India.

13. Compare with the more elaborate, but essentially similar, comment on deśī found in the Nr̥ttaratnāvalī of Jāyasenāpati (1254, Andhra) quoted in Pollock, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, 407. 14.  The definition given in the Lahjāt-​i sikandarshāhī also underlines the connection between deśī and enjoyment:  desī ān-​ast ki khalq-​i har diyār ba-​rasm-​i diyār-​i khwud ba-​ rāy-​i taṭrīb-​i khāṭir-​i mushtāq-​ān wa nishāṭ-​i dardmand-​ān sarāyand, wa az-​ān ḥaẓẓ gīrand. wa nīz ba-​rasm-​i wilāyat-​i khwud sāz-​hā rā sāzish namūda bi-​nawāzand. wa dar bazm-​hā wa jashn (/​ḥusn)-​i bihisht-​sāḥat-​i urdī-​bihisht-​rāḥat ham ba ṣifat (/​ṣanʿat)-​i diyār-​i khwud raqqāṣī numāyad. Yaḥyá Kābulī, Lahjāt-​i Sikandar Shāhī, ed. Shahab Sarmadee, 19; ed. Syeda Bilqis Fatema Husaini,15. See also infra in this chapter on Quṭban’s careful selection of both śāstrīya and deśī words, which also points to the valorization of deśī aesthetics. This phenomenon may be compared with what happened earlier in South India where “[t]‌he vernacular was not only ‘placed’ over against the placeless universal but was superior to it: dēsi connotes the ‘fit,’ the truly ‘beautiful.’ ” Pollock, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, 408. 15.  When discussing Hemcandra’s dictionary titled Deśīnāmamālā that is appended to his grammar of the entire Sanskritic linguistic paradigm (i.e., which covers Sanskrit, Prakrits, and Apabhraṃśa), Pollock made a similar comment:  “The ‘practices of Place’ (which for later thinkers, as we will see, included everything from language to dance movements and melodies) are not necessarily available in an unmediated way, as if they were somehow natural and instinctive rather than cultural and learned; quite the contrary, deśī is ‘hard to understand.’ And if it seems surprising to us—​after all, what is more familiar than the words of one’s own place?—​Hemacandra is echoing a conviction widespread throughout earlier South Asian cultures.” Pollock, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, 402.

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The Indo-​Afghan historical imaginaries To gain a broader understanding of the literary culture of the time and Indo-​Afghan modes of self-​representation, I  propose that we take a moment to observe how this period was represented in a genre other than narrative poetry: Persian chronicles [tawārīkh]. Avadhi romances cultivate a special relationship with “history.” This tendency toward a referentiality, anchored outside the poetic discourse proper, appears first in the prologues of the poems, in which the circumstances of the composition are given. The matter from which the narratives are drawn also shows varying degrees of engagement with historical figures, events, and geographies. This led modern-​day publishers and scholars to read the most “historical” of the Avadhi romances, Padmāvat, as representing Rajput society and its conflicts and negotiations with Muslim power.16 Indo-​Afghan historiography, which was produced toward the end of the process of canonization of Avadhi romances in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, was considered by modern historians from the British period onward as less reliable than chronicles of the high Delhi sultanate and Mughal period. Sometimes, the generic ambiguity of some texts was created by the way the authors themselves introduced their work; for instance, by giving titles pointing toward the realm of fiction and fables or by inventing significant but historically inaccurate contexts for the commissioning of the text. Who would blame a rigorous empiricist for looking down on a text calling itself “The Fables of the Kings” [Afsāna-​yi shāhān]? It seems that Persian authors who dealt with the Afghan rule in Hindustan embraced the fictional dimension of their accounts. Or one should rather consider that it was the entertaining, edifying, and, ultimately, soothing quality of their discourse that prevailed in their chronicles.17 Simon Digby, and more recently Nile Green, showed that the corpus of chronicles about the Afghan rule in Hindustan resulted from a need to retrospectively articulate an Afghan political identity and find a place in 16.  Ramya Sreenivasan, The Many Lives of a Rajput Queen:  Heroic Pasts in India C.  1500–​ 1900 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007); Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 177–​217. The reception of Ālāol’s rendering of this text in Calcutta’s Battala clearly shows this tendency to read Padmāvatī as an “historical poem” [aitihāsika kāvya]. Ālāol, Padmāvatī (aitihāsik kāvya), Mahākavi Ālāoẏāl Saiẏed Śāh marhum praṇīta. 17. Digby, “The Indo-​Persian Historiography of The Lodi Sultans,” 243–​64.

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the new cultural order that the Mughals had established.18 What we find in these texts is the complete narrative of a political saga, which has a clear beginning, the accession of Bahlol Lodī to the throne of Delhi (1451), and a dramatic ending with the beheading of the last independent Afghan ruler of Bengal, Dāʾūd Khān Karrānī in 1576. The narrative, rather than descriptive and factual, quality of the Afghan historiography has to do with this retrospective gaze. Unlike Mughal chronicles, historians of the Afghan rule did not rely on previous written histories or administrative reports. Eyewitness accounts and anecdotes collected orally from soldiers, scholars, and dignitaries form the bulk of the sources of Afghan historians—​at least it is how the main model for later chroniclers, Rizq Allāh Mushtāqī (d. 1581), proceeded in his Wāqiʿāt-​i mushtāqī [Mushtāqī’s Events]; to which we could add the other original chronicle of Shaykh Kabīr titled Afsāna-​ yi shāhān (ca. 1605–​1627). The significance of this mode of data collection has already been highlighted, usually to warn the reader regarding the unreliability of the content of these texts.19 For the present discussion, what attracts my attention is the discursive tone of the narration that, as has been recently pointed out, brings these texts closer to the genre of Sufi malfūẓ literature.20 Mushtāqī unambiguously states the fact that the project of writing his text emerged from discussions held in social gatherings [majālis]: When I  raised my head from the lowliness of childhood and reached the stage of maturity, I  spent my days in the affection of the eloquent men of the time and the accomplished persons of the land, and benefited from their speech. I heard strange stories and amazing feats, and even witnessed some of them with my own eyes. When the shade of these great men moved away from the head of 18. Digby, “The Indo-​Persian Historiography of The Lodi Sultans,” 243–​45; Green, “Tribe, Diaspora and Sainthood,” 171–​211. 19. The follwoing comment by I. H. Siddiqi on Shaykh Kabīr’s work is a good example of the potential dangers of an uncritical reading of such texts: “His book contains materials based much more on imagination, false traditions and fiction than on historical facts. Though the author claims to have consulted all the works on the history of the Afghans available in his time, he neither distinguished between real history and fiction nor he could realize the importance of the proper arrangement of events in conformity with the order of time.” Iqtidar Husain Siddiqi, “Shaikh Muhammad Kabir and His History of the Afghan Kings (A.D. 1451–​1555),” Indo-​Iranica 19, no. 4 (1966): 58. 20. Ali Anooshahr, “Author of One’s Fate: Fatalism and Agency in Indo-​Persian Histories,” Indian Economic and Social History Review 49, no. 2 (2012): 197–​224.

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this author, longing for their conversation I  was constantly eager to attend social gatherings [ārzū-​yi mujālasat mī-​kardam] and lived hoping to find some intimate friend whose company I would share. But in accordance with the saying kulla yawmin huwa fī shaʾnin “every day He is bringing about another matter” (Q. 55.29), every age brings a hardship. My soul did not find peace with any friend, and neither was it satisfied with any intimate. Finally, disappointed by my lot, I  consented to the company of all indiscriminately and recited wa-​’ṣbir nafsaka “keep yourself patient” (Q. 18.28). Consequently, everywhere I would tell an exemplary tale [mathal-​e mī-​zadam] agreeing with the gathering and give a speech of circumstance [ba tawāfuq qāl maqāl mī-​guftam]. This led my friends to turn to me and say: “Discuss some subjects [muqaddamāt-​e pardāzīd] so we may benefit from it. I  would say:  “Praise God, it is right and proper.” It reached the point that my friends would bring paper and ink and write down the anecdotes of the gatherings [wāqiʿāt-​i majālis] and bring it to other venues. Until that day when a close friend insisted that I should write down whatever I had heard and seen of various events, and record their lessons on paper so that students may use it and wise men increase their understanding. Out of necessity, I compiled in a notebook the words that I had heard from some experienced companions who went through the age, as well as what I had witnessed myself, and I named it Wāqiʿāt-​i mushtāqī [Mushtaqī’s Accounts/​Stories of Passionate Longing].21 The very organization of the work that is divided into “sittings” [majlis, pl. majālis] also points to the expected usage of the text in social gatherings. At the end of the prologue, Mushtāqī delineates the chronology of his account that starts with the reign of Bahlol (1451–​1489) and ends with Akbar (1556–​ 1605); Mushtāqī himself died in 1581. Later Afghan chronicles (Tārīkh-​i dāʾūdī, ca. 1605; Tārīkh-​i shāhī, 1644; and Tārīkh-​i khān-​jahānī, 1627) reproduced this time frame but highlighted both the beginning and the end of the saga. The titles of those later works show a will to underline the narrative arc of the accounts. ʿAbdullāh’s Tārīkh-​i dāʾūdī is named after the last 21. Shaikh Rizq Ullah Mushtaqui, Wāqiʿāt-​i Mushtāqī, ed. Iqtidar Husain Siddiqi (Rāmpūr, India: Rampur Raza Library, 2002), 1–​2. I have also partly used the translation of this passage given in Anooshahr, “Author of One’s Fate,” 206–​7.

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Afghan ruler of Bengal, Dāʾūd Khān Karrānī (1572–​1576).22 In another case, although the text was written almost sixty years after his death, Aḥmad Yādgār sets the commissioning of his Tārīkh-​i salāṭīn-​i afāghina aka Tārīkh-​i shāhī at the court of Dāʾūd Khān himself.23 The reference to the last Afghan ruler of Bengal is not due to his fame or the significance of his political career; he ruled for three years and made rather contestable political choices that prompted the chroniclers to make narrative interventions not to end the story on a bitter note.24 Dāʾūd Khān simply embodied the end of Afghan rule in Hindustan and Bengal and the beginning of a new age. The transition from one world order to the other was not for the better—​ at least it is the impression we gather from this corpus of texts. Afghan histories convey a clear sense of loss and nostalgia. We will see in a moment how Mushtāqī expressed this feeling and complained about the changes that took place after the fall of Afghan dynasties. Because I am mainly concerned with literary representations, rather than straightforward political comments, I may mention the way Shaykh Kabīr explained to the reader what motivated him to write his Afsāna-​yi shāhān. The old shaykh who lived in Bihar and was related to several eminent Sufi figures of Bihar and Bengal had lost his son who died of a snakebite. It was to soothe the pain of this terrible event that he decided to engage in the compilation of stories on the reign of Afghan kings. This way, the death of the son stands for the loss of an age.25 Indeed, of all the chronicles that I have consulted, the still-​unpublished Afsāna-​yi shāhān is certainly the most entertaining. It is rich in anecdotes and humorous stories about Afghan kings. We will come back to some of these stories in a moment.

22. ʿAbd Allāh, Tārīkh-​i Dāʾūdī-​i ʿAbd Allāh, ed. Iqtidar Husain Siddiqi, Silsila-​yi maṭbūʿāt-​i Shuʿba-​yi Tārīkh-​i Muslim Yūnīwirsitī-​i ʿAlīgarh 6 (Aligarh, India: Shuʿba-​yi Tārīkh-​i Muslim Yūnīwirsitī-​i ʿAlīgarh, 1954). 23. Aḥmad Yādgār, Tārīkh-​i shāhī maʿrūf bi Tārīkh-​i salāṭīn-​i afāghina, ed. M. Hidayat Hosain, reprint (Tehran: Intishārāt-​i Asāṭīr, 1390), 1–​2. 24. For a discussion on his relations with the Mughals, see Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–​1760, 142–​4. 25. Muhammad Kabīr ibn Shaykh Ismāʿīl Hāziya, “Afsāna-​yi shāhān,” ms. Add 24409 1189/​ 1775, fol. 2r–​4v, British Library, London. About the choice of the title, Shaykh Kabīr quotes a slightly modified version of a verse by Abū Saʿīd Abū al-​Khayr: chunānki buzurg-​e guft—​qiṭʿa—​ ḥāl-​i dunyā bi pursīdam man az farzāna-​e/​[2b] guft yā bād-​e’st yā khwāb-​e’st yā fasāna-​e. bāz guftam ḥāl-​i ān kas gū ki dilbar-​i way raft [this miṣrāʿ is runmetrical and the handwriting is unclear]. guft yā dew-​e’st yā ghūl-​e’st yā dīwāna-​e. [As a great man once said: “I asked a wise man about the state of this world.” He replied: “It is either wind, or a dream, or a tale.” I further asked: “Tell-​me, how is a man who lost his beloved?” He answered: “He is a demon, or a ghoul, or a madman.”]

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The fantastic stories [afsāna, ḥikāyāt-​i ʿajīb u gharīb] that abound in these texts are not located in some remote land and distant mythical past.26 They usually take place in a space of “near foreignness” that they share with contemporary Avadhi romances. Afghan chronicles can be read as thaumaturgic narratives composed in a deśī mode. That both the Persian and vernacular literary idioms inhabited the same realm of deśī aesthetics is shown by the attribution of two Hindavi treatises to Rizq Allāh Mushtāqī by his nephew, the celebrated scholar ʿAbd al-​Ḥaqq Muḥaddith Dihlawī (d. 1642).27 ʿAbd al-​Ḥaqq also relates that his uncle went by two different noms de plume: Mushtāqī in Persian and Rājan in Hindavi. The name Mushtāqī [passionate longing] is particularly significant in this context. Indeed, his nephew recalls that “when telling or listening to love-​stories he would cry and rejoice and enter ecstatic moods” [wa dar waqt-​i guftan-​i sukhan-​i maḥabbat wa-​yā shinīdan-​i ān bukā wa dhawq wa ḥālat, lāzim-​i ḥāl-​i īshān būd.] Although it would be an overstatement to say that all the accounts contained in his book have to do with “passionate love” [ʿishq] Mushtāqī clearly placed the times of Afghan rule under its influence.28 Toward the middle of his account on the Lodi sultans, in the long majlis devoted to Sikandar Lodī, the old shaykh tells many stories meant to illustrate life beyond courtly milieus under the rule of a just king. Several among them narrate extraordinary feats showing the endless power of sincere love. Here is a translation of the first story, which sets the tone for the ones that follow in this section of the text: Stories about strange events that took place during the reign of Sulṭān Sikandar In Jaunpur there was a householder who took a bride to his house in Ẓafarābād. He stopped in the outskirts of the city to eat some

26.  Hodivala highlighted parallels between those accounts and stories found in narrative literature. Shahpurshah Hormasji Hodivala, Studies in Indo-​Muslim History (Bombay:  the author, 1939), 444–​83. 27. Abd al-​Ḥaqq ibn Sayf al-​Dīn Dihlavī, Akhbār al-​akhyār fī asrār al-​abrār (Tehran: Anjuman-​ i Āthār wa Mafākhir-​i Farhangī, 1383), 347–​8. 28.  The predominance of ʿishq in the memorialization of an age is certainly in line with Timurid courtly culture and literary practices. See, for instance, a text such as the Majālis al-​ʿushshāq in which dignitaries, poets, and kings are depicted as passionate lovers [ʿushshāq]. Kamāl al-​Dīn Ḥusayn Gāzargāhī, Majālis al-​ʿushshāq:  tadhkira-​yi ʿurafā, ed. Ghulām Riḍā Ṭabāṭabāʾī Majd (Tehran: Zarrīn, 1375).

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food, putting down the palanquin [dola] in a corner. The bride took off her veil and sat down. Her maid-​servant was facing her. It happened that under this tree there was also a wandering ascetic [faqīr]. Suddenly, his gaze crossed the beauty of this girl [nāgāh chashm-​ i ū bar jamāl-​i dukhtar uftād]. He was charmed and his eyes were stitched to her face. Every time the girl looked at him, she could see his distress and worried state. She was surprised and realized what was happening to him. She told the maid-​servant: “When will we come back here?” She replied: “We will return here after four days.” [The girl] said: “Let me know when we reach this tree, so we may stop here for an hour or so.” On these words they resumed their journey. [Even] after four days, the ascetic [did nothing but] wait for her the entire day. It was almost sunset, when, desperate, he sighed longingly: “Alas, she did not come . . . ” and entrusted his soul to God. When the Muslims [musulmān-​ān] saw that he gave up his life to God, they took him to the grave and buried him. At that very moment, the palanquin of the girl arrived. Her maid-​ servant informed her and she ordered that the palanquin be set in the shade of that tree. After an hour, she had still not seen the ascetic. She asked the maid-​servant: “I had made a vow that every time, whenever I would return, I would offer something to this ascetic. [But] he is nowhere to be seen. Inquire about him from someone. The maid-​servant asked some people: “The ascetic that we saw here is nowhere to be seen; where did he go?” People replied: “He passed away suddenly and this is his grave.” She asked: “How did he die?” He just said these words: “Alas, she did not come . . . ” and departed. When hearing these words, a similar state manifested within her and she said to the maid-​servant: “Show me this traveler’s grave, so I may pay homage to him and offer a prayer” [tā ziyārat kunam wa fātiḥa bi-​khwānam]. They pulled across sheets on all sides and she went inside. She went to pay her homage, reached the tomb and bowed her head to the grave. After some time, the maid-​servant, willing to invite her to come out, looked over the sheets and saw that there was no one inside. When people heard about it, they were all stupefied. The maid-​ servant related the event from beginning to end. They understood that these were mysterious feats of love [īn asrār-​i ʿishq ast]. Then, they opened the grave and saw that the golden brocades of the bride,

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the flower[-​garland] of her neck, and the henna of her hands were all over the dead body of this man, and that the woman had disappeared. They were amazed by this event and resumed their journey.29 In this story, the characters are not named, they are types as one would expect to find in a fable. Nevertheless, the geographical location is clear through the mention of Ẓafarābād, the depiction of customs and religious practices, and the vocabulary itself (dola < H. ḍolā “palanquin”).30 Although the religious affiliation of the characters is not emphasized, Mushtāqī indicates that the Muslims present there took the initiative to bury the poor man. Other stories would contain pairs of Hindu and Muslim lovers or other references to the religious diversity of Indian society (see, for instance, the story of the soldier and the idol).31 The final comment about the true nature of this event: A miracle caused by sincere love unveils the intention of the author. Mushtāqī wants to depict a society in which each and every subject is aware of the all-​pervasive power of love made possible by just rule. Later on, and before shifting to another kind of story dealing with legal matters, he makes the following comments: In love such marvels take place! But in that time [love’s power] was still effective. Today, neither love nor the age produces any effect, because no such people are left. ka-​mā yakūnū yuwallá ʿalay-​kum “As you are, you will be ruled.” A people of good disposition should have a just ruler. When people appreciate justice, God gives them a righteous ruler. When He wants to ruin the world, he hands over the kingdom to the claws of a tyrant.32

29. Shaikh Rizq Ullah Mushtaqui, Wāqiʿāt-​i Mushtāqī, ed. I. H. Siddiqi, 47–​8. See also the translation of this passage in Waqiʻat-​e-​Mushtaqui of Shaikh Rizq Ullah Mushtaqui: A Source of Information on the Life and Conditions in the Pre-​Mughal India, trans. Iqtidar Husain Siddiqi (New Delhi:  Co-​published by Indian Council of Historical Research and Northern Book Centre, 1993), 48–​9. A slightly different version of this story is given in Simon Digby, trans., Wonder-​Tales of South Asia (Jersey, Channel Islands: Orient Monographs, 2000), 236–​7. 30. About Ẓafarābād during the sultanate period, see Shaikh Rizq Ullah Mushtaqui, Waqiʻat-​ e-​Mushtaqui of Shaikh Rizq Ullah Mushtaqui, trans. I. H. Siddiqi, 48, n. 47. 31. Shaikh Rizq Ullah Mushtaqui, Wāqiʿāt-​i Mushtāqī, ed. I. H. Siddiqi, 48–​9. 32. Shaikh Rizq Ullah Mushtaqui, Wāqiʿāt-​i Mushtāqī, ed. I. H. Siddiqi, 51–​2. Quoted from the first bāb of Saʿdī’s Būstān, in the section on justice (ʿadl). Saʿdī, Būstān: Saʿdī-​nāma, ed. Ṣadr al-​Dīn Zamānīyān (Tehran: Rushd-​i Āmūzish, 1389), 124.

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The motif of lovers of different social or religious background united in death certainly expresses the anxiety of the nobility to transcend social boundaries to establish local alliances and root their influence throughout the large geographical space covered by their trade and military activities. In the building of this imaginary, we see how love narratives may have helped shape sensibilities and the function played by romances. Mushtāqī is very explicit about the function of love in the political ethos of the time. In the passage just quoted, the term that links politics and love is taʾthīr (literally “effect”). In the context of court poetry, love is usually seen as the poetic expression of loyalty between the king and his dignitaries.33 Here Mushtāqī is expressing a broader understanding of the ethical domain of love informed by its cosmological role in Islamic mysticism. The presence of true lovers allows the creative and beneficial power of love to manifest its “effect” on society to generate a just rule. By relating love stories, Mushtāqī makes a case for the cosmological harmony that, in his view, characterized Afghan rule in Hindustan. It is important to distinguish the cosmological understanding of passionate love as a means for self-​fashioning and an irenic view of social interactions: love cultivates sincerity and a certain form of abnegation in individuals, but it is not conceived here as a feeling of mutual empathy that would create harmony among the subjects. This way to envision narratives through a deśī mode—​kindling a feeling of love whose effect touches both individuals and the age—​is precisely what Avadhi romances are about. We can therefore consider that both vernacular romances and Persian chronicles of the Afghan period emerged from a common ethos in which narratives and love were seen as powerful means to shape individual subjects and society as a whole.

The ideological background of Indo-​Afghan multilingualism In both Indo-​Afghan chronicles and Avadhi romances love is presented in a deśī garb. At the beginning of this chapter, I defined deśī along two lines: newness and variety. The formation of vernacular literary traditions and the particular kind of multilingualism that was fostered during this period are connected to this understanding of deśī. 33. “Central to this concept of love is the principle of the lover’s unswerving devotion and fidelity to his lady, of loyalty and service, which parallel those expected of the courtier.” Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987), 21. Regarding love and loyalty in the South Asian context, see De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust, 219–​20, 265–​8.

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Building on the role of orality in historical narratives, I argue that the development of multilingualism—​and consequently of vernacular literary traditions—​in Indo-​Afghan courts is due to a specific understanding of the collective and particular kinds of sociability. Gatherings [majālis/​ sabhās] described in works composed in both the center and the periphery of Hindustan throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries share features that set them apart from Mughal social venues. Historians have argued that the Afghan period is characterized by an absence of centralized power and the intervention of alternative sources of authority in political matters.34 This fundamentally decentralized political ideology is encapsulated in the story of Bahlol Lodī’s father, Kālā who ordered a throne on which all Afghans would be able to take their place: Eighth story—​Kālā becomes king: It is said that the two younger sons of Shāh ʿĀlam who were with their wet-​nurses were brought by them along with their slaves to Jaunpur, to Malika-​yi Jahān, Shāh ʿĀlam’s daughter. They entrusted the children to Malika-​yi Jahān. Since no one was left there [i.e., in Delhi], people said to Kālā: “Almighty God, because of his great generosity and benevolence, gave you the kingship. Now, pronounce the khuṭba yourself and sit on the throne!” Then, Sulṭān Kālā ordered that a throne should be properly built [saying:] “All of our brothers shall be able to sit on it.” As Kālā formulated this order, his courtiers told him that the throne should be so big that only the king may sit. The brothers accompanying the king were fifty or sixty thousand horsemen; how can one build such a throne that would allow all the brothers to take their place? Therefore he ordered that they should build one on which thirty or forty brothers may sit. When the kingdom was entrusted to Kālā, they endowed him with the title of Sultan. Hence, he ruled for thirteen years, nine months, one day and five gharīs.35

34. Raziuddin Aquil, “Salvaging a Fractured Past: Reflections on Norms of Governance and Afghan-​Rajput Relations in North India in the Late Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Centuries,” Studies in History 20, no. 1 (2004): 1–​29; Sufism, Culture, and Politics: Afghans and Islam in Medieval North India (New Delhi; New  York:  Oxford University Press, 2007); Nile Green, “Blessed Men and Tribal Politics:  Notes on Political Culture in the Indo-​Afghan World,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 49, no. 3 (2006): 344–​60. 35. Gharī (< Skt. ghaṭikā) is a period of 24 minutes (the sixtieth part of the day). See Francis Joseph Steingass, A Comprehensive Persian-​English Dictionary (London: Allen, 1892), s.v. “Gharī.”

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This story is found in the Afsāna-​yi shāhān (ca. end of sixteenth century–​ early seventeenth century CE) and, even if the event described should not be taken at face value, it suggests an awareness of the polycentric nature of Afghan courts.36 Echoing other accounts about Bahlol Lodī’s accession to the throne, Kālā is made king out of necessity, and his obtaining the reins of the kingdom is not presented as the result of political ambitions.37 Therefore the story of the throne merely confirms the self-​effacement of the king for the sake of the subjects and the fellow Afghan brothers [birādar-​ān]. Unlike the Mughal or even the classical Indic models of courtly sociability, Afghans cultivated a horizontal model of interaction rather than a pyramidal one. This polycentric—​or multipolar—​majlis also characteristic of the gatherings described by the Bengali poet Ālāol in Mrauk U had a significant impact on the use of languages and on the set of disciplines constituting courtly culture. Another passage of Shaykh Kabīr’s Afsāna-​yi shāhān, which is often quoted for its referencing Hindavi poets and illustrating the importance of multilingualism at the court of Indo-​Afghan nobles, is the following description of Islām Shāh Sūr’s majlis: Ninety-​sixth story—​about the qualities of Islām Shāh: When he had given provisions for three years, he settled down for games and celebrations. Scholars, learned men and poets were constantly in his company. He always sat where they were. Around this place they set up kiosks, and in these kiosks they would place pans and ghāliyas of all sorts. There were scholars, learned men and poets such as Mīr Sayyid Manjhan—​the author of Madh-​Mālatī—​, Shāh Muḥammad Farmulī and Mūsan—​Shāh Muḥammad’s younger brother—​, as well as Sūrdās etc. . . .The poets would converse in Arabic, Persian and Hindavi.38

36.  The Afsāna-​yi shāhān was often considered a second-​rank chronicle full of fanciful accounts and inaccuracies. Regarding the “mistakes” about Kālā Lodī, see Syed Hasan Askari, “Historical Value of Afsana-​i Badshahan or Tarikh-​i Afghani,” Journal of Indian History 43, no. 1 (1965): 184. H. Khan mentioned this story to illustrate “the concept of Afghan kingship.” Hussain Khan, “Afsānah-​i-​shāhān, a critique,” Islamic Studies 26, no. 4 (1987): 356. 37.  Compare with Shaikh Rizq Ullah Mushtaqui, Wāqiʿāt-​i Mushtāqī, ed. I.  H. Siddiqi, 5; Waqiʻat-​e-​Mushtaqui of Shaikh Rizq Ullah Mushtaqui, trans. I. H. Siddiqi, 4. 38.  Muḥammad Kabīr ibn Shaykh Ismāʿīl Hāziya, “Afsāna-​ yi shāhān,” fol. 150v–​ 151r. For another translation and a discussion on this passage with further references to it in English and Hindi scholarship, see Mañjhan, “Introduction,” in Madhumālatī:  An Indian

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In this description of Islām Shāh’s (r. 1545–​1554) gatherings, rather than rank or origins, it his generosity that makes the patron. The emphasis is put on the physical venue as a shared space for social interaction. We also have a good illustration of the interaction between deśī and classical Islamic cultural discourses. The guests are enumerated using the conventional Arabic terms ʿulamā, fuḍalā, shuʿarā, and then the identity of some of the eminent guests pertaining to the last category (i.e., the poets) is given:  Manjhan, Shāh Muḥammad Farmulī, and his brother, as well as Sūrdās.39 We see in this example the diversity of the cultural content covered by the conventional categories of Islamic society. The Indic components of the majlis are part of a common cultural landscape. Rather self-​ consciously, Shaykh Kabīr proceeds by indicating that “the poets conversed in Arabic, Persian, and Hindavi.” We must here distinguish between two things: first, the fact that courtly sociability implied the use of several languages, and second, that this multilingualism was valued and presented as characteristic of the courtly culture of the time. Whereas commentators of the cultural history of the Indo-​Afghan rule in North India usually limit their discussions to this opening part drawn from the eighth ḥikāyat of the Afsāna-​yi shāhān, the rest of the anecdote is what gives this courtly setting its actual significance. In the scene that follows, Islām Shāh is presented as a humble king, who explicitly orders his courtiers not to follow the expected protocol in his presence: similar to the story of Kālā’s throne, the majlis is itself the symbol of kingship embodied in the collectivity. The way Shaykh Kabīr, as well as other historians who revisited the Afghan rule in North India, depicted the kind of sociability that characterized this period gives us a sense of the contrast that was perceived with social life in Mughal elite milieus, with their finely defined hierarchy and hegemonic recourse to the Persian medium—​the Indianness of which, although central, was manifested in very different terms.40

Sufi Romance, trans. Aditya Behl, Simon Weightman, and Shyam Manohar Pandey, Oxford World’s Classics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 13–​14. 39. On the mention of Sūrdās in this passage, see Sūrdās, The Memory of Love: Sūrdās Sings to Krishna, trans. John Stratton Hawley (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 19–​20. 40.  Shaykh Kabīr relates a very interesting anecdote in which Akbar orders a group of Afghans who presented themselves dressed in the Mughal fashion and who saluted him with a kurnish—​the typical Mughal greeting—​to come back dressed in Afghan clothes and to greet him the Afghan way. This story illustrates the etiquette of the Mughal court as a domain of strictly controlled cultural diversity. Muḥammad Kabīr ibn Shaykh Ismāʿīl Hāziya, “Afsāna-​yi shāhān,” fol. 153r–​153v. Regarding the Mughal engagement with Sanskrit

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In one of the stories intended to show the easygoing and accessible character of the sultan, Shaykh Kabīr relates that after he sat on the throne, the word spread that Islām Shāh showed himself generous even to those who used to abuse him in his childhood. A musician [dafālī], who would insult Islām Shāh every time he saw him in the market, resolved to take his chance and attended the public audience at the court [bār-​i ʿām]. Islām Shāh recognized his childhood friend and jokingly said to his courtier Shāh Muḥammad Farmulī that this dafālī used to insult him every time he would see him. To which he added “What a bastard [ay ḥarām-​zāda]!” and went on calling him colorful names of all sorts. Then, Shāh Muḥammad went to the man and ordered him to tell the king what he had on his mind. The man told Islām Shāh:  “Because you sit on the throne, [now] you look down on me [shumā ki bar takht nishasta, az binā-​bar ān chakh mī-​ zaned]!” The sultan laughed out loud and stumbled down off the throne, then turned to his courtier and ordered that he give him some khīchrī (i.e., a simple dish with rice and lentils) as a reward. The dignitary then came back with a platter covered with gold coins and silver rupees; this mix of coins being humorously called khīchrī at Islām Shāh’s court. The sultan further issued a decree of honorability upon him and all the dafālīs [farmān-​i mihtarī bar hama dafālīyān ū rā niwishta dādand].41 In the section of Shaykh Kabir’s text previously quoted, the egalitarian aspect of the majlis is put in direct relation with unmediated multilingualism, which implies that the attendees were able to follow and participate in a multilingual conversation without any interpreter. The absence of pyramidal hierarchy was crucial as it allowed each participant to contribute his own linguistic expertise and share it with the other attendees.42 This contrasts with both the traditional accounts of the linguistic economy of the Indic sabhā and the linguistic policy of the Mughals. When discussing the use of languages in the semiprivate sphere of the sabhā in early medieval India, scholars often invoke the comments of Rājaśekhara in his Kāvyamīmāṃsā [Inquiry About Poetry]. The poet and literary culture, see Audrey Truschke, Culture of Encounters:  Sanskrit at the Mughal Court, South Asia Across the Disciplines (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016). 41. Muhammad Kabīr ibn Shaykh Ismāʿīl Hāziya, “Afsāna-​yi shāhān,” fol. 155r–​155v. 42.  One example of this exchange of linguistic competence is related by Banarsidas in his Ardhakathānak. The Jain Braj poet taught the basics of lexicography [Nāmamālā] and prosody [Chandakośa and Śrutabodha] to the local governor of Jaunpur, Qilīch Khān. Banarasidas, Ardhakathanak. A Half Story, trans. Rohini Chowdhury, Penguin Classics (New Delhi: Penguin Books, 2009), 190–​1, stanza no. 455.

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theoretician of the eleventh century mentions several examples of kings who imposed the exclusive use of one language at the court and the private apartments. After he mentioned the multilingual economy of the household (which is mirrored in dramas), the author adds that “even in his house one should use languages according to the rules dictated by the master” [svabhavane hi bhāṣā-​niyamaṃ yathā prabhur vidadhāti tathā bhavati]. The rules that the master of the household imposes can be either about specific phonemes that should be avoided or simply regarding the use of one particular language. Thus we know that in Kuntala there was king named Sātavāhana who ordered that, even in his private apartments, people should use the Prakrit language. Similarly there was in Ujjayini a king named Sāhasāṅka who asked that people use only Sanskrit. Closer to Ālāol’s time and place, one can witness the reiteration of a similar account in Kamrup (western Assam) at the court of Naranārāyaṇa (r. 1544–​1587) and his brother Śukladhvaja “Cilā Rāẏ” (d. 1575). The Kathāgurucarita, a seventeenth-​century Assamese hagiography of the Vaiṣṇava saint and court poet Śaṅkaradeva, relates that they both imposed that people use only Sanskrit at the court: “No one spoke anything but Sanskrit; the most trivial matters were said in Sanskrit” [sanaskrita vine keho māta na-​mātaẏa | sāmānya kathako save sanskrite kahaẏa ||].43 In the Mughal case, we witness the same relationship between the figure of the king and linguistic usages. The linguistic economy of the Mughal court from Akbar’s time was clearly oriented toward the promotion of Persian, and even “purified” Persian. This policy has been discussed by scholars in various domains. As Muzaffar Alam demonstrated when tracing the outline of Mughal linguistic policy, Mughal rulers deliberately established Persian as the principal language of the administration and of social interactions at the court. The reign of Akbar is emblematic of this shift with its two landmarks: the decision in circa 1582–​1583 to use Persian for documents pertaining to local administration and the translation of the Bāburnāma [The Book of Bābur] from Chaghatay into Persian (1589),

43. Quoted in the introduction of Jayadeva, Jayadevasya Gītagovindam Śukladhvaja-​viracita sāravatī-​sametam, ed. Satyendra Nath Sarma (Guwahati, India: Koras Publications, 1991), 14. I  quote this example only to illustrate the continuation of this model and the role of the sabhāpati as ultimate source of authority for linguistic usages. In terms of literary history, the situation is more complex because it is precisely under Naranārāyaṇa’s and Śukladhvaja’s patronage that vernacular literature thrived in Kamrup. See S. Sen, Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās, 2000, vol.1, 215–​24; Maheśvar Neog, Asamīẏā sāhityar rūparekhā, bhāṣār kramavikāś camu itivr̥ttere (Guwahati, India: Laẏārch Buk Shṭal, 1962), 244–​57.

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which marked the end of the creative cultivation of the Turkic language by the elite.44 The political will to identify Mughal rule with Persian was also accompanied by reforms within the realm of Persian itself through language purification [taṭhīr-​i zabān].45

Literary multilingualism in Quṭban’s Mirigāvatī (1503) We thus observe a stark contrast between the linguistic regime of the Indo-​Afghan and the Mughal courts. Among Ālāol’s models, the linguistic diversity of the gathering and the expertise of the patron in linguistic matters have been eloquently depicted in the prologue of Quṭban’s Mirigāvatī: He reads the scriptures, difficult of access, and speaks the meanings aloud and explains them. A single word can have ten meanings: pundits are struck dumb with amazement. [ . . . ] In his reign I composed this poem, when it was the year nine hundred and nine. In the month of Muharram, by the Hijrī moon, the tale was finished and I read it aloud! When I turned gāthā, dohā, arila, ārajā, and soraṭhā verses into caupā’īs,46 44. Irfan Habib, The Agrarian System of Mughal India, 1556–​1707, 2nd ed. (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999), 324. This official decision contrasts with the Lodi and Sur multilingual administrative practices, which continued in the Deccani sultanates. Once again, one should distinguish between such centralized decisions that illustrate a proper language policy and the actual practice, which was more complex. Mughals did patronize vernacular literature, and Ṭoḍar Mal (d. 1589), the minister who implemented the decision to use Persian in official documents, was also patron of vernacular poetry and music. Busch, Poetry of Kings, 134–​5; Susan S. Wadley, “A Bhakti Rendition of Nala-​Damayantī: Ṭoḍarmal’s ‘Nectar of Nal’s Life’,” International Journal of Hindu Studies 3, no. 1 (1999): 27–​56. 45. Muzaffar Alam, “The Culture and Politics of Persian in Precolonial Hindustan,” in Literary Cultures in History: Reconstructions From South Asia, ed. Sheldon Pollock (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 174. 46. Behl translates, “I have used the meters gāthā, dohā, aril, and ārajā, /​and the soraṭhā and caupāī to adorn the poem.” The Avadhi text has gāthā dōhā arila ārajā | sōraṭha caupāinha kai sājā || sāsatarī ākhara bahu āē | au dēsī cuni cuni saba lāē | The absolutive sājā kai (“after arranging,” in the present context “after turning into”) governs a double accusative, the first being contained in the former half of the verse, plus the word sōraṭha, and the second bearing the oblique plural ending -​nha. The same mistake is found in M. P. Gupta’s Hindi

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many classical words came into it and I carefully chose desī [words]. When you hear this, you will not like any other. Two months and ten days it took me to put it together and finish it. Each word is a pearl I have strung. I speak with all my heart and mind. [11]47 The kind of expertise cultivated by the patron echoes what we know about the cultivation of lexicography and connoisseurship in literature and lyrical arts in regional courts.48 More than someone who prescribes what good taste should be, the patron is an expert able to comment on whatever textual material—​whether a narrative poem or a lyric—​is presented to him. The poet takes into account this expectation of semantic and formal diversity, and he foregrounds his knowledge to a variety of prosodic forms—​ which I argue was the actual marker of the literary identity of a text—​and linguistic registers, namely sāsatrīya and desī.49

translation, and P. L. Gupta’s reading is equally problematic. Sukumar Sen suggests a more correct reading including sōraṭha when commenting on this verse: “apabhraṃśer gāhā, dohā, aḍhillā (“arela”) o āryā (“araja”) chander kavitā bheṅe soraṭhā-​caupaï karechen [ . . . ]” [After breaking Apabhraṃśa poems in gāhā, dohā, aḍhillā, and āryā meters, he composed sorathās and caupaïs.] P.  L. Gupta clearly showed that Quṭban did not use a single soraṭhā in his poem. Therefore, the most satisfactory reading should be the one offered in the present translation. Moreover, Ālāol provides an interesting parallel when he identifies the Avadhi poem with the caupāī prosodic form (see supra, Chapter 5, in the section “Ālāol on translation”). Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 300–​1; Kutban, Kutuban kr̥t Miragāvatī: mūl pāṭh, pāṭhāntar, ṭippaṇī, evaṃ śodh, ed. Parmeshwari Lal Gupta (Vārāṇasī: Viśvavidyālāy Prakāśan, 1967), 44–​ 9; S. Sen, Islāmi bāṃlā sāhitya, 19. 47.  Modified translation from Qut̤ban, The Magic Doe:  Qut̤ban Suhravardī’s Mirigāvatī:  A New Translation, ed. Wendy Doniger, trans. Aditya Behl (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 42–​3. 48.  Jyotirīśvara, Varṇa-​ratnākara; Mathureśa, Śabdaratnāvalī; Husaini, A Critical Study of Indo-​Persian Literature, 200–​26; Solomon I. Baevskii, Early Persian Lexicography:  Farhangs of the Eleventh to the Fifteenth Centuries, trans. N. Killian (Leiden, The Netherlands:  Brill, 2007), 60–​116; Dilorom Karomat, “Turki and Hindavi in the World of Persain: Fourteenth-​ and Fifteenth-​Century Dictionaries,” in After Timur Left: Culture and Circulation in Fifteenth-​ Century North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014), 130–​ 65; Stefano Pellò, “Local Lexis? Provincializing Persian in Fifteenth-​ Century North India,” in After Timur Left: Culture and Circulation in Fifteenth-​Century North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014), 166–​85. 49. In Chapter 5 I argue that, in Ālāol’s time and place, languages—​or more precisely language names—​were less relevant than prosodic forms to identify a text and the tradition to which it belonged.

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We should compare the description of Islām Shāh’s court, the expertise of Ḥusayn Shāh Sharqī, and Ālāol’s representations of courtly sociability and connoisseurship. In Ālāol’s poems, the most complete depiction of the ideal patron is found in the figure of Māgan Ṭhākur.50 Among the qualities of the patron as a perfect connoisseur, we recognize the model provided by Quṭban in his praise of Ḥusayn Shāh, with an emphasis on the technical aspects of literature—​prosody and rhetoric—​as well as multilingualism (the poet praises Māgan’s mastery of Arabic, Persian, Arakanese, and Hindustani). We can also turn to the narratives found in Ālāol’s poems and observe the way the Bengali poet wrote about education and intellectual refinement. In Padmāvatī several sections of the poem relate how Ratnasen is tested by Padmāvatī’s father before the latter agrees to give her in marriage. In the Bengali poem, the test consists of a polo game during which Ratnasen must show his dexterity and of a series of questions about various scholarly disciplines. In this passage, the poet further elaborates on the model of the patron as an expert relishing scholarly entertainments [śāstra-​vinodas]. Even closer to the example provided by Quṭbān’s poem is the description of Bahrām Gūr’s intellectual refinement in Saptapaẏkar. The protagonist’s tutor decides that before he proceeds with the coronation ceremony of his successor, he must make sure that Bahrām is endowed with “the qualities of knowledge” [vidyā-​guṇa]: But still a doubt remains in my mind; I will make him king only after witnessing the qualities of his knowledge. Nomān summoned the jewel among kings and set up a gathering attended by skilled pandits. [ . . . ] [Whether] Arabic, Persian, Turkish or Hindavi, of one word he commented the various meanings. In this passage, Ālāol gives us another comprehensive overview of the culture of the time. The comparison with the equivalent passage in Niẓāmī’s Persian text reveals the many updates that Ālāol made in his translation.51

50. See supra, Chapter 5, in the section titled “Defining kavitva.” 51. Niẓāmī Ganjawī, Haft paykar, ed. Dastgirdī and Ḥamīdīyān, 66; ed. Tharwatīyān, 124.

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As in Padmāvatī the enumeration of what constituted the culture of the time is set in the context of a test (it is not the case in Niẓāṃī’s text). Similar to the praise of his patron or of Ratnasen, Bahrām is praised for his ability to assess and comment on texts. The mastering of many languages is also present in Niẓāmī’s text, but the list is updated (Greek, Persian, and Arabic become Arabic, Persian, Turkish, and Hindavi). The line that follows immediately the enumeration of these languages is not there in Niẓāmī’s poem, but it is a close rendering of a line found in Quṭban’s praise of Ḥusayn Shāh Sharqī: eka eka bola ka dasa dasa bhāvā > eka śabde nānā artha kahila bākhāni [of one word he commented the various meanings]. This borrowing illustrates Quṭban’s role as an implicit traditional model for Ālāol, as well as the transmission of a specific understanding of multilingual literacy from the courts of Hindustan and Bihar to Bengal and, eventually, Arakan.

The Avadhi romance:  A new template for love poetry The courtly culture described in Afghan chronicles is best represented in Avadhi romances composed throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. After the fall of Afghan and other regional rules in northern India, it is through Avadhi romances that this courtly culture spread far and wide in the subcontinent.52 Thanks to the works of scholars such as Shyam Manohar Pandey, Momtazur Rahman Tarafdar, Simon Digby, Christopher Shackle, David Mathews, Thomas de Bruijn, Shantanu Phukan, and Aditya Behl, we are now in a good position to build a theoretical framework for the understanding of romance as a cross-​linguistic genre in South Asia. Although Romances—​or ʿishqiyya/​ʿāshiqāna poetry—​in the Persianate world have a history that goes far beyond the Indo-​Afghan period and its subsequent spread, it assumed a unique role in the courtly culture of the time. This new genre included several linguistic and generic registers within a carefully crafted poetical idiom. As part of a larger anxiety to create a shared imaginary domain, it contributed to transcending cultural boundaries to

52.  Tarafdar, Bāṃlā romāṇṭik kāvyer Āoẏādhī-​Hindī paṭabhūmi; Mahmuda Khanam, Madhyayugīya bāṃlā sāhitye hindī suphī kāvyer prabhāv (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Bangla Academy, 2003); Shantanu Phukan, “Through a Persian Prism: Hindi and Padmavat in the Mughal Imagination,” PhD dissertation (University of Chicago, 2000); De Bruijn, Ruby in the Dust, 84–​9.

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build a unified Islamicate courtly culture: Cosmology and human geography were used in such a way as to expand the boundaries of Islamic civilization without compromising its core values. The vernacular genre became an alternative template for the definition of the romance in the South Asian context and clearly influenced the development of its original model, the Persian romance. Moreover, it changed the way classical romances were read in South Asia and provided new models for the shaping of other emerging vernacular traditions of narrative love poetry. In Ālāol’s poems we find references to Avadhi romances that give us a sense of the perception of this corpus as a closed canon, at the center of which we find Jāyasī’s poem. The straightforward translation of specific texts was not the only way Avadhi romances affected the Bengali literary tradition. In their poems, Avadhi authors explicitly reference previous narratives that constituted their traditional background. Similarly, Ālāol’s characters establish explicit parallels between the events of the romance being related and other love stories. Quṭban very frequently uses this technique to highlight the intertext of Mirigāvatī, which contains the Rāmāyaṇa, the story of Nala and Damayantī, and Mādhavānala Kāmakandalā.53 In addition to passing references to these classic love stories, the Bengali author directly mentions Cāndāyan, Mirigāvatī, Madhumālatī, and Citrāvalī as a group or narratives that come to replace previous stories—​somehow confirming Quṭban’s claim about his poem: “When you hear this, you will not like any other.”54 But the impact goes beyond the adaptation of Avadhi romances and the acknowledgement of the existence of a “new” canon for love stories. The new canon would permanently modify the way people read other texts as well. A close contemporary of Ālāol named Sūrdās, whose family was from Punjab but who was born in Awadh, composed an Avadhi version of Nala and Damayantī in 1657.55 In his poem he explains that it was while reading the story of Nala and Damayantī in the Mahābhārata that he intensely felt

53.  Note that each of these stories could have been accessed in Sanskrit, a Middle Indic, or vernacular version. Jāyasī refers to Śakuntalā, Nala-​Damayantī, and Mādhavānala-​ Kāmakandalā. Kutban, Mr̥gāvatī:  Kutaban kr̥t sūfī prem-​ kāvya, ed. Mātāprasād Gupta (Agra: Prāmāṇik Prakāśan, 1968), 172, stanza no. 207; Qutban, The Magic Doe, 117, stanza no. 207; Jāyasī, Padmāvat, 223, stanza no. 200; Jayasi, Padmavati of Malik Muhammad Jaisi, trans. A. G. Shirreff (Calcutta: Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1944), 127, stanza no. 2. 54. Ālāol, “Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 184–​5. 55.  Motichand, “Kavi Sūrdās kr̥t ‘Nal-​Daman’ kāvya,” Nāgarī-​pracāriṇī patrikā 19, no. 2 (1938): 121–​38.

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the effect of love and resolved to compose a poem in Avadhi (pūraba dī bhāṣā—​note the Panjabi form of the genitive), which by then had become the language par excellence of versified love narratives. The previous familiarity with Avadhi romances thus colored his reading of the famous story in the Mahābhārata, prompting him to give this story—​which was already a traditional reference for Quṭban and Jāyasī—​the poetic form it deserved by turning it into a poem in dohā and caupāī in the pūrabī language, that is, an Avadhi romance. Although he does not explicitly say so, the same process was at work a few decades earlier, when Akbar’s poet laureate Fayḍī composed his Persian mathnawī Nal Daman.56 In this case, the poetics of Avadhi romances mediated the transition from the epic story to the genre of the Persian mathnawī-​i ʿāshiqāna. Similarly, when Ālāol was asked to compose his version of the story of Sayf al-​Mulūk based on a Persian dāstān, the modality of the shift from the repertoire of anonymous storytelling was largely dictated by the codes of the Avadhi romance. It is the characteristic combination and the presence of a set of motifs and subpoetical genres that allow us to speak of a code of the Avadhi Sufi romance. Here is the list of the components of this code provided by Aditya Behl (and slightly reworked and commented upon by me):57 1. The awakening of love through a vision, a dream, or a description Description of the beauty from head to toe (Per. sarāpā/​H. śikha-​nakha) 2. The yogī and the bhogī a. Abandonment of his first wife to elope with a princess b. Message of the deserted wife (> H. subgenre of the song of the twelve months) 3. The protagonist returns to his kingdom a. Jealousy between co-​wives (sautana) b. Resolution of the strife between the co-​wives and death on the funeral pyre—​satī (culmination of the poetics of asrār—​fanā) Among the texts constituting the canon of Avadhi Sufi romance, it is certainly Padmāvat (1540) that provides the best example of the treatment of the entire set of generic features. It is for this reason that in 1651 Ālāol 56. Muzaffar Alam and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “Faizi’s Nal-​Daman and Its Long Afterlife,” in Writing the Mughal World: Studies on Culture and Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 204–​48. 57. Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 23.

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chose to open his career as a court poet in Arakan by translating this very Avadhi poem. His rendering of Sayf al-​Mulūk on the order of the same patron, Māgan Ṭhākur, in 1656 also figures among the texts of the first phase of his literary activity, during which the presence of Indo-​Afghan courtly culture is most visible in his works. Although the Bengali poet clearly states that he based his poem on a Persian text that was once read by a young Sufi in a gathering, the recycling of entire passages taken from his translation of Padmāvatī confirms the intertextual connection between the anonymous Persian dāstān and the Avadhi romance that was made in the minds of the poet and his audience.58 Therefore, beyond the stylistic and generic treatment of the story by Ālāol, the poem bears numerous traces of its Avadhi intertext. With this example we get a sense of the function of a text like Padmāvat, not only as a “bestseller” that would be translated and adapted in other languages all over North India, but also as a traditional model that would contribute to redefine the way romances would be read and composed in Hindustan, Bengal, and the Deccan.

Indo-​Afghan literary culture in the Deccan We can observe a clear synchronism between the formation of the Dakani and Bengali Romance traditions.59 When a poem was adapted from the Persian or Avadhi into Dakani in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, a few years later, a Bengali version of the same text would be composed in southeastern Bengal and Arakan.60 The story of Sayf al-​Mulūk is one such example:  The Dakani poet of Golkonda Ghawwāṣī composed a mathnawī based on the Persian dāstān in 1625, and Ālāol started his poem in

58. Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature, 218–​22. 59.  The earliest romance of Dakani literature, Niẓāmī Dakanī’s (aka Bīdarī’s) Kadam Rāo Padam Rāo, shows that one should not see this tradition as merely derivative of already existing northern trends. Unlike Cāndāyan (1379), which was composed about half a century earlier, Niẓāmī’s poem is composed in the epic mutaqārib meter—​which would become the commonest meter for later Dakanī mathnawīs, and not in dohā-​caupāī. Like Cāndāyan, Kadam Rāo Padam Rāo is a landmark in the formation of vernacular Islamicate romances in South Asia. Digby, “Before Timur Came,” 334–​9; Muḥammad Jamāl Sharīf, Dakan mẽ Urdū shāʿirī Walī se pahle, ed. Muḥammad ʻAlī Athar (Hyderabad: Idāra-​yi Adabiyāt-​i Urdū, 2004), 94–​102; Fakhr al-​Dīn Niẓāmī, Mathnawī Niẓāmī Dakkanī, al-​maʿrūf ba mathnawī Kadam Rāʾo Padam Rāʾo (jo 1461 ʿīsvī/​825 hijrī aur 1435 ʿīsvī/​839 hijrī ke darmayān kilkī gaʾī), ed. Jamīl Jālibī (Karachi: Anjuman-​i taraqqī-​yi urdū Pākistān, 1973); David J. Matthews, “Dakanī Language and Literature, 1500–​1700 A.D,” PhD diss. (University of London, 1976), 27–​32. 60. d’Hubert, “Pirates, Poets, and Merchants,” 2014.

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1656. In Ghawwāṣī’s text, the presence of an Avadhi intertext reworking the genre of the dāstān into a romance is not as obvious as in Ālāol’s version, but similar to the Bengali poet, Ghawwāṣī also produced a version of an Avadhi poem: Mainā Satwantī.61 Another case that has been discussed by various scholars is Nuṣratī’s Gulshan-​i ʿishq (1657), which is an implicit rendering of Madhumālatī.62 Although more work is needed to trace the transmission of Avadhi romances southward, there is little doubt that the Avadhi canon also conditioned the way romances were read and composed in the Deccani sultanates in the late sixteenth century and the first half of the seventeenth century CE. As Md. Jamal Shareef pointed out when discussing the Dakani version of Padmāvat by the poet of Abū al-​Ḥasan Quṭb Shāh of Golkonda (r. 1672–​1687), from the second half of the seventeenth century onward Persian was the main medium for the transmission of Indic romances in the later period: This observation also applies in the case of Bengal.63 In an article published in 2002, David Matthews shed light on an early Dakani poem composed in 1590 in Bijapur by ḤHasan Manjū Khaljī “Hans.”64 The poem, which remains unpublished to this day, is titled Pem 61. For an annotated transliteration and English translation of a story inserted in the frame narrative, see David Matthews, “Dakanī Language and Literature, 1500–​1700 A.D.,” PhD dissertation (University of London, 1976), 318–​23. It is noteworthy that, rather than Dāʾūd’s poem, both Ghawwāṣī and Daulat Kājī seem to have been mainly inspired by Sādhan’s work—​in the latter case, the poet explicitly mentions the Avadhi author (ṭheṭa caupāiẏā dohā kahilā sādhane | nā bujhe gohārī bhāṣā kono kono jane || deśī-​bhāṣe kaha tāke pāñcālīra chande | sakale śuniẏā yena bujhaẏa sānande ||). On the other hand, Ālāol’s continuation of Daulat Kājī’s poem implies a will to follow the outline of Cāndāyan’s plot. Daulat Kājī, Lor-​ Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 1995, xvi–​xxvii. 62. Navina Najat Haidar, “Gulshan-​i ʿIshq: Sufi Romance of the Deccan,” in The Visual World of Muslim India: The Art, Culture and Society of the Deccan in the Early Modern Era, ed. Laura Emilia Parodi, vol. 2, LSAHC (London: Tauris, 2014), 295–​318; Peter Gaeffke, “Madhumalati and the Gulshan-​i ʿishq:  A Question of Originality,” in The Banyan Tree:  Essays on Early Literature in New Indo-​Aryan Languages:  Proceedings of the Seventh International Conference on Early Literature in New Indo-​Aryan Languages, Venice, 1997, ed. Mariola. Offredi (New Delhi: Manohar Publishers & Distributors, 2000), 61–​7. 63.  Sharīf, Dakan mẽ Urdū shāʿirī Walī se pahle, 704–​8. For a detailed discussion on the unique manuscript of Ghulām ʿAli’s Dakani Qiṣṣa-​yi Padmāwat kept at the India Office in London, see Naṣīr al-​Dīn Hāshimī, Yūrap mẽ dakhanī makhṭūṭāt (Hyderabad:  Shams al-​ Maṭābi, 1932), 118–​40. 64.  David Matthews, “Pem Nem:  A 16th Century Dakani Manuscript,” in Cairo to Kabul: Afghan and Islamic Studies Presented to Ralph Pinder-​Wilson, ed. Warwick Ball and Leonard Harrow (London: Melisende, 2002), 170–​5; Deborah Hutton, “The Pem Nem: A Sixteenth Century Illustrated Romance From Bijapur,” in Sultans of the South: Arts of India’s Deccan Courts, 1323–​1687, ed. Navina Najat Haidar and Marika Sardar, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Symposia (New  York; New Haven, CT.; London:  Metropolitan Museum of Art; Distributed by Yale University Press, 2011), 44–​63.

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nem [The Rule of Love]. It is not a mathnawī, but a narrative poem using the Indic prosodic forms of the dohā and caupāī. Significantly, the illustrated manuscript was wrongly described in Blumhardt’s catalogue as being a version of the Padmāvat romance. This luxury manuscript from Bijapur testifies to this transitional phase of Dakani literature and the role of Avadhi romances in the shaping of the later Dakani mathnawī tradition. The very title of this poem, The Rule of Love, expresses the idea of the fixation of the code of the romance genre in South Asia after the closing of the Avadhi canon toward the second half of the sixteenth century.

Summary The study of some representative literary products of the Indo-​Afghan period (1451–​1612) shows the genesis of deśī imaginaries in Islamicate northern South Asia and the Deccan. To understand the process that led to the codification of such imaginaries in literary works, I looked at two kinds of texts that were either produced in Indo-​Afghan and Islamicate regional courts or constituted imaginative accounts of the rule of Afghan kings:  Avadhi romances and Persian chronicles. Although composed in different languages and pertaining to different genres, Persian chronicles and Avadhi romances were part of a common multilingual literary culture in which orality and the performative dimension of narratives prevailed (and here I use the term “performative” in the sense of “being meant to be performed,” but also as an effective means to shape individual subjectivities and society). Both corpuses meet in the way they engage with historical referentiality and the recourse to tall tales and romances. These narratives contain widespread motifs drawn from the Indic and Arabic–​ Persian storytelling traditions, but they also share a common concern for a specific kind of exoticism of “near foreignness” that characterizes deśī aesthetics. If we do expect love to stand at the center of romances, its prominent function in the historical discourse of the historians of the Afghan period needs some explanation. Throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, in Indo-​Afghan courts, but also in other regional polities in North India, as well as in the heart of the Persianate world of the time—​the Timurid capital of Herat—​it is almost exclusively through love and the figure of the lover that courtly ethics was cultivated. We have seen the expression of this phenomenon when discussing prema-​rasa in Ālāol’s poetics. For the Bengali poet of Arakan, love becomes a cosmological

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agent without which no creation can take place. This cosmological dimension of love is also central in Indo-​Afghan historiography, not as a cause of social harmony and peace, but as a code of social behavior that ensures the sincerity of both rulers and subjects. Orality, discursive narrativity, and the centrality of the concept of love as a code of social behavior all bring Indo-​Afghan chronicles and Avadhi romances together within a shared domain of reference. Although we should not oversimplify the political ideology of Afghan rulers and see it as a forerunner of “secular” and “democratic” thought, a close reading of the texts shows the multipolar nature of the court, and elite sociability more broadly. I argue that the configuration of the Indo-​ Afghan majlis played a major role in the formation of the canon of Avadhi romance and in the spread of Avadhi poetry in similar settings in polities such as Arakan. Avadhi Sufi poems radically changed the way romance as a genre was perceived in South Asia. After the fall of the Afghan power in North India, both the actual migration of the former elite to Bengal and the Deccan and the transmission of Avadhi romances in those regions contributed to the maintenance of this literary culture throughout the seventeenth century. Avadhi poems illustrate how a vernacular literary idiom could become a supraregional traditional model through the constitution and circulation of a poetic canon that bore within it its own code and conventions. In the following chapter, we further explore the literarization of deśī aesthetics and the process that led another eastern literary idiom, Old Maithili, to become the supraregional language of lyrics from town-​ kingdoms of Nepal to Mrauk U.

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Lyric Poetry and Deśī Aesthetics in Eastern South Asia

Deśī courtly culture, saṅgīta, and multilingualism If Ālāol’s personal trajectory connects Arakan to the Indo-​Afghan milieus of Bengal and the twilight of this indigenizing power in eastern India, the study of his poetics shows a more complex nexus of regional influences. In his article on the indigenization of Muslim power in northern India and the Deccan, Simon Digby used Sufi literature produced in provincial settlements as well as the earliest specimens of vernacular texts written by Muslim authors to demonstrate that a deśī Islamicate culture was already taking shape in the last decades of the fourteenth century. These texts show the interactions between Sufis and courtly culture, sometimes supporting, sometimes opposing each other, but always working in tandem. Historians of South Asia have repeatedly highlighted the role of Sufi institutions in bridging political, trading, and peasant communities.1 It is indeed in Sufi texts that we find some of the earliest specimens of the literarization of the vernacular. This process that led to “the transformation of subjectivities of both conquerors and conquered”2 lasted throughout the late sultanate period, and, although a new set of attitudes was introduced, this transformative process did not stop with the arrival of the Mughals on the political scene.3 1. See Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh, “Introduction,” in After Timur Left: Culture and Circulation in Fifteenth-​Century North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014), 1–​44. 2. Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 4. 3. Digby, “Before Timur Came,” 298–​356; Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 19–​22; Francesca Orsini, “Traces of a Multilingual Word: Hindavi in Persian Texts,” in After Timur Left: Culture and

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So far, I have argued that Avadhi romances and their eventual canonization encapsulated the literary identity of the Indo-​Afghan period and its deśī poetics and aesthetics. Despite the literary innovations of Avadhi poets, the narrative matter, themes, and literary forms used by Muslim authors were largely drawn from existing poetic traditions—​a fact that Avadhi poets themselves repeatedly acknowledged.4 From the perspective of the history of literary practices, Avadhi romances partake of a larger phenomenon of the vernacularization of South Asian courtly culture. Therefore Avadhi romances cannot be understood in isolation from other manifestations of deśī aesthetics observable in the courtly cultures of the time. A striking example is the contemporary literary tradition that developed from Mithila, in which Vidyāpati played such a major role. Both literary domains—​the Islamicate Avadhi romances and the Maithili-​inflected vernacular lyrics—​would eventually converge in Arakan’s courtly milieu in Daulat Kājī’s and Ālāol’s poetry. In the following pages, I demonstrate how other trends within the regionalization of literary practices, which equally involved multilingual literacy, were formed in Mithila and spread throughout the courts of Nepal, Assam, Bengal, and Arakan. It would be impossible to survey the entire scope of the vernacular and multilingual literary production of this period in eastern South Asia without the prior identification of the key concepts and traditional models that fostered the production and conditioned the circulation of texts. Therefore I provide a selective account of multilingual literacy in vernacular settings. Now that we have explored the role of historical imaginaries and narratives in the making of vernacular courtly poetry, I want to look at lyrics and the conceptual domain of lyrical arts [saṅgīta] in the formation of connected deśī literary traditions in eastern South Asia.

Vidyāpati and the deprofessionalization of literacy Beyond the clearly identifiable historical figure, it might be best to consider Vidyāpati (ca. 1370–​1460) as a persona embodying linguistic and

Circulation in Fifteenth-​Century North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014), 403–​36. 4.  Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Kīrtilatā aur Avahaṭṭha bhāṣā, ed. Śivaprasād Siṃh, 3rd ed. (Nayī Dillī: Vāṇī Prakāśan, 1988), 228. For references, see the discussion on Quṭban in the previous chapter.

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stylistic features that became central to the creation of a set of interlinked vernacular lyric traditions from Nepal to Arakan between the mid-​fifteenth and late seventeenth centuries. As Sukumar Sen rightly showed as early as 1947, the formation of the eastern poetic tradition and its corollary textual community might best be theorized as “Vidyāpati’s poetic gathering” [Vidyāpati-​goṣṭhī]. I  therefore briefly review the role of the figure of Vidyāpati in the Eastern poetic tradition and the connection among his works, the literarization of vernacular poetry, and lyrical arts. The piecing together in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries of what is now seen as the oeuvre of a single court pandit of Mithila known through his royal title Vidyāpati [The Master of Knowledge] brought to light a remarkable multilingual author who benefited from the support of several members of the courtly milieu of a regional brahmanical kingdom. Some fifteen works are attributed to him. These range from vernacular lyrics—​which made him famous far beyond the elite society of Mithila—​to dramas, historical poems, and religious compendia on inheritance or rituals. The languages that he used in his works are Sanskrit, Prakrit, Avahattha (i.e., Apabhramsha), and the literary register of his spoken vernacular, Old Maithili. In at least one of his works, Vidyāpati provided a comment on the nature of the literary languages of the time. This is a famous passage of his historical poem Kīrtilatā, which depicts the military campaigns of Kīrtisiṃha and the request to the sultan of Jaunpur, Ibrāhīm Sharqī (1401–​1440) to help him recover the throne of Mithila. In the prologue of the text, Vidyāpati says:5 What shall I explain? Whom can I convince? How could I pour refreshing delight in a dry heart? If my language is delightful, he who understands will praise it. The bee savors the flowers’ nectar, and so does the clever man [savor] the art of poetry. The honest man has his mind fixed on others’ well-​being; the ill-​spirited’s reputation is sullied.

5.  On the contribution of the Jaunpur sultanate, and especially Quṭban’s patron Ḥusayn Shāh Sharqī, to the development of classical music in northern South Asia, see Katherine Butler Brown, “The Origins and Development of Khayal,” in Hindustani Music: Thirteenth to Twentieth Centuries, ed. Françoise “Nalini” Delvoye et  al. (New Delhi:  Manohar, 2010), 159–​94.

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Scholars penetrate the Sanskrit language; who can reach the delights of Prakrit? The regional language is sweet to all, therefore do I speak in such Avahattha.6 This passage has been quoted and translated by many scholars, from the rediscovery of the text by Haraprasad Shastri (1853–​1931) up to the most recent works on Mithila and the history of Prakrit language. The translations diverge, and so consequently does the interpretation of Vidyāpati’s statement.7 The first lines of this quote point to the problematic issue surrounding the recourse to such a peculiar language for a court poem. I suggest reading this passage as a statement about what I would term the “deprofessionalization of literacy” and as a claim regarding the primacy of aesthetics over scholasticism in courtly textual practices. First, the poet acknowledges the fact that using regionally inflected Avahattha is unusual in a courtly context. Being a pandit himself, he refrains from discarding Sanskrit and rather emphasizes the expertise required to appreciate a poetic work composed in this language. Prakrit had by then become obsolete beyond occasional use in dramas—​and even in this case the text was accompanied by a gloss in Sanskrit.8 The third part of this statement has to do with the accessibility of the regional language, 6. kā parabodhaño kavaṇa manāvaño: kimi nīrasa-​mane rasa lae lāvaño | jaï surasā hosaï mama bhāsā: jo bujjhiha so kariha pasaṃsā ||1.11|| mahuara bujjhaï kusuma-​rasa, kavva-​kalāü chailla | sajjana para-​ũaāra maṇa dujjaṇa nāma mailla ||1.12|| sakkaya-​vāṇi buha-​aṇa bhāvaï, pāũa-​rasa ko mamma na pāvaï | desila vaẏanā saba-​jana-​miṭṭhā, teṃ taisana jaṃpaño avahaṭṭhā ||1.13|| Vidyāpati Ṭhākura, Kīrtilatā aur Avahaṭṭha bhāṣā, 228. 7. Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Kīrttilatā, ed. Haraprasād Śāstrī (Calcutta: Hr̥ṣīkeś Sirij, 1331), Bengali trans., 2–​3; English trans., 3; Herman Tieken, “The Process of Vernacularization in South Asia,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 51, no. 2 (2008): 358; Pankaj Kumar Jha, “Reading Vidyapati:  Language, Literature and Cultural Values in Fifteenth Century North Bihar,” PhD dissertation (Unversity of Delhi, 2015), 159–​60; Andrew Ollett, “Language of the Snakes: Prakrit, Sanskrit, and the Language Order of Premodern India,” PhD diss. (Columbia University, 2016), 258. The Sanskrit chāyā given in a manuscript copied in Cambay in 1615 provides the following reading of this passage: sakkaa ityādi—​saṃskr̥tavāṇi budha-​jano bhāvayati, prākr̥ta-​rasaṃ ko’pi na prāpnoti | deśīya-​vacanaṃ sarvajana-​miṣṭaṃ, tena tādr̥śaṃ jalpāmi prākr̥tam || Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Kīrtilatā aur Avahaṭṭha bhāṣā, 239. Most translators equated the “regional language” with Avahattha, but the syntax clearly shows that it is not what Vidyāpati does. Here taisana (Skt. tādr̥śam) qualifies avahaṭṭhā (Skt. apabhraṣṭam). Therefore interpretations such as those provided by H. P. Shatri or McGregor are inaccurate and the passage must be translated as “I speak in such Avahattha.” For a grammatical analysis that takes into account the various readings of this passage, see Vidyāpati Ṭhākura, Kīrttilatā, ed. Vīrendra Śrīvāstava (Patna: Bihāra-​Rāṣṭrabhāṣā-​Pariṣad, 1983), 10. 8. Ollett, “Language of the Snakes,” 245–​74.

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but it would be a mistake to consider that Vidyāpati identified Avahattha with the vernacular. The syntax of the last section of the stanza undoubtedly shows that the Maithila poet had recourse to a regionally inflected Avahattha—​understood as a synonym of Apabhramsha, or the last stage of linguistic “degradation” on the Sanskritic paradigm: teṃ taisana jaṃpaño avahaṭṭhā, “therefore do I speak in such Avahattha.” The language used by Vidyāpati in fact ventured beyond the scope of the Sanskritic grammatical episteme, containing many features characteristic of New Indo-​Aryan languages (i.e., desila vaẏanā, “regional language” proper). Apabhramsha constitutes the very last linguistic stage that was described in Sanskrit using the method of traditional grammars. As such, it is characterized by a “breaking down” (one literal meaning of apabhraṃśa) of the linguistic homogeneity characteristic of Sanskrit and to a great extent Prakrit. But the presence of grammatical forms (case endings, postpositions, etc.) characteristic of the regional language is not the only aspect of Vidyāpati’s Avahattha that departed from linguistic homogeneity. The use of many tatsama words (i.e., Sanskrit loanwords) and a high amount of Perso-​Arabic lexical items marked the creation of a new literary idiom. Once again, it is the convergence of newness and familiarity that seemed to characterize the deśī poetics at the linguistic level.9 Rather than protolinguistic nationalism or the affective bond of the author and his audience with the local language, it is the will to carve out a new, deprofessionalized space for literacy that fostered the use of regionally inflected literary idioms. The path to such an opening of courtly literacy had been inaugurated a generation earlier by Jyotirīśvara who, in addition to his Sanskrit treatise on erotics Pañcasāyaka [The Five-​Arrowed God of Love] and his farcical play Dhūrtasamāgama [A Rogues’ Gathering], left a unique work of lexicography in Old Maithili titled Varṇaratnākara [The Jewel-​Mine of Poetic Conventions]. This text provides lists of items poets may use in their descriptions of various scenes. Scholars have seen in the Varṇartnākara the handbook used by Vidyāpati to compose his poems, and more recently Behl underlined the ways in which one could use such a work to study the poetics of Avadhi romances.10 The work hardly

9.  For a clear and synthetic overview of Vidyāpati’s language in Kīrtilatā, see Baburam Saksena, “The Language of the Kīrtilatā,” in Indian Linguistics (Journal of the Linguistic Society of India) Volumes 5 to 8 (1935–​1944) (Poona: Linguistic Society of India, 1965), 36–​59. 10. On the meaning of the term varṇa in the title Varṇaratnākara, S. K. Chatterji made the following observation: “Varṇa of course does not mean ‘description’. But there is one sense

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inaugurated a genre in eastern India, and I am not aware of the existence of a vernacular lexical tradition in either Bengal or Assam in premodern times. This rechérché work produced few imitators; yet remarkably, Ālāol composed a similar text, confirming the continuation of this courtly effort to systematize vernacular poetics in the Arakanese context.11 The other works attributed to Vidyāpati all seem to contribute in different ways to this opening up of literacy beyond the expertise of pandits. For instance, his Maithili lyrics rely on a deep familiarity with śāstric categories and rhetoric in a way that is very similar to that of Avadhi romances. The recourse to deśī language is but one aspect of his poetics: It is not disconnected from or even opposed to Sanskrit literary culture, but rather formed a further elaboration on its principles in a different mode and for a nonspecialist audience. The opening up of literacy and connoisseurship is unambiguously mentioned in the stanzas that close Kīrtilatā’s Sanskrit prologue: In the Kali age, poems are in every house, there’s an audience for it in every town, in every region there is a connoisseur, but a generous man is hard to find.

of it found in medieval Sanskrit which would seem to apply in this case. Among other things, varṇa means, according to hemacandra, Halâyudha and Mallinātha (cf. Böhtlingk and Roth’s St. Petersburg Lexicon), gīta-​krama, i.e., ‘the order or arrangement of a song or a poem.’ The work, it thus appears, is not so much an artistic composition in itself as a collection of clichés, ready-​made material, to be utilized in an artistic composition.” Jyotirīśvara, Varṇa-​ratnākara, xxi–​xxii. Regarding the importance of this work for the study of the poetics of eastern literary traditions, see Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic, 84–​5. 11. There is very little chance, if at all, that Ālāol was aware of the existence of the Varṇaratnākara, which came down to us in a unique manuscript. The common model for both Jyotirīśvara and Ālāol is of course Sanskrit lexicography. The fragmentary manuscript containing Ālāol’s lexicon is attributed to Nurudīn in the catalogue of Abdul Karim’s collection. The colophon seems to indicate that Nuruddīn is the copyist rather than the author of the lexicon. Here is the physical description of the manuscript given in the catalogue: “Lexicon composed in Sanskrit (sic); underwent changes at the hands of the copyist; includes instructive Bengali poem. Fairly recent. Bad handwriting. Written on a loose single sheet of paper capable of being folded into 12 leaves.” The lexicon is not in Sanskrit, but each word ends with an anusvāra—​probably to identify more clearly the boundaries of each word in a manuscript in continuous writing (the present manuscript is recent and the copyist separated the words). But it is also the case that the use of these anusvāra hints at the Sanskrit episteme of the lexicographical method itself (i.e., giving lists of semantically related terms). We may compare it with the anusvāra-​ending words in Daulat Kājī’s poem subsequently discussed. On the verso, at the end of section 18 we find the line, śrī ālāola bhāna | [The noble Ālāol says]. At the bottom of the verso, I can read the following scribal colophon: ei śaba śei jāne paṇḍita śamaśta || ālāole raciāce jñāna kari mone | kāhāra kudrata āce [?]‌śāsa bihane || lekhīla nuruddine bhāvi karatāra [|] śobāra carane mora śālāma hājāra || See Jyotirīśvara, Varṇa-​ratnākara, 10–​11; Karim, A Descriptive Catalogue of Bengali Manuscripts, 3–​4, ms. no. 4.

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May the poet Vidyāpati compose a poem fit for king Kīrtisiṃha, who listens to poetry and understands it; a generous man and a poet himself.12 Although Vidyāpati’s Puruṣaparīkṣā was composed in Sanskrit, it presents itself as a text written for the inner part of the court [antaḥpura], for royal women and young princes, hardly the traditional audience for a work in that language:13 Without delay, on king Śivasiṃha’s order the poet Vidyāpati, free from care, narrates stories meant to teach proper conduct to children of immature understanding and to delight urbane women fond of Love’s artful games.14 Similarly the unusual format of his signature line, which includes both his patron [nāyaka] and his wife [the nāyikā], point to the space of the antaḥpura and the cultivation of literacy beyond expert connoisseurship.15 The Puruṣaparīkṣā may be categorized in the kathā genre of Sanskrit literature and as an experimental reworking of the generic features of the Pañcatantra tradition. The innovative part resides in its recourse to human rather than to animal characters and to its notable historical referentiality—​also present in Kīrtilatā. The text’s clear agenda and focus on self-​fashioning along the lines

12. gehe gehe kalau kāvyaṃ śrotā tasya pure pure | deśe deśe rasa-​jñātā dātā jagati durlabhaḥ ||4|| śrotur jñātur vadānyasya kīrtisiṃha-​mahīpateḥ | karotu kavituḥ kāvyaṃ bhavyaṃ vidyāpatiḥ kaviḥ ||5|| Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Kīrtilatā aur Avahaṭṭha bhāṣā, 223. 13. Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Puruṣaparīkṣā; The Test of a Man, Being the Purusha-​Parîkshâ of Vidyâpati Ṭhakkura., trans. George Abraham Grierson (London: The Royal Asiatic Society, 1935). 14.  śiśūnāṃ siddhy-​arthaṃ naya-​pariciter nūtana-​dhiyāṃ, mude paura-​ strīṇāṃ manasija-​ kalā-​kautuka-​juṣām | nideśān niśśaṅkaṃ sapadi śivasiṃhasya nr̥pateḥ, kathānāṃ prastāvaṃ viracayati vidyāpati-​kaviḥ || Vidyāpati Ṭhākura, Puruṣaparīkṣā, 39:3. I  translate kathānāṃ prastāvam viracayati simply as “narrates stories” rather than “composes the preface of stories” because here prastāva seems more related to the performance of a narrative and less to the specific section of a text that is the prologue (Skt. prastāvanā). See the use of patthāva (< Skt. prasthāva) in the quote from Kīrtilatā subsequently given that confirms this interpretation. Ālāol also uses the term prasaṅga in a similar way, that is, as a narrative that may become the starting point of further discussions in the gathering. See also my comments on the term upamā, supra, Chapter 5. 15. For instance, Sukumar Sen observed that Bengali poets never associated the name of the patron’s wife in the signature line (bhaṇitā). Sukumar Sen, Vidyāpati-​goṣṭhī (Bardhaman, India: Sāhitya Sabhā, 1947), 34.

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of the then-​prevalent notions of masculinity and, generally speaking, the fostering of a proper courtly character also distinguish it.16 The key term that encapsulates Vidyāpati’s ideal of male courtliness is certainly supuruṣa. The term occurs elsewhere in his multilingual oeuvre as supurisa in Avahattha and supurukha in Old Maihtili.17 It translates rather well as the seventeenth-​ century French honnête homme, conveying notions of sincerity, loyalty, courage, and intellectual refinement. It is also used in the prologue of Kīrtilatā to introduce the purpose of narrating the historical account: “I will tell the story of a supurisa, the telling of which leads to meritorious deeds.”18 The idea of deprofessionalization here also appears in the contrast between the scholar—​the buha-​ana and the chailla or “clever man,” the latter being another meaning of supuruṣa/​supurukha in Vidyāpati’s Maithili lyrics such as this one: aṅgane āoba yaba rasiẏā | When my playful lover will come to the courtyard, I will turn away, slightly smiling. 1 Out of excitement my lover will seize the hem of my garment. I will go and he will strive. 2 When, insistent, he will grab my bodice, I will stop his hand with mine, and throw crooked glances with half-​ open eyes. 3 When the lover will beg for lovemaking, then, turning my face around, smiling, I will say “No . . ..” 4 The supurukha is naturally a bee. Caressing the other’s face, we’ll drink from each other’s lips. 5 At that moment, I’ll suddenly lose consciousness. Blessed woman, Vidyāpati says this as he meditates on you.196

16. For a detailed discussion on Puruṣaparīkṣā and the values and anthropological categories illustrated in this work, see Jha, “Reading Vidyapati,” 111–​55. 17. In his Puruṣaparīkṣā, Vidyāpati sums up his definition of the supuruṣa in the following stanza: vīraḥ sudhīḥ savidyaś ca puruṣaḥ puruṣārthavān | tad-​anye puruṣākārāḥ paśavaḥ puccha-​ varjitāḥ ||9 [The accomplished man is brave, intelligent, cultivated; those who differ from him are tailless beasts with a man’s shape.] Vidyāpati Ṭhākura, Puruṣaparīkṣā, 39:4. 18.  supurisa-​kahanīṃ hauṃ kahaũ jasu patthāve punna || Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Kīrtilatā aur Avahaṭṭha bhāṣā, 231. 19.  Rādhāmohana Ṭhākura, Śrīpadāmr̥tasamudra, ed. Uma Ray (Calcutta:  Kalikātā Viśvavidyālaẏ, 1391), 373–​4, song no. 539. The pada is also present in the following anthologies: Kṣaṇadāgītacintāmaṇi (song no. 79), Padakalpataru (song no. 1974).

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The supurukha combines two figures from earlier Sanskrit literature: the valiant warrior and the nāgaraka or the urbane man-​about-​town. When assessing the influence of Vidyāpati’s model on subsequent lyric traditions, it does not suffice to trace the linguistic features and images; but one must also pay attention to what became of such terminology and ideals of courtly behavior. It is primarily through the diffusion of his lyrics that Vidyāpati became a major point of reference for later poets and their audiences. The recourse to regionally inflected forms of Old Maithili in all the courtly centers of eastern South Asia—​in Nepal, Assam, Bengal, Orissa, and Arakan—​can be safely attributed to the success of his songs. In comparison, the impact of his other works in Sanskrit and Avahattha seem to have been rather circumscribed to either a regional audience or, in the case of Kīrtilatā, to a transregional specialized readership interested in Apbhraṃśa literary texts.20 This phenomenon only shows that the geographical spread of a text in this period did not depend on the language in which it was written, and that the use of “regional language” [deśī-​bhāṣā] did not preclude a very wide diffusion. In this sense, the fate of Vidyāpati’s Maithili lyrics is similar to that of Avadhi romances: Both generated supraregional vernacular literary traditions.

Singing love after Vidyāpati:  Vernacular lyrics in eastern South Asia The language formed from the cultivation of Vidyāpati’s Maithili model was later called Brajabuli in Bengal or Brajawali in Assam.21 The following poem is by the kāyastha officer of the Gajapati ruler of Orissa, Rāmānanda Rāẏa. He was a Sanskrit dramaturge and poet known for his conversion to Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism after his encounter with Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Caitanya (d. 1534).

20. I am here referring to the Sanskrit chāyā composed in Gujarat in the seventeenth century (see supra). Puruṣaparīkṣā seems to have crossed regional boundaries in the early colonial period, when it was translated first into Bengali and then into English, and figured on the curriculum of educational institutions. See D. Ali, Courtly Culture and Political Life, 1, 3. 21.  S.  Sen, A History of Brajabuli Literature; Sukumar Sen, “Barajabulir Kāhinī,” in Śrī Sukumar Sen Prabandha Saṃkalan, ed. Subhdra Kumar Sen and Sunanda Kumar Sen (Kolkata: Ānanda, 2014), 506–​21; William L. Smith, “Brajabuli, Vrajāvalī and Maithili,” in Sauhṛdyamaṅgalam: Studies in Honour of Siegfried Lienhard on His 70th Birthday, ed. Mirja Juntunen, William L. Smith, and Carl Suneson (Stockholm:  The Association of Oriental Studies, 1995), 311–​41.

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This song is presented by literary historians as one of the first Brajabuli poems ever composed: pahilahĩ rāga naẏana-​bhaṅga bhela | At first, love arose from a crooked glance. Day after day it grew, and still didn’t come to an end. 1 He wasn’t my husband—​neither was I his wife. I know that Love ground our two hearts together. 2 O Friend, all these tales of love must you tell to Kānu, lest you forget. (Refrain) 3 22 I didn’t seek a messenger, nor did I seek any other. In our reunion, between the two of us stood Five-​Arrowed Love. 4 Now he’s upset, and you’ve become the messenger; Such is the way of a supurukha.5 The poet Rāmānanda Rāẏa says: [Rādhā’s] pride is kindled by the king’s anger ⁞Honor is increased by king [Pratāpa-​]rudra.236 This poem displays some of what would become the most recognizable Brajabuli features used by poets in Bengal: the term pahilahĩ [at first] with its locative ending in -​hĩ/​-​hi (which is actually an Apabhramsha case ending);24 the third person of the simple past tense bhela (literally “became”) that is often used in otherwise entirely Bengali passages to give a Brajabuli flavor to a gīta or a lyrical section in tripadī; the recourse to (often irregular) Sanskrit compounds, like naẏana-​bhaṅga [the curve of a glance] or vardhana-​rudra-​narādhipa-​māna [the increase of honor by king Rudra];25

22. This line could also be translated as, “You did not seek a messenger, nor did you seek any other.” The reading given here follows the interpretation suggested by the variants for the verb khoja = khojalũ and khojanu found in the Padakalpataru (song no. 576). 23. The signature line is not given in the Caitanyacaritāmr̥ta but it is found in the Padakalpataru and the Padāmr̥tasamudra. Kr̥ṣṇadās Kavirāj, Śrīrī-​Caitanyacaritāmr̥ta, ed. Sukumar Sen and Tarapad Mukhopadhyay (Kolakata, India: Ānanda Pābliśārs, 1397), 183; Caitanya Caritāmṛta of Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja, trans. Edward C. Dimock, ed. Tony K. Stewart (Cambridge, MA; London:  Harvard University Press, 1999), 451; Vaiṣṇavdās, Śrī Śrī Padakalpataru, 382–​3, song no. 576; Rādhāmohana Ṭhākura, Śrīpadāmr̥tasamudra, 209–​10, song no. 240. 24. For the use of the locative in -​hi in Vidyāpati’s Kīrtilatā, see Saksena, “The Language of the Kīrtilatā,” 41. 25. In addition to the size of the compound, one should also note the fact that, from the point of view of Sanskrit grammar, it is not correct. To make sense of it, the commentator Rādhāmohana Ṭhākur had to turn the noun of action vardhana [increase] into an

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the conspicuous absence of case endings that blurs the syntactical relations and forces the audience to rely on its knowledge of tropes and conventional scenes to supply what the elliptical morphology hides; finally the evocation of the supurukha that undeniably creates a connection between Rāmānanda’s poem and Vidyāpati’s oeuvre.26 Sukumar Sen offered a theory to explain how Vidyāpati’s poems became almost organically integrated to the language of love lyrics in Bengal. It would be through performance, rather than the transmission of manuscripts, and the reuse of the most salient parts of the gītas, such as the recurring stanza or dhruvaka/​dhuẏā, as the basis of new compositions that the body of songs attributed to Vidyāpati—​and so Brajabuli as a poetic idiom—​would have grown through time. Whatever the actual extent of such a practice and its consequence on the development of Brajabuli literature as a whole, this theory implies a creative engagement with a traditional model. This closely agrees with Ālāol’s approach to translation and the centrality of the experience of the poetic text as a trigger for inspiration.27 The poets of Arakan, starting with Daulat Kājī, were also adepts of the Brajabuli poetic style.28 Daulat Kājī frequently used Brajabuli pronouns, verbs, and case endings both in gītas and in narrative sections written in paẏār. Here is an example of a Brajabuli song with pseudo-​Sanskrit inflections composed by Daulat Kājī: āẏa dhāi kujanī : ki moka śunāosi : veda-​ukati nahe pāṭhaṃ | Wicked nurse, what are you telling me;

adjectival form (vardhiṣṇu, vardhita):  vardhanaḥ vardhinṣṇuḥ rudra-​guṇena narādhipasyeva māna iti gīta-​ kartrānumitam | pakṣe śrīpratāpa-​rudra-​mahārājena vardhita-​mānaḥ kavir bhaṇati | Actually, the correct interpretation does not necessitate modifying the function of vardhana, but simply to consider that it is an irregular tat-​puruṣa: vardhana-​rudra-​ narādhipa-​māna  =  rudra-​narādhipa-​māna-​vardhana, literally “the increase of honor by king Rudra.” On such irregularities in Apabhramsha and Brajabuli, see Abdularahamāna, Sandeśarāsaka: Saṃskr̥ta-​ṭippanaka-​avacūrikādi sameta Apabhrāṃśa mūlagrantha tathā Āṅgla-​ bhāṣānuvāda-​vistr̥ta prastāvanā-​ṭippaṇī-​śabdakoṣādi samanvita, ed. Jinavijaya and Harivallabh Chunilal Bhayani (Bombay: Bhāratīya Vidyā Bhavana, 1945), 41–​2 [§75], and Sukumar Sen, Bhāṣār itivr̥tta, (Calcutta: Ānanda Pābliśārs, 1993), 298. 26.  For an overview of Brajabuli grammar, see S.  Sen, Bhāṣār itivr̥tta, 293–​99; Smith, “Brajabuli, Vrajāvalī and Maithili.” 27. S. Sen, Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās, 340–​1; d’Hubert, “ ‘Bhāṅgiẏā kahile tāhe āche bahurasa,’ ” 59–​76. 28. Satyendranath Ghoshal, Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature, 27–​34, 58.

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these are not the words read out from the Vedas! Who could change, even with a thousand stratagems, the decree that Fate wrote on one’s forehead? 1 Nurse, no, don’t speak inappropriately! You don’t care for proper conduct, and, leaving all considerations of fidelity, you harm my love for Lor. 2 My dear lover fosters virtues, his appearance, face and garments are sweet; abandoning such sweetness, you serve me poison; nurse, you’d rather give me good advice. 3 You are such a sinner and teach me sins; you subvert rightful behavior. Nurse, you corrupt and hurt, why busy yourself with me? You harm my filial pride. 4 Miserable, malicious go-​between, you depart from the messenger’s duty; you’d better think of my welfare. So says Daulat Kājī with in his heart the charitable, the God of Love, the noble Āśraph Khān.295 Daulat Kājī possessed a very clear sense of the linguistic and stylistic features of Brajabuli. Most verb and case endings, as well as pronouns and phonological features of his vocabulary, are directly derived from Vidyāpati. Note his very peculiar use of Sanskrit-​sounding endings with the anusvāra at the rhyme and the more conventional recourse to nominal compounds. The regional language appears in the use of some Bengali verb and case endings. All these linguistic and stylistic features are part of the experimental world of Brajabuli and its open grammatical episteme, which brought together Sanskrit, Prakrit, Apabhramsha, and regional languages. This poem perfectly shows the poetics of variety of deśī aesthetics and illustrates the exotic depiction of Hinduẏānī culture through the mention of the Vedas in the opening stanza, with the word pāṭhaṃ (literally “reading,

29. I follow S. N. Ghoshal’s reading of the text. See “Kavi Daulat Kājīr Satī Maẏnā o Lor-​ Candrānī,” in Sāhitya Prakāśikā, ed. Prabodhcandra Bāgcī, vol. 1 (Santiniketan: Vidyābhavan, Viśvabhāratī, 1955), 18–​19, 82–​83. See also Daulat Kājī, Lor-​Candrāṇī o Satī-​Maẏnā, 112. S. Ghoshal provides an English translation and comments on this pada in his Beginning of Secular Romance in Bengali Literature, 28–​9.

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recitation, text”) that triggers the use of Sanskrit-​sounding rhymes in the rest of the poem. Writing in Brajabuli was not only a way to reproduce Vidyāpati’s model, it was also a mode of poetic composition that matched the experimental nature of deśī aesthetics. Ālāol similarly used Brajabuli-​inflected diction in various parts of his oeuvre, while also composing straightforward “responses.” Here is, for instance, a pada bearing Vidyāpati’s name found in the Padakalpataru [The Wishing Tree of Lyrics]: geli kāmini : gajahu gāminī : bihasi palaṭi nehāri | The desirous woman whose gait is like an elephant’s went, laughing and looking back. Flower-​Weaponed Love became a magician and the excellent woman, a sorceress. 1 She clasped her two arms in an embrace around a well formed face, as if Love worshipped the autumn moon with a garland of champa.2 She hastily covered her bosom with her garment and showed half a breast;30 as if the autumn cloud overcome by the winds had revealed Mount Meru. 3 Seeing her again would revive me, put an end to separation. The red lac on her feet is fire to my heart, it burns my entire body. 4 Vidyāpati says, “Listen young woman, [my] heart is restless. This charming woman, an outstanding jewel of qualities, when will she meet me again?”315

30. Literally “saw half a breast” [ādha-​paẏodhara heru]. 31.  Vaiṣṇavdās, Śrī Śrī Padakalpataru, 42–​3, song no.  4.57. See also the critical edition and Hindi translation of this pada in Vidyāpati Ṭhākura, Vidyāpati-​padāvalī (tirsrā bhāg) [baṃgāl meṃ upalabdha Vidyāpati ke padoṃ kā saṃgraha], vol. 3, 49–​51, song no.  33. The version given by Mitra and Majumdar has a different bhaṇitā that turns the pada into a devotional poem: bhana vidyāpati: sunahu jadupati: cita thira nahi hoẏa | se je ramani: parama guṇamai: punu kie milaba toẏa || [Vidyāpati says: “Listen Lord of the Yadus (i.e. Kr̥ṣṇa), my heart is restless. This lovely woman, the purest jewel of qualities, when will she meet you again?] Vidyāpati Ṭhākur, Vidyāpatir padāvalī, 395, song no. 622.

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This song describes the premise of love after the nāyaka saw the beloved for the first time [pūrva-​rāga]. The poet opens with the conventional image of the girl walking away from the lover, discretely looking back and smiling, inviting him to another, secret meeting at which they will be able to freely show their love to each other. Then the poet begins a sequence of images showing the supernatural power of the beauty as a sorceress and draws two poetical fancies [utprekṣā] that give a nice symmetry to the antarā sections of the gīta (stanzas 3 and 4). The fourth stanza spells out the consequence of this supernatural vision: the torment of separation. In the first two lines, the lover longs for the reunion with the beauty, hoping that it would procure him some relief. But the second half of the stanza, in a clever antithetical move, brings him back to the unruliness of Love’s game: the presence of the beloved will only cause more suffering, “only poison can cure poison” [viṣasya viṣam auṣadhaṃ].32 Here Vidyāpati displays a masterful use of the suggested rejection of a previous statement to express a more significant idea:  an instance of the classical figure of speech ākṣepa [rejection]. In the signature line, Vidyāpati seems to address a female messenger [dūtī] and to share his eagerness to meet again with his beloved. Ālāol’s variation on Vidyāpati’s poem agrees with Sukumar Sen’s theory about the diffusion of the Maithili poet’s style and language. Indeed Ālāol uses one stanza from Vidyāpati’s text as the basis of his song and then departs from its model to match the new—​and this time explicit—​ narrative context of the poem.33 This gīta is inserted in the passage describing the preparation of the wedding of Ratnasen and Padmāvatī: calila kāminī : gajendra-​gāminī : khañjana-​gañjana śobhitā | The desirous woman whose gait is like the king of elephants’ went. Resplendent, she humbles the wagtail. Bells resonate, she moves slowly, the jingling anklets sound sweetly. 1 She charms Love’s heart with the curve of her eyebrows. Crooked locks, flowered garments, the vermillion and sandalwood are the moon and sun. 2 32. This Sanskrit saying is given in S. C. Ray’s comments on the poem in the Padakalpataru. See reference in previous note. 33.  The stanza is the ārambha that may have fulfilled the function of dhruvaka/​dhuẏā in this song.

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A row of stars in a deep night, she’s adorned with bāndhuli flowers and jewels. A beautiful forehead, a young moon, her teeth [bathe] her lips in light. 3 A red tongue, a delightful speech, she swoons because of the torments of separation. A pair of breasts, golden bowls; this is why her bosom shines. 4 The master Māgan, buyer of qualities, rejoices people in the world. Ālāol says, “Singing of this beautiful young woman humbles the celestial dancers.”345 The first line is undoubtedly taken from Vidyāpati’s song. This time, the language does not show clear signs of Brajabuli inflections, except perhaps the artificial -​itā ending at the rhyme that, in a way comparable to the anusvāra endings of Daulat Kājī’s poem, bestows a Sanskrit phonic coloration to the vernacular text. While hinting at his traditional Maithili model, Ālāol produced a poem suited to his own Sanskritized Bengali diction. Besides the first line, the reference to “the torment of separation” in the fourth stanza also connects Ālāol’s song to its model. This line creates a contrast with the narrative context depicting the preparation of the protagonists’ wedding ceremony that is not fit for viraha; its purpose is therefore to hint at the intertextual connection. Finally, in both cases the description ends with her breasts—​Mount Meru uncovered of its clouds by the wind for Vidyāpati, two golden bowls lending luster to the bride’s complexion in Ālāol’s text. There is no virtuoso display of figures of speech in Ālāol’s response, he gives some conventional metaphors and the only noticeable rhetorical elaboration may be found in the figure of causality [kāvyaliṅga] in the fourth stanza: “A pair of breasts, golden bowls; this is why her bosom shines.” Ālāol used Vidyāpati’s poems as a source for lexical items and images that contrast with the Middle Bengali literary idiom that he otherwise uses in narrative sections. Vidyāpati’s literary idiom thus fosters the aesthetic of diversity of Ālāol’s pā̃cālīs. Another aspect of the recourse to the Maithili poet’s songs is the active role of intertextuality in

34. Ālāol, Padmāvatī, 2002, vol. 2, 180. I follow the readings of the manuscript rather the editor’s conjectured text. See also “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 66–​7.

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Ālāol’s poetics: In this particular case a familiarity with Vidyāpati’s poem was required for appreciating the presence of viraha in the song.35 The exact process through which Vidyāpati’s lyrics spread throughout eastern South Asia and led to the crafting of a new poetic idiom largely remains unexplained. What can be observed though, are the conceptual changes that made the formation of such literary practices possible. As should become clear in the following sections, one must acknowledge the fact that the recourse to a regionally inflected poetic idiom did not imply any opposition to the Sanskrit epistemic frame, but rather its opening up through the recourse to Apabhramsha. It is also worth noticing that, in Mithila, this opening of the Sanskrit episteme to the regional and Arabic–​ Persian linguistic domains took place in an almost exclusively brahmanical context. The social changes that accompanied the formation of this poetic tradition were thus internal to the brahmanical courtly society of Mithila. It is through the deprofessionalization of literacy and the extension of its domain beyond the expertise inherent to Sanskrit literary culture that the deśī lyric tradition was to find its raison d’être. The creation of this new literary space occasioned the development of a new kind of connoisseurship. This new mode of poetic expression, based on performance and the emphasis on the formal diversity of the poem/​ song as well as rhetorical sophistication, gained momentum and spread throughout eastern South Asia, eventually reaching Arakan through Ḥusayn Shāhī Bengal. It is striking to observe that what traveled was not only a diction, but also a specific set of practices and attitudes related to lyric poetry. These practices included the recourse to a Maithili-​inflected form of late Apabhramsha directly fashioned after Vidyāpati’s poetry; the use of poetic themes pertaining to the Sanskritic domain of śr̥ṅgāra with a marked preference for vipralambha; elaborations on particular character types and conventional scenes (e.g., pūrvarāga, abhisāra) that were then adjusted to the taste of the various milieus in which they were received (e.g., satītva in Daulat Kājī and Ālāol’s Avadhi-​influenced Bengali poetry); 35. This may be compared with the presence of vermillion in Padmāvatī’s and Badiujjāmāl’s nakh-​śikh description. In both cases the princess is not married and there is no reason for her to put vermillion on the parting of her hair. The only reason for the poet to ignore this fact is the priority of the intertext with Rādhā-​Kr̥ṣṇa poetry, or, more generally, erotic literature in which prevails the figure of the parakīyā [the married woman who sleeps with another man]. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 25; “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 518. For an analysis of both passages and further references to parallels in Avadhi literature, see d’Hubert, “Histoire culturelle et poétique de la traduction,” 317–​18, 412, 415, n. 31.

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and finally an increasingly ubiquitous presence of musicological knowledge in the paratext as well as the poems themselves.36 This last point brings us to the issue of the self-​representation of the tradition. Beyond the empirical observations regarding the spread of Vidyāpati’s love lyrics, what clues do we have of the awareness of his role as a foundational figure?

Locana’s (ca. 1680) Rāgataraṅgiṇī: Fashioning a grammar of eastern vernacular lyrics Besides the implicit influence of Vidyāpati’s language and style on the vernacular court poetry of eastern South Asia, poets and scholars explicitly acknowledged his role as the poet who provided the ultimate template for the composition of vernacular lyrics. Already during his lifetime his name had become associated with the composition of songs, and he was praised for the excellence of his poetry. In the sixteenth century, his poetry gained a canonical status among Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavas and his name stood alongside Jayadeva and Caṇḍīdās. It would become common practice to praise the achievement of a poet by calling him a Vidyāpati of the age, as one would do with Kālidāsa or Jayadeva. Outside sectarian circles, at the court of Nuṣrat Shāh (r. 1519–​1532) of Bengal, a poet bearing one of Vidyāpati’s titles—​Kaviśekhara—​would praise the sultan in a Brajabuli poem that would later make its way in Vaiṣṇava anthologies.37 In the town-​kingdoms of Nepal, Vidyāpati became the ultimate model for courtly lyrics and, as we will subsequently see, court pandits and kings themselves would use his language, imitate his style, and use his songs in dramas and anthologies. A similar phenomenon may also be observed in Assam where Vidyāpati’s language would serve as the basis of the Brajawali poetic idiom of Vaiṣṇava plays and lyrics. Sectarian affiliations had very little to do with the connoisseurship that developed around his poems. Vidyāpati himself was a Śaiva devotee, as were the kings of Nepal. The presence of Brajabuli at the court of Nuṣrat Shāh shows that Muslim elites were also fond of this new poetic trend. Still 36. Govindadās provides a remarkable example of such padas in Rādhāmohana Ṭhākura, Śrīpadāmr̥tasamudra, 219, song no.  257. See also Rādhāmohana Ṭhākura’s Sanskrit commentary on this poem, in which he unpacks the poet’s puns on musicological terminology. 37.  Vidyāpati Ṭhākura, Vidyati-​padāvalī (dusrā bhāg) [mithilā meṃ upalabdha vidyāpati ke padoṃ kā saṃgraha], ed. Lakṣmīpati Siṃha et al., vol. 2 (Patna: Bihāra-​Rāṣṭrabhāṣā-​Pariṣad, 1961), 132–​3. The version of the Padakalpataru does not have the bhaṇitā addressed to Nuṣrat Shāh. Vaiṣṇavdās, Śrī Śrī Padakalpataru, 130, song no. 197.

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among Ḥusayn Shāhī elite milieu, but this time in the eastern marches of the kingdom, at the court of Parāgal Khān (fl. 1510s), governor of northern Chittagong, in the Sanskrit colophon of the manuscript of a Bengali rendering of the Mahābhārata, the patron is praised as a “Vidyāpati in lyrical arts” [saṅgīta-​vidyāpatiḥ].38 Ālāol himself mentions Vidyāpati’s name in one of his technical digressions on music performance and aesthetics inserted in Saptapaẏkar when listing various kinds of songs.39 Even when seen from western regions by a Persian scholar, the lyric tradition of eastern South Asia was associated with Vidyāpati’s name. In Abū al-​ Faḍl’s Āʾīn-​i akbarī, when surveying the deshī styles of song performances, he describes that of Tirhut in the following way: “There is what they call lahacarī in the language of Tirhut, and these are Vidyāpati’s compositions on the passion of love.”40 The practice of poetry and the discourse surrounding the lyric tradition, in both sectarian and nonsectarian courtly contexts, led to the foundational figure of Vidyāpati. The most eloquent statement about his role and a remarkable example of theorization of an empirically established literary practice can be found in the Rāgataraṅgiṇī [The Impetuous River of Musical Modes], a late seventeenth-​century treatise composed at the court of Mahīnāth Ṭhākur (ca. 1660–​1690) of Mithila by the pandit Locana (fl. 1680).41 The work is a didactic treatise meant to explain the classification of

38.  S.  Sen, Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās, 2000, 1:208; Sañjaẏ, Kavi Sañjaẏ viracita Mahābhārat, ed. Munīndrakumar Ghoṣ (Calcutta: Calcutta University, 1969), 41; A. Karim, Corpus of the Arabic and Persian Inscriptions of Bengal, 322–​3, 380–​2. 39. Unfortunately the passage in question was not properly transmitted, and the exact meaning of this passage remains unclear. It is in a digression on the various types of lyric compositions that is comparable to Abū al-​Faḍl’s survey in the Āʾīn-​i akbarī (see the next footnote) in which Vidyāpati is associated with eastern lyrics. The verses are not present in the text of the Racanāvalī, but here are the readings of two manuscripts that I have consulted: vidyāpāti (sic) ādi gau tulanā aṅgadhāri (?) | viṣṇupada jaedeba dhrupada jakkāri || Facsimile no. 33, fol. 105r, Bangla Academy; vidyāpari (sic.) ādi gāo nānā aṅgadhāri (?)| Ms. no. 500, fol. 87v, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad” collection, Dhaka University Library. Compare with “Sapta paẏkar,” 252–​3. 40.  wa ānchi ba-​zabān-​i Tirhut lahacārī gūyand (ba-​fatḥ-​i lām wa sukūn-​i jīm-​i fārsī wa alif wa kasr-​i rā wa sukūn-​i yā-​yi taḥtānī)—​wa ān gudhārda-​yi biddyāpat az shorish-​i ʿishq bar-​ sarāyad. Abū al-​Faḍl ibn Mubārak, The Ain-​i-​Akbari, vol. 2, 139; Abul Fazl Allami, The Āʾīn-​i Akbarī, vol. 3, 266. This passage is repeated almost verbatim in Faqīrullāh, Tarjuma-​yi Mān katūhal wa Risāla-​yi Rāg Darpan, trans. Shahab Sarmadee, Kalāmūlaśāstra granthamālā 21 (New Delhi: Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts and Motilal Banarsidass Publishers, 1996), 114–​15. 41. Locana, Rāgataraṅgiṇī, ed. Śaśināth Jhā, Maithilī Akādamī prakāśan 98 (Patna: Maithilī Akādamī, 1981).

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rāgas and rāgiṇīs, but it also covers aesthetics [bhāva-​rasa], character types [aṣṭa-​nāyikā-​bheda], and the prosody of Maithili poetry.42 The poetic representation of the musical modes [dhyānas] is borrowed from Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara—​about which more is said in the next section. These dhyānas are given in both Sanskrit and, for an easier access to their content by all, in Braj (Madhyadeśabhāṣā).43 The Rāgataraṅgiṇī is thus an example of the way multilingualism was used not only in poetry, but in theoretical literature as well. The great contribution of this text is certainly the author’s attempt at describing and categorizing the prosodic patterns derived from Vidyāpati’s lyrics. Each prosodic pattern is associated with a musical mode, its features are described in Sanskrit verses, and it is illustrated with a poem by Vidyāpati. Then, Locana himself applies the prosodic rules inferred from Vidyāpati’s text in a song of his own. After mentioning the topics he is about to inquire in his anthology of songs [mat-​kr̥ta-​rāga-​saṅgrahe anveṣṭavyaḥ], and invoking the basic dichotomy of mārga and deśī musical modes, he tells the reader that he will first and foremost treat the latter category, and within this category he will focus on the tradition he is most familiar with: In the deśī category, since they are from my own region, I will first expose the kinds of Maithili songs composed by the noble poet Vidyāpati in Mithila’s Apabhramsha language [maithilāpabhraṃśa-​bhāṣayā].44 Then, Locana relates the story of the origin of the lyric tradition at the court of Śiva Siṃha, and he adds the following remarks on the way he proceeded to collect and analyze the songs: After he managed to gather from them [i.e., the musician Jayata’s descendants] the poetic compositions of the noble poet Vidyāpati and

42. The first section is devoted to rāgas, the second to rāgiṇīs, the third is about the myth of origin of lyrical arts, sound [nāda], and the rāgas popular in the Tirhut region. Section four provides the mixed rāgas current in Tirhut, and the last section is a miscellanea on notes, scalar classification of rāga [saṃsthāna], intervals [śruti], and finally character types [nāyaka-​ nāyikā-bheda]—​the last subsection being explicitly quoted from the Saṅgītadāmodara. 43. idaṃ tu sakala-​loka-​sādhāraṇa-​jhaṭity-​udbodha-​hetu madhyadeśa-​bhāṣām āśrityāpi likhyate | [So that each and everyone may understand quickly, I shall write this (i.e., the dhyānas) in Madhyadeśabhāṣā (i.e., Braj).] Locana, Rāgataraṅgiṇī, 5. 44.  deśyām api svadeśīyatvāt prathamaṃ mithilāpabhrāṃśa-​bhāṣayā śrī-​vidyāpati-​kavi-​ nibaddhās tās tā maithila-​gīta-​gatayaḥ pradarśyante | Locana, Rāgataraṅgiṇī, 64.

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similar rāgas related to famous songs that follow his style, the wise Locana, who is devoted to his noble king, fondly wrote them down.45 Before introducing the first prosodic pattern of this section, Locana briefly provides the key to his metrical analysis. His first comment underlines the formal instability of deśī poetics: In order to understand the differences among these [deśī rāgas], some unrestrictive [amānaka] principle is fashioned based on meters fashioned in deśī songs.46 Then, he spells out the common rules of Sanskrit prosody to measure the length of syllables, to which he adds the following possible exceptions, which once again point to the fluidity of the deśī poetic idiom and the novelty of his project: I may consider short the vowels e and o either isolated or combined with a consonant, when preceding a consonant combined with ra or ha, or found in the final syllable of a word.47 After that, Locana briefly exposes the system of the gaṇas (i.e., the combination of short and long syllables by groups of three), as well as the deities and auspicious or inauspicious effects of each group of syllables, which we have already encountered in Śubhaṅkara’s and Ālāol’s works.48 As Abraham Grierson already noticed in his Maithili Chrestomathy, it is very difficult to discern regular patterns in Vidyāpati’s poems.49 The prosody does not correspond to the classic meters of Sanskrit, Prakrit, or Apabhramsha. Locana seems to focus on the number of syllable in each

45. śrīmad-​vidyāpati-​kavayituḥ kāvya-​varṇānubaddhāṃs, tat-​tat-​prāyān atha tad-​anuga-​khyāta-​ gītair nibaddhān | rāgān ebhyaḥ katham api tathā vartulīkr̥tya dhīmān, premnā śrīman-​narapati-​ rato locanas tāṃl lilekha ||20|| Locana, Rāgataraṅgiṇī, 66–​7. 46.  bheda-​buddhy-​artham eteṣāṃ deśī-​gīteṣu kalpitaiḥ | chandobhiḥ kriyate ko’pi niyamo’yam amānakaḥ || Locana also uses the term niyamojjhita [ free of rules] to qualify some types of verse. Locana, Rāgataraṅgiṇī, 69. 47.  e-​kāraś ca tathokāraḥ śuddho varṇa-​yutas tathā | ra-​ha-​yuk-​pūrvako laḥ syāt padānto vā laghur mama || Locana, Rāgataraṅgiṇī, 69. 48. On Ālāol and Sanskrit prosody, see supra, Chapter 5. 49. Grierson, Maithili Chrestomathy and Vocabulary, 36–​7.

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hemistich and the length of the syllable located at the end of each line [antima]. It is noteworthy that, although it is characteristic of vernacular poetry, rhyme does not receive an elaborate treatment.50 Locana was well aware of the instability of the textual material that he attempted to analyze and systematize. He therefore used the notion of amānaka (literally “that which cannot be measured”) to allow for metrical variations when describing Vidyāpati’s prosody. Such variability is the hallmark of the breakdown of the Sanskritic episteme and the acknowledgement of the unregimented nature of the vernacular poetic language. According to Locana the principle of unrestrictiveness “adorns” a meter.51 The lack of fixed rules regulating the formal features of the poetic language was therefore not a flaw, but rather was constitutive of the identity of the deśī poetic idiom and created a certain kind of novelty. About two centuries earlier, Śubhaṅkara prepared the ground for Locana’s notion of amānaka and, although he did not yet present linguistic irregularities as valuable features of deśī aesthetics, he listed features of deśī compositions that should not be seen as containing flaws [doṣa]: No flaw occurs in a deśī gīta because of repetition, fast pronunciation and lengthening of syllables, change in the word’s gender, absence of sandhi, splitting of conjunct letters, metathesis or ignoring short and long syllables.52 The foundational status of Vidyāpati’s lyrics not only appears through Locana’s descriptive method, but also in the way he introduces the poet as one of the fathers of courtly performances of vernacular lyrics. When Locana informs the reader that he will focus on deśī rather than on mārga musical styles, and more particularly on Maithili songs by Vidyāpati, he

50. See, for instance, the case of the eighteenth-​century rhetorician Bhikhāridās from Avadh who was the first Braj author to have included rhyme [tuka] in his Kāvyanirṇaya (Critical Perspective on Literature, 1746). Busch, Poetry of Kings, 119. 51. See, for instance, the description of the rāghavīya-​varāṛīyaṃ chandaḥ, in which, after giving the number of morae for each hemistich, he adds: “and this [meter] is adorned with the ‘unrestrictive principle’ ” [anenāmānakenāpi niyamena vibhūṣitam]. Locana, Rāgataraṅgiṇī, 73. 52. paunarukty[e]‌na deśīye gīte doṣo’bhijāyate | [śīghroccāraṇe] varṇānāṃ tathā caiva prasāraṇe || liṅgānyatve visandhau ca saṃyuktākṣara-​mokṣaṇe | parivarte’kṣarāṇāñ ca hrasva-​ dīrgha-​ vyatikrame || Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 18–​19; trans. Mukhoypādhyāẏ, 31 [2.75–​76].

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feels compelled to give a brief account of the origin of this tradition at the court of Mithila: Bhavabhūti was the offspring of a good lineage of celebrated brahmans. People say that he obtained powers from the divinity through his practice of yoga and composed poetry inspired by the Purāṇas. A  kāyastha named Sumati studied these stories from him, he told them to many princes and became a kathaka [i.e., a purāṇic storyteller]. Sumati’s son was Udaya, and the latter’s son was Jayata. King Śiva Siṃha entrusted him to the excellent scholar and best of poets Vidyāpati. After diving in the waves of the river of notes, these experts in lyrical arts created some rāgas following the motion that unfolded from the stream of blossoming beautiful notes. There at the king’s court Jayata became the foremost singer of the refrain-​based songs [dhruvakāḥ] composed by the expert among poets, Vidyāpati, for the performance of these [new rāgas].53 According to Locana, who presents himself as the heir of this courtly musicological expertise, the vernacular lyric tradition traces its origin to brahmanical textual practices that took place at the court—​namely the recitation and poetic elaboration upon Purāṇic texts—​and to the combined skills of scholars, scribes, and performers. This short narrative shows once again the collective aspect of courtly literary activities at the levels of both creation and consumption of the text. It is also noteworthy that it is primarily a brahmanical endeavor in a kingdom ruled by a brahman king. But the most significant aspect of the story is certainly the fact that Vidyāpati is described as the crucial actor of an experimental endeavor aiming at the creation of new lyric forms. The historical development of lyric poetry in eastern South Asia occurred, not because of the outburst of popular, antibrahmanical feelings as has often been argued, but out of a will to create a new space for an expanded mode of literacy within courtly contexts. In that its protagonist and foundational figure is Vidyāpati, this new mode was conceived

53. Locana, Rāgataraṅgiṇī, 65.

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as a brahmanical endeavor. Court pandits opened up their domains of expertise and created new ways to strengthen—​or reiterate through different means—​their role as authorities in the shaping of courtly subjectivities. The new means at their disposal was deśī aesthetics, which was as such a śāstric category but bore within itself the idea of a breaking down of the śāstric episteme; this is what Quṭban suggests when invoking the contrasted categories of sāsatrīya and desi—​rather than mārga and deśī—​words.54 But it would be wrong to assume that the extension of connoisseurship to what cannot be rigorously measured and ruled—​Locana’s notion of amānaka—​meant a departure from śāstric models altogether. Vidyāpati’s deśī padas show the relevance of Sanskrit rhetoric for a proper appreciation of his poetry, and the later cultivation of vernacular poetry in courtly contexts in Nepal, Assam, Bengal, Arakan, and Mithila always implied the recourse to Sanskrit analytical categories. Above all, it was through the śāstric discipline of saṅgīta [lyrical arts] that a remarkable attempt at systematizing vernacular poetry took place in Mithila in the second half of the seventeenth century, in the form of Locana’s Rāgataraṅgiṇī. Although I am not aware of similar attempts in eastern South Asia, there can be no doubt that saṅgīta more than any other śāstric discipline made possible the emergence of elaborate forms of vernacular connoisseurship in regional courts.

Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadā̄modara and the making of deśī connoisseurship Saṅgīta made possible a conceptualization of the deśī, but, more important, it provided the tools to build a community of connoisseurs around a new corpus of lyric poetry produced by court poets. One treatise that we have already encountered when discussing Ālāol’s poetic stands out as a shared reference among literati during the period under scrutiny: Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara (ca. fifteenth–​sixteenth centuries CE; from now on SD).55 This text in particular is found in a variety of contexts that bridge the Sanskrit scholastic domain and that of the performed vernacular text. As I argued earlier when discussing Ālāol’s background and 54. See the previous chapter on Quṭban and the comments that he makes on language in the prologue of his Mrigāvatī. 55.  For references to the editions and translations of Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara, see supra, Chapter 5.

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expertise, the śāstric domain of reference for vernacular poets was saṅgīta [lyrical arts]. This discipline covered technical knowledge of instrumental and vocal music, prosody and aesthetics, and the science of character types [nāyaka-​nāyikā-​bheda]. It was a discipline of courtly artistic life that cut through various kinds of social and religious settings, and its study allows for a unified understanding of courtly cultures in the late sultanate period. We have already seen how Ālāol took implicit and explicit recourse to Śubhaṅkara’s handbook on lyrical arts. In the same way that his references to Avadhi romances are invitations to look back and reconstruct the geography of literary practices of eastern South Asia, Ālāol’s reliance on the SD ties his works to a wide nexus of authors, works, and courts. The SD was a shared reference and played a major role in articulating classical, scholastic śāstric knowledge, the wider circle of courtly connoisseurs, and deśī authors and composers. Not much is known about the author of the SD, except that he also composed a work on hand gestures [hastakas] that became very popular in Nepal’s and Assam’s courtly milieus.56 In an article titled “On the Musical Modes of the Hindus” published in 1784, William Jones made the following observation about the popularity of Śubhaṅkara’s text: The Pandits of this province unanimously prefer the Dámódara to any of the popular Sangítas; but I have not been able to procure a good copy of it, and am perfectly satisfied with the Nárayan, which I  received from Benáres, and in which Dámódara is frequently quoted.57 As a matter of fact, even today, the number of manuscripts of this treatise kept in collections of Sanskrit manuscripts throughout the world remains rather limited and contrasts with the impact that the text had on both musicological literature and rāgamālā paintings.58 Although the SD

56. From the works quoted in his work, Śubhaṅkara must have lived sometime between the late fourteenth and mid-​sixteenth centuries. More specific identifications were put forward by various scholars, but none of them can be firmly ascertained. See, for instance, S. Sen, A History of Brajabuli Literature, 105; Śubhaṅkara, Śrīhastamuktāvalī, ed. and trans. Maheswar Neog, Kalāmūlaśāstra granthamālā 3 (New Delhi:  Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts, 1991), xxvii–​xxix. 57. Jones, “On the Musical Modes of the Hindus,” 64–​5. 58. Nijenhuis, “The Sanskrit ‘Dhyānas’ of Johnson Album 35 and the Rāga Descriptions of Subhaṅkara’s ‘Saṃgītadāmodara,’ ” 52–​8; Jagannath Prasad Das, Palm-​Leaf Miniatures: The

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was composed earlier, it is in the seventeenth century that the nature of its influence can be clearly observed. An important landmark in the history of the SD’s reception is the Saṅgītadarpaṇa (1625), which also figures among Ālāol’s śāstric references.59 The author of this treatise is a certain Dāmodara Miśra who, according to some scholars, received Jahāngīr’s (r. 1605–​1628) patronage.60 The most striking evidence of Dāmodara’s reliance on Śubhaṅkara’s text is the presence of verbatim quotes of the stanzas providing visual descriptions of the rāgas and rāginīs [dhyānas]. Subhaṅkara’s dhyānas indeed became the standard model for later authors of saṅgīta-śāstras and rāgamālā paintings. Among the early references to the SD in eastern India, we find quotations of the dhyānas in the governor of eastern Kāmarūpa Śukladhvaja “Cilā Rāẏ” ’s (d. 1571) commentary on the Gītagovinda titled Sāravatī ṭīkā. Here is an example of how Śukladhvaja referred to Śubhaṅkara’s dhyānas in his commentary on the musicological paratext of the praise of the ten avatars [daśāvatārastuti]: Rāga gauḍa-​mālava. Rūpaka rhythm. Its characteristic: “With his lotus-​face kissed by a woman with generous hips, king Mālavarāga has a fair complexion, wears earrings and is excited when at dusk, wearing a garland, he is entering the music hall.” [Gauḍa] means that the rāga mālava originates from the region of Gauda.61

Art of Raghunath Prusti of Orissa (New Delhi:  Abhinav Publications, 1991); Gert-​Matthias Wegner and Richard Widdess, “Musical Miniatures From Nepal: Two Newar Ragamalas,” in Nepal, Old Images, New Insights, ed. Pratapaditya. Pal (Mumbai: Marg Publications on behalf of the National Centre for the Performing Arts, 2004), 81–​91. 59. See supra, Chapter 5. 60. Dāmodara Miśra, Saṅgīta-​darpaṇa. The Mirror of Music. A. Bake indicates in his introduction that there is no internal evidence that suggests the presence of Dāmodara Miśra at the court of Jahāngīr. 61.  gauḍa-​mālava-​rāgaḥ | rūpaka-​tālaḥ | tal-​lakṣaṇaṃ—​nitambinī-​cumbita-​vaktra-​padmaḥ śuk[l]‌a-​dyutiḥ kuṇḍalavān pramattaḥ | saṅgītaśālāṃ praviśan pradoṣe mālādharo mālava-​ rāga-​rājaḥ || gauḍa-​deśodbhava-​mālavārāga ity arthaḥ | Jayadeva, Jayadevasya Gītagovindam, 5. Compare with Śubhaṅkara, Saṅgītadāmodara, ed. Sastri and Mukhopadhyay, 36; trans. Mukhopādhyāẏ, 63 [3.67].

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This first instance of the recourse to the SD as an authority in saṅgīta and more specifically on dhyānas is particularly significant for the study of regional courtly tastes. Dhyānas partake of aspects of saṅgīta concerned with the building of an extended perception of music by courtly connoisseurs [guṇī], beyond the technical aspects of the performance.62 Visual representations of the rāgas, rāgiṇīs, and tālas as well as aesthetics [bhāva-​rasa] and character types constituted a shared cognitive domain for composers, performers, and audience. Because dhyānas are muktakas (i.e., single-​stanza poems) they create a multidimensional perception of the terminology of musical modes and rhythms through poetry and visual arts—​muktakas are typically vignettes meant to form a mental image that was actually turned into a painting in rāgamālās. A commentary such as Śukladhvaja’s Sāravatīṭīkā in which dhyānas, rather than other performance-​related features of the musical mode, were quoted, shows how these poems conditioned the reader and created semantic and sensory associations between the text and the śāstric episteme. In the previous chapters, when commenting on Ālāol’s songs, we have seen how the dhyānas could resonate with the content of the songs and how they probably contributed to enhance the general atmosphere of the poem within the audience’s mind. For reasons that still need to be ascertained, the SD more than any other saṅgīta-śāstra contributed to the development of connoisseurship among vernacular poets and their audience in eastern South Asia. The connection between the SD and deśī connoisseurship appears most clearly in Ālāol’s poems in which entire stanzas from the Sanskrit text are translated and interwoven in various technical digressions. The Bengali poet’s poetics of signs discussed in the previous chapter arguably shows that even the semantics of poetic discourses were conceptualized through saṅgīta rather than sāhitya. The immediate proximity between vernacular poetry and the SD may already be observed through the early reception of the text in Assam’s courtly culture. Aniruddha “Rāmasarasvatī,” who was the central figure of a translation project of Sanskrit texts into the regional language patronized by the rulers of Kamrup, used Śukladhvaja’s Sanskrit commentary to compose his Gītagovinda-​kāvya commissioned by Dharmanārāyaṇa (r. 1615–​1635). As

62. On the “rāga-​mālā episode” in Quṭban’s Mirigāvatī, see 1. Allyn Miner, “Raga in the Early Sixteenth Century,” in Tellings and Texts: Music, Literature and Performance Cultures in North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Katherin Brown (Cambridge, UK: Open Books Publishers, 2015), 385–​406.

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one could expect, he claims that his recourse to the commentary was primarily meant to convey the meaning of the Sanskrit text accurately. But Rāmasarasvatī did not stop there, and he included in the translation of Jayadeva’s poem some original material gathered from Śukladhvaja’s text, such as descriptions of the personified rāgas and rāgiṇīs originally drawn from Śubhaṅkara’s SD.63 The other settings in which we find the SD in contexts characterized by literary multilingualism are the courtly milieus of Mithila and Nepal in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. As Sukumar Sen pointed out in his Vidyāpati-​goṣṭhī, and as has been occasionally demonstrated in later studies, this region was a hub for pandits, poets, and performers.64 The original impulse seems to have come from fourteenth-​century and early fifteenth-​century Mithila, which provided the models for a courtly culture that flourished in the courts of the small kingdoms of Nepal throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and that is still alive, although in a different form today.65 The most representative genre of this emerging multilingual courtly culture is the drama. The plays composed during this period by court poets, pandits, and the kings themselves are the realization of a taste for lyrical arts that is also reflected in the development of lyrics—​ composed in Vidyāpati’s language and style—​ as an autonomous literary form. Alongside the composition of plays and the compilation of anthologies of lyric poetry, we observe the cultivation of musicological knowledge and increasingly sophisticated and innovative approaches to the performed text and vernacular poetics. The king of Bhaktapur, Jagajjyotirmalla (1614–​1637), who was a patron, a scholar, and a poet himself, provides the embodied ideal of connoisseurship of the time. His literary output is remarkable because of the amount of texts that he authored, but also for the range of genres and languages that his oeuvre covers. His works may be divided into three categories: dramas, treatises, and anthologies. But a closer look at the texts themselves shows that each domain of his literary activity is informed by the other and the

63.  Jayadeva, Jayadevasya Gītagovinda Śukladhvaja-​viracita-​ Sāravatī-​sametam, 16; Biswanarayan Shastri, Rāma Sarasvatī (New Delhi: Sāhitya Akādemi, 1989), 27. 64. S. Sen, Vidyāpati-​goṣṭhī, 1947, 47–​52. 65. Richard Widdess, “Text, Orality, and Performance in Newar Devotional Music,” in After Timur Left: Culture and Circulation in Fifteenth-​Century North India, ed. Francesca Orsini and Samira Sheikh (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014), 231–​45.

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whole constitutes a remarkably coherent testimony of the literary culture of the time.66 At least three dramas can be safely attributed to Jagajjyotirmalla. His first drama is Muditakuvalayāśvanāṭaka [The Play of Delighted Kuvalayāśva], composed in 1628. The play is based on the Madālasopākhyāna found in the Mārkaṇḍeyapurāṇa, and it relates how Kuvalayāśva managed to retrieve his wife Madālasā from the other world after her death. His other dated drama is titled Haragaurīvivāhanāṭaka [The Play of Hara and Gaurī’s Marriage], and it was composed and performed in 1629. The last play is not dated, and its title is Kuñjavihāranāṭaka; it relates Kr̥ṣṇa’s games in Vrindavan with the gopīs. The Nalacaritra [The Story of Nala] and Daśāvatāranr̥tya [The Ten Avatars’ Dance,  1625] contain songs composed by the king but seem to be the work of his court poets.67 Similarly, some elements of the king’s plays were composed by other members of the court. Jagajjyotirmalla’s dramas are composed in Sanskrit, Prakrit, Maithili, and Bengali.68 The anthologies compiled by Jagajjyotirmalla are directly related to his plays and form a bridge between the performed dramas—​which were built around lyric poems—​and the domain of theoretical knowledge. Two of Jagajjyotirmalla’s anthologies came down to us: one that relates directly to his activities as a dramaturge, the Gītapañcāśikā [The Collection of Fifty Songs, ms. dated  1628], and the Ślokasārasaṅgraha, a large collection of 960 “well-​turned verse” [subhāṣitas] in Sanskrit that give us a detailed idea of the Sanskrit literature read and studied in Bhaktapur in the first decades of the seventeenth century.69 For the present discussion, it is the Gītapañcāśikā that deserves special attention. As it is often the case in the South Asian context, this anthology of vernacular lyrics also conveys basic elements of theoretical knowledge. After a brief salutation in Sanskrit prose to the guru’s feet, the “supreme

66. See the excellent introduction to Jagajjyotirmalla’s oeuvre by Jhā, Jagajjyotirmalla. 67. Jhā, Jagajjyotirmalla, 65–​80. 68. Regarding the periodization of the production of plays in Nepal’s town-​kingdoms and the use of various languages, see Brinkhaus, “On the Transition From Bengali to Maithili in Nepalese Dramas of the 16th and 17th Centuries,” 69–​70. 69. Jagajjyotir Malla, Gīta-​pañcāśikā, ed. Durgānāth Jhā (Darabhaṅga: Cetanātha Jhā, 1974); Christian Lindtner, “King Jagajjyotirmalla’s Ślokasārasaṅgraha,” Asiatische Studien: Zeitschrift der Schweizerischen Asiengesellschaft. Études asiatiques:  Revue de la Société Suisse—​Asie 54 (2000): 45–​62.

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deity” [paradevatā] and the androgynous Śiva [Ardhanārīśvara], the king introduces the topic of his text and invites connoisseurs to correct the mistakes it may contain: After saluting the double-​lord, may the connoisseur, the excellent king Jagajjyotirmalla manifest that essence of being in the form of a song endowed with various aesthetic emotions and sentiments, which, although it is an endless world, is established and expressed and yet entirely free, not divided nor undivided.70 Then follow three quotes on the nature of lyrical arts partly drawn from the Viṣṇupurāṇa (1.22.85), the Agnipurāṇa (336.3; 337.7), and the Nāṭyaśāstra (19.143). Each of these citations aims at demonstrating the supremacy of lyrical arts conceived in their widest and most inclusive sense, but ultimately represented by drama. This indicates that although the title of the anthology and its contents focus on one form of poetic composition (i.e., the gīta), the purpose of Jagajjyotirmalla’s work is to share his understanding of one essential aspect of the larger domain of lyrical arts. The songs are gathered around specific topics that can be related to either technical aspects of the performance or to specific themes that ought to be treated in songs; unsurprisingly, a large section is devoted to “character types” [nāyaka-​nāyikā-​ bheda]. For each song several features are illustrated, namely the theme, the rāga, the tāla, the type, and whether it is local (Mithila–​Tirhut) or Bengali (Gauḍā). The songs themselves are composed in Maithili, but several of them contain Bengali linguistic features.71 Almost all songs bear the signature of the king himself.72 The paratext seems to indicate four parts devoted to the “seven rhythms” [saptatāla], Gauḍā songs (two examples are given), and Maithili songs (mostly nacārīs). The latter section is by far the most important (song nos. 17–​50). The theme of each song is indicated in the Sanskrit paratext along with its regional style, rāga and tāla. 70.  praṇamyeśānau tau sthitam uditam apy atyayamitaṃ, na bhinnaṃ nābhinnaṃ yat, idam aśeṣaṃ jagad api | guṇī gīta-​brahmaṃ vividha-​rasa-​bhāvārtha-​valitāṃ (read:  valitam), jagajjyotirmalla-​kṣitipati-​varo’yaṃ vitanatu (read: vitanotu) || Jagajjyotir Malla, Gīta-​pañcāśikā, 1. 71. See songs no. 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, and 13. 72. Song no. 48 bears no bhaṇitā.

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In the spirit of the courtly connoisseurship of the time, the goal is not to provide a comprehensive overview of musicological knowledge and poetic tropes, but rather to convey a sense of the taste prevalent in Bhaktapur, or even the king’s personal taste. In that regard both Jagajjyotirmalla’s Gītapañcāśikā and Ālāol’s technical digressions fulfill a similar purpose. It is no surprise to see character types, and within this typology the categories governed by viraha stand prominently in the king’s anthology. We may also note the taste of Jagajjyotirmalla for svayaṃdautya (“being the messenger for one’s self,” song nos. 38–​39), which also characterized Ālāol’s treatment of heroines. The king of Bhaktapur even illustrates the eight kinds of heroine in one song: The speech of a woman suffering from separation with her beloved and illustration of the eight kinds of heroine. Rāga Mālava, Ekatāla rhythm. rati-​rasa-​guṇe basa : kabahu na teja pāsa : ehana adhina pahu more | Overcome by the delights of love making, never does he leave my side; so is my husband under my sway. [The one who has her husband] How long will he deceive me, engrossed that he is with another woman? This thief deprives me of all pleasure. [The betrayed] 1 Friend, go [and convey my message]! Will he come to me or shall I go to him? I am a young woman setting off to a rendezvous. [The one who sets off to a rendezvous] I left him for no reason, I quarreled with my beloved; this is why my heart hurts. [The one separated by anger] 2 I went to the place of our rendezvous and did not understand his trick; without him I spent the night. [The one who was deceived] Leaving me, my husband settled in another land; day and night I lower my head in despair. [The one whose husband left]3 Today I prepared a couch of fresh shoots, stared at the path of my husband’s return and kept arranging the bed. [The one who prepares the bed] Why didn’t my husband come back? I am now full of doubts. Abandoning all shame, with whom can I share my anguish? [The impatient]4

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King Jagajoti says: “I have the mind of an esthete and told about the young woman separated from her lover. Ponder and understand, this single utterance illustrates the eight kinds of woman.735 The anthology thus reflects the poetic tastes of the time, its general trends, but also its more specific traits. One may even say that a personal voice emerges from Jagajjyotirmalla’s selections. For instance, the presence of songs on mockery [upahāsa] seems to come from the individual preferences of the compiler. This observation is confirmed by the king himself who, in the signature line of the third and last song, illustrating mockeries among lovers, declares, “The king Jagajoti expresses his own views: love’s decay makes for beautiful days” [nr̥pajagajoti apana mati bhanaī | vighaṭala pema, sudina saṃghaṭavaī ||].74 Jagajjyotirmalla does not only convey theoretical knowledge through the paratext and the organization of his anthology. The poems themselves bear the śāstric notions that he is willing to display to his reader. In the poem just given a careful audience will easily recognize each nāyikā in each line—​because of the scene being described but also because of the presence of certain terms that almost give away the category in question (adhina pahu more = svādhīnabhartr̥kā; rasa khaṇḍae = khaṇḍitā, etc.). But the śāstric dimension of this peculiar form of śāstra-​kāvya [a poem that is also a treatise] is also apparent in the signature line, in which the poet reveals the rationale behind the structure of the poem and invites the perceptive reader to identify the heroines in each line. Most of the songs in this anthology have such metapoetic comments embedded in the signature line. Here is an example in which the king provides technical information about a particular rhythm [tāla]: Then I shall write the druta-​yati and manthara-​yati rhythms according to the Gauḍa style. A betrayed heroine’s speech. Rāga Kedārā, Kharjati rhythm. vacana-​rasa parapañca vājhie, kaie toha saño neha | I love you and pronounce these delightful words: My heart aches constantly; desperate, I lower my head and my body is dark. 73. Jagajjyotir Malla, Gīta-​pañcāśikā, 11. 74. Jagajjyotir Malla, Gīta-​pañcāśikā, 17.

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Avoiding the spread-​out net of [my] tricks, you simply leave. This pompous palace is so beautiful that I do not know any other like it. 2 Why do you deceive me with your looks while you are in love with another? If I catch a glimpse of you during the day, I shake throughout the night. 3 My heart fears the bees and finds no peace; leave me alone! I rejoice as long as I am able to fill my heart with pleasure. 4 First two short and then a long make a sama tāla. This is called drutajati, so sings king Jagajotimalla.755 Another striking feature of the texts composed at the court of Bhaktapur is the presence of collective authorship. In the vernacular courtly texts under scrutiny, the social dimension of literary practice usually appears within the spaces devoted to the depiction of the gathering or in references to the performance of the text and the interaction of the poet with his patron and his larger audience. A less common manifestation of the literature of Bhaktapur is the contribution of several authors to a drama, or even to a single song. In the Gītapañcāśikā there is no such multi-​authored poem, but song no. 42 is addressed to the king of Lalitpur, Siddhinarasiṃhamalla (1619–​1661). The fact that this song contains a riddle evinces the role of such compositions in courtly sociability and the economy of distinction of the sabhā: What Uṣā suffering from the separation with her lover said. Riddle. Rāga pahaḍiā, ekatāla: amia sunia varu addhaja rāti | My dear, after I spent the night eagerly listening to the ambrosia [of your speech] and pondering [your] beautiful verses, my chest bursts. If one takes the initial [syllable] of the first [word] and three of the other [words], such is the one who stole my heart. (i.e., An-​ni-​ru-​ddha) My friend! my friend! I am ashamed to say I realized today that I would not live any longer.

75. Jagajjyotir Malla, Gīta-​pañcāśikā, 8.

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It is springtime but the damsel is distressed; the end of the night means the end of my days. 4 King Jagajoti sings this delightful song, and king Siddhinarasiṃha understands its intent.765 To Jagajjyotirmalla is also attributed the authorship of several full-​fledged treatises on lyrical arts in Sanskrit and Maithili. This part of his oeuvre still waits to be properly studied as none of these treatises have been edited so far.77 From the description of those works available in secondary literature and in light of the status of lyrical arts in regional courts, these treatises will certainly help improve the interpretation of this already rich body of texts. Unsurprisingly though, we can at least notice the fact that Jagajjyotirmalla reworked the content of the SD to compose his Saṅgītacintāmaṇi [The Wishing Gem of Lyrical Arts]. The importance of Śubhaṅkara’s works in Bhaktapur is also visible in Ghanaśyāma’s commentary on the Hastamuktāvalī written in 1675 for one of Jagajjyotirmalla’s sons.78 Another direct testimony of the SD’s role in shaping courtly tastes at Jagajjyotirmalla’s court is found in two rāgamālā albums from this period with illustrations of dhyānas ultimately drawn from the SD.79 The example of Jaggyotirmalla’s courtly culture shows how dhyānas bring together musicology, poetry, and visual arts. That Śubhaṅkara’s SD remained the main source for rāgamālā paintings from the sixteenth to the second half of the eighteenth century and that these are found in such diverse regional contexts, from Mithila, Assam, to the town-​kingdoms of Nepal, to the court of Orissa—​where it was apparently translated into Oriya and used for rāgamālā illustrations as well—​and in the Mughal capital of Bengal, where dhyānas are inscribed on the back of rāgamālā paintings in the regional style off Murshidabad, all this demonstrates how a single text could thread together a seemingly disparate set of regional courts.80 In Bengal proper the SD also played a similar function, and it is found in a variety of contexts. For now, I would simply highlight the presence 76. Jagajjyotir Malla, Gīta-​pañcāśikā, 20. 77. Richard Widdess, Dāphā: Sacred Singing in a South Asian City: Music, Performance and Meaning in Bhaktapur, Nepal (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2013), 45. 78. Śubhaṅkara, Śrīhastamuktāvalī, 1991, xxii. 79. Wegner and Widdess, “Musical Miniatures From Nepal”; Widdess, Dāphā, 44; Widdess, “Text, Orality, and Performance in Newar Devotional Music.” 80. Nijenhuis, “The Sanskrit ‘Dhyānas’ of Johnson Album 35 and the Rāga Descriptions of Subhaṅkara’s ‘Saṃgītadāmodara.’ ”

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of the text in what can be seen as the foundational text of the vernacular tradition of Vaiṣṇava rasa-śāstra tradition:  Rāmgopāldās’s Rasakalpavallī (1673, Bardhaman). This treatise is not a saṅgīta-śāstra and draws from a variety of sources, mainly, but not exclusively, works by the Gosvāmīs of Vrindavan—​for instance Rūpa’s treatise Ujjvalanīlamaṇi, his dramas Vidagdhamādhava and Lalitamādhava, or his anthology of Sanskrit verses titled Padyāvalī. Another late seventeenth-​ century–​ early eighteenth-​ century Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava author who quotes extensive parts of the SD in his Bengali Bhaktiratnākar is Narahari Cakravartī.81 If Narahari’s recourse to the SD is in the context of musicological discussions, Rāmgopāldās uses Śubhaṅkara’s treatise to introduce topics related to aesthetics [bhāva-​rasa], and in that respect his attitude corresponds closely to the way Ālāol relied on this work. This commonality points to the existence of a core set of technical knowledge about lyrical arts and aesthetics that was shared by poets of very different backgrounds, in sectarian and nonsectarian milieus. After Ālāol, saṅgīta remained a major disciplinary domain in the small courts of zamīndārs who continued promoting the poetic culture of Mrauk U.  As we have seen in the last section of Chapter  4, Ālāol remained a model in those courtly milieus even after the fall of the Arakanese kingdom. Similarly the SD and its dhyānas in particular remained a reference for vernacular poets and musicians. A fascinating example is found in Phājil Nāsir’s Rāganāmā (1717, Chittagong). This text is an anthology that may be compared with Jagajjyotirmalla’s Gītapañcāśikā or Locana’s Rāgataraṅgiṇī in the sense that it presents itself as a treatise on lyrical arts but also fulfills the function of an anthology. Phājil Nāsir was at the service of the zamīndār of Sultanpur, Oẏāhid Muhammad Caudhurī. After praising his patron in the fashion inherited from Daulat Kājī and Ālāol and concluding by identifying his patron’s court with that of Vikramāditya and its “nine jewels,”82 he briefly describes the circumstances of the commissioning of this work in conventional but significant terms: One day, as he was rejoicing [in a gathering], he told me: “Turn these dhyānas into paẏārs, and describe the six rāgas and thirty six rāgiṇīs,

81. Narahari Cakravartī, Śrī Śrī Bhaktiratnākar, 231ff. 82.  pratidina sabhā kari basiẏā āpane | śunanta śāstrera kathā sakautuka mane || navaratna sabhā yena vikrama-​āditya | temata tāhāna sabhā paṇḍita sahita || A.  Sharif, Madhyayuger rāg-​tāl-​nāmā, 46.

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the repartition of the six rāgas throughout the twelve months and six seasons, which month and which season, section by section. The ślokas composed by the sages of the past in Sanskrit, turn them into paẏārs to explain them to everyone.” I took the full extent of his order upon my head, and then engaged in this dangerous endeavor. Know that Muhammad is an ocean of compassion, by whose grace I obtained the wealth of knowledge. I bow a thousand times to his feet. I will now enumerate the names of the forty two rāgas.83 The patron expresses his interest for the visual representations of the musical mode and other nontechnical aspects of saṅgīta connoisseurship. One may also notice the relevance of the Sanskrit episteme in this rather late example of regional Islamicate courtly culture and the coexistence of Sanskrit and the vernacular language in a didactic context. Besides providing the Sanskrit dhyānas and their rendering in Bengali—​in lyrical tripadī or in the more prosaic paẏār meter—​the author illustrates each musical mode with a song composed by a local poet—​Hindu or Muslim—​in the style of Vidyāpati’s lyrics.

Summary The Avadhi tradition and Indo-​Afghan courtly culture were not formed in a vacuum, and Ālāol’s poetics is not the result of an exclusive legacy from Indo-​Afghan courtly culture. The other textual trails that Ālāol’s works invite us to follow are those of vernacular lyrics and connoisseurship in the field of lyrical arts. The study of the literarization of deśī literary idioms through the creative engagement of poets with Vidyāpati’s model highlights the process of deprofessionalization of literacy visible in late fourteenth-​century Mithila. Through the breaking down of the Sanskrit

83. eka-​dina kutuhale āhmi adhīnere | kahilenta dhyāna paẏāra karibāre || chaẏa rāga chattiśa rāgiṇīra vivaraṇa | kāhāra kemana rūpa kona ābharaṇa || dvādaśa māsete ṣaṭa r̥tu chaẏa rāga | kona māse kona r̥ta kaho bhāge bhāga || pūrva-​muni-​racita śoloka {samaskr̥te} | paẏāra prabandhe kaho sabe {bujhāite} || tāhāra ādeśa śire dhari saviśeṣa | saṅkaṭa karmeta tabe karilũ praveśa || kr̥pāra sāgara guru jāna muhammada | yāhāra prasāde pāilũ jñāna-​sampada || se pada-​yugale kari sahasra praṇāma | anukrame kahimu biẏālliśa rāga-​nāma || A. Sharif, Madhyayuger rāg-​ tāl-​nāmā, 46. Emendations: samaskr̥te] saṃskāra; bujhāite] bujhibāra.

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episteme in the domain of lyrical arts and the opening up of the access to poetic connoisseurship, regionally inflected poetic idioms gained a new relevance. A vibrant and experimental kind of literacy developed outside the domain of Sanskrit expertise that benefited from the reconfiguration of courtly sociability and allowed for the creation of new poetic dictions. The taste for formal diversity and poetic experimentation became the hallmark of vernacular literature in eastern South Asia up to the colonial period. In the previous chapters I highlighted the role of prosody as a marker of literary identities. Rather than geography or ethnicity, poets referred to the name of prosodic forms to identify the traditional domain to which a text belonged: It was more relevant to say that a poem was composed in bayts, caupāīs, and paẏārs, rather than in Persian, Hindavi, or Bengali. We have also seen that Ālāol’s understanding of the process of translation entirely derived from this formal, prosodic approach to textuality. In the present chapter, we witnessed the convergence of saṅgīta-śāstra and prosody in a remarkable attempt at systematizing the literary idiom inaugurated by Vidyāpati’s poetry. Locana’s Rāgataraṅgiṇī never became an authoritative text, but it testifies to a tendency that we clearly see at work in Ālāol’s poetics: the building of a grammar of the deśi literary idioms not through the disciplines of grammar [vyākaraṇa] and rhetoric [alaṅkāra], but through prosody and saṅgīta. The role of saṅgīta in shaping multilingual, deśī forms of connoisseurship evinces the close interrelatedness of regional courts throughout northern South Asia, in Jaunpur, Mithila, Nepal, Bengal, Assam, and Arakan. The text that clearly threads those courts together is Śubhaṅkara’s Saṅgītadāmodara. Its influence went way beyond musicology itself—​which forms but a fraction of what this text had to offer—​and contributed to the strengthening of vernacular literary traditions, regional schools of painting, and, more generally speaking, connoisseurship in regional contexts.

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Conclusion Middle Bengali Poetics and the Multilingual Literary History of Bengal

One of the primary aims of this book was to offer a possible template for the study of Middle Bengali poetics, and, more generally, a vade-​mecum for the appreciation of Middle Bengali poetry. Perceiving the voice of Middle Bengali texts was very much a matter of actual performance. The poem’s meaning was realized in the listener’s mind through the voicing of the text in the assembly, in front of the patron, and through the simultaneous commentarial elaboration of the poet as a gāndharva/​muʿarrif and the discussions formulated in response to the performed text. No treatise was necessary to give shape and render perennial the pā̃cālī tradition, which, as a poetic practice, is still alive and well, although in different forms and relying on a largely renewed repertoire. In a context in which orality plays such a major role in shaping and transmitting the poem, one could wonder about the validity of a philological and literary-​critical approach. This potential objection is legitimate and the limit of my endeavor must be duly acknowledged. That said, and despite what cannot be retrieved—​or could perhaps be accessed using other disciplinary approaches—​the corpus of Middle Bengali poetry still offers enough textual material for the philologist to do his or her work. My relatively short scholarly life led me to think that there is no method, no school of thought, and no theory able to give absolute hermeneutical insight on a topic—​at least not as long as the object of study lies outside the brain of the thinking subject. A preliminary stage in textual studies as I conceive of them consists in considering that the object of study bears with it its own interpretative keys. From there unfolds a variety of possible

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interpretative paths conditioned by the literary field of the text at the time of its composition and the multiple contexts in which it was later transmitted.1 To begin my study of Middle Bengali poetics, I had to find a corpus that somehow invited me to come in—​Ālāol, the gāndharva of Mrauk U’s sabhās happened to be a rather welcoming host. But Ālāol’s self-​reflexivity and didacticism are not the only qualities that made his oeuvre a convenient point of entry into the domain of Middle Bengali poetics. As I progressed in the study of his texts, I came to realize that the intervention he performed on the pā̃cālī as a poetic form and a literary practice created more space for literary–​critical analysis. Ālāol’s texts make the philologist feel more at home in a poetic domain that otherwise bestowed little attention to the grammar of language and poetic devices, without which literary studies are abandoned to self-​referential exegesis. What are the main features of the poetics of Ālāol’s texts? Self-​ awareness and experimentation create contrasts that help us make sense of formal observations made on other pā̃cālīs. We now have a better idea of what a Middle Bengali pā̃cālī was, what its default features were, and what this poetic form allowed poets to perform—​which is virtually everything the combination of verse and prose will allow doing in the modern times: poetry of various kinds, but also theoretical and didactic texts. We know that the pā̃cālī is a literary form that is autonomous in the sense that it does not derive from classical models, either Sanskrit, Prakrit or Persian ones, while at the same time being in constant interaction with, and often conveying narratives, themes, ideas and tropes from those linguistic–​literary traditions. The pā̃cālī is a deśī literary form that not only lacks grammaticization, but actually requires remaining ungrammatical to remain deśī. This is why Ālāol’s efforts to literarize the pā̃cālī and systematize its poetics had its limits. The poet of Arakan’s epistemic domain of reference was Sanskrit and he seems to have embraced Sanskrit linguistic ideology alongside other aspects of its literary culture. According to this ideology Sanskrit is not

1. In the present monograph I did not engage with presentist readings. The tools of philology and textual studies—​and some would argue that reading in general—​allow a distancing of the reading subject from its own habitus to enter other subjective modes of perception. Philology is essentially a work of controlled conjecture and it entails an effort of imagination that necessarily opens the door to projections and prejudices. The amount of such lapses in the imaginative process of philological reconstruction is what distinguishes what we may call in trivial terms “good” from “bad” scholarship, or simply scholarly analysis from other—​ perfectly respectable—​intellectual activities.

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a language; it is the perfect expression of speech. Other languages are either derived from the Sanskrit matrix or solecisms that may substitute proper Sanskrit forms (i.e. the notion of ādeśa in Prakrit and Apabhramsha grammars). The linguistic domain of solecisms was actually called deśī by lexicographers like Hemacandra (twelfth century CE).2 Persian itself, although not labeled deśī, was treated as such by Sanskrit grammarians around Ālāol’s time.3 Therefore all efforts to systematize a deśī literary idiom and its poetics could not achieve analytical perfection, because this state was reserved to Sanskrit. A grammaticized deśī idiom would simply become Sanskrit and therefore lose what makes it deśī. In the last chapter of the book, I  started demonstrating the linguistic ideology that made possible deśī poetics. It implied the recognition of the breaking down of the Sanskrit episteme and the valorization of formal diversity—​heteroglossia and prosodic fluidity being two important manifestations of this newly found aesthetic of formal diversity. Ālāol’s recourse to Sanskrit thus went way beyond the use of lexical items and literary tropes. This observation certainly holds true for the majority of Middle Bengali authors. Even if it did not condition all Middle Bengali literary practices, Sanskrit śāstra is the only conceptual domain that could make possible a reflexive discourse on literature. The actual epistemic shift in matters of language and literary practice would take place in the mid-​eighteenth and nineteenth centuries with the replacement by Persian and English of Sanskrit as a default mode to access vernacular literacy. But even in the latter case, Sanskrit kept playing a central role in the fashioning of the modern Bengali literary idiom. Realizing that Sanskrit knowledge systems were instrumental in shaping Ālāol’s self-​awareness is not enough if we want to understand his poetic thought. We have seen that the Sanskrit discipline associated with

2.  I  am here referring to S.  Pollock’s discussion of Hemcandra’s Deśīnāmamālā. See The Language of Gods in the World of Men, 401–​5. 3.  Kr̥ṣṇadāsa, Pārasikaprakāśa, ed. Vibhutibhushan Bhattacharya, Sarasvatībhavana-​ granthamālā 95 (Benares:  Research Institute, Varanaseya Sanskrit Visvavidyalaya, 1965); Walter Slaje, “Der Pārasikaprakāśa :  Über das indische Modell für Kṛṣṇadāsas persiche Grammatik aus der Mogulzeit,” in Akten des Melzer-​ Symposiums 1991:  Veranstaltet aus Anlass der Hundertjahrfeier indo-​iranistischer Forschung in Graz (13.–​14. November 1991), ed. Walter Slaje and Christian Zinko (Graz, Austria: Leykam, 1992), 243–​73; Audrey Truschke, “Defining the Other: An Intellectual History of Sanskrit Lexicons and Grammars of Persian,” Journal of Indian Philosophy 40, no. 6 (2012): 635–​68. Musicological literature actually states that Persian was perceived as belonging to the deśī domain. See Faqīrullāh, Tarjuma-​yi Mān katūhal wa Risāla-​yi Rāg Darpan, xxxiv.

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what is called “literature” in English—​Sanskrit sāhitya, alaṅkāra-​śāstra—​ is not central in Ālāol’s discourse on his art. His domain of reference is saṅgīta-​śāstra, the discipline of lyrical arts. In addition to music [gīta, tāla-​vādya] and dance [nr̥tya], it is through saṅgīta-​śāstra that he addressed topics such as character types [nāyikā-​bheda], prosody [chandas], and aesthetics [bhāva-​rasa]. I have demonstrated that this recourse to saṅgīta-​śāstra is found throughout the eastern region in the context of regional courts. I would also argue that the close relationship between vernacular literary practices and saṅgīta may be used, along with shared literary idioms such as Middle Bengali and Maithili/​Brajabuli, and prosodic forms, to characterize eastern South Asia as a specific cultural area. What did saṅgīta-​śāstra contribute to the poetics of Ālāol’s works? Let us start at a general level of consideration and observe that saṅgīta-​śāstra provided Ālāol with tools to conceptualize his vernacular poetic practice. Although it was not governed by them, the pā̃cālī could be read through śāstric terms. Musicological indications in the paratext of pā̃cālīs are undeniable testimonies of the convergence of śāstric knowledge and unregulated deśī poetic forms. When it comes to short lyrics [padas], we observe an intimate connection between the treatment of prabandhas in theoretical literature and the actual structure of the songs. Generally speaking, rhyming and metrical patterns do not seem to have been precisely recorded in saṅgīta-​śāstras, but Locana’s Rāgataraṅgiṇī constitutes a remarkable attempt to standardize vernacular pada compositions in Mithila using Vidyāpati’s poems as generic models. The presence of rāgas associated with both narrative sections and gītas shows the necessity for vernacular poets to have some familiarity with śāstric literature, a fact amply proven by explicit references to treatises by Ālāol and other vernacular poets of the time.4 But for the reader and true connoisseur, it is the dhyāna, the visual and poetic representation of the rāga that mattered. Dhyānas contributed to conditioning the aesthetic experience of the audience. How this connection between the poetic content of the dhyāna and the passage it was associated with worked still remains to be studied. But the commentarial tradition and anthologies clearly show that dhyānas were summoned in the reader–​listener’s mind when exposed to the poem and that they contributed to the aesthetic effect of the composition. In Ālāol’s case 4. We may note that this śāstric dimension is virtually lost in contemporary forms of traditional performances derived from the pā̃cālī.

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aesthetics was exclusively perceived through saṅgīta-​śāstra. The notions of bhāva [sentiments] and rasa [aesthetic emotions], and the corollary topic of character types [nāyika-​bheda] were often explained through direct translations from Śubhaṅkara’s treatise. But what about the components of his ars poetica that fall outside the analytical grid of saṅgīta-​śāstra? The prema-​rasa is but one such component absent from saṅgīta-​śāstra and drawn from the Avadhi poetic tradition. Prema-​rasa is given a primordial function that actually reaches beyond poetics, in the domain of spirituality and cosmology. The fact that Ālāol attempts to bring prema-​rasa into the fold of śāstric discourse by using a recognizable formula meant to claim the ontological status of prema, is yet another proof of the powerful influence of the Sanskrit episteme on his way to conceptualize poetry.5 In the same way that a terminology and a generic code were conveyed by the Avadhi canon without any corollary theoretical apparatus, Ālāol’s literary idiom bears within it its own system. I have shown how we may infer a very elaborate poetics of signs that revolved around the Sanskrit term iṅgita [sign] to which the poet assigned a new range of meanings. The most striking aspect of the new semantic field of iṅgita is the reconceptualization of suggestion and indirection—​two crucial notions of Sanskrit rhetoric and aesthetics—​using a term pertaining to the bodily gestures of the courtier and the dancer; here again we see in the background Śubhaṅkara’s Hastamuktāvalī and its elaborate grammar of suggestive gestures able to express all the motifs and conventions of poetry.6 Ālāol’s use of the term upamā looks like a resurgence of a—​possibly Buddhist or Jaina—​narrative terminology as well as the direct translation of a Perso-​Arabic term (i.e. mathal). Upamā is also part of the vocabulary of other poets of Arakan and belongs to a shared terminology current in the region.7 Ālāol also outlines a theory of genres inspired by the thematic reading of Niẓāmī’s khamsa [collection of five poems] that identifies three categories of speech/​narratives [kathā] that pertain to tattva [spirituality], iśaka-​bhāva [love], and

5. See supra, Chapter 5. 6. A work like the Hastamuktāvalī is as much a treatise on dance as it is a catalogue of tropes and typical scenes, and thus may be compared to a work like Jyotirīśvara’s Varṇaratnākara. 7. I have not yet encountered the use of upamā with this meaning in texts from other regions of eastern South Asia. But further research is needed to ascertain its exclusive use by the Bengali poets of Arakan.

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nīti [politics]. Rather than three mutually exclusive categories, we should probably take these three terms as possible registers of courtly narratives.8 The political, economic and social history of Arakan contributed in major ways in shaping Ālāol’s poetic and rhetorical choices. The diachronic interpretation of his poems in Chapters 3 and 4 gave me the opportunity to highlight contrasts and evolutions in his style. The detailed study of Ālāol’s literary field proved necessary to make sense of the choices that he made and of the rhetoric of his prologues. Defining the geo-​cultural space and political context that led to the formation of Arakan’s secondary courts was also necessary to obtain a finer understanding of the intertextual nexus of the tradition. Chapters 6 and 7 showed that the history of a Middle Bengali text does not limit itself to the history of Middle Bengali literature. I would further argue that the entire history of Middle Bengali literature needs to be revisited taking into account the kinds of cultural trends traced in the final chapters of the present book. If we fail to understand the economy of languages across polities and periods, we quickly reach analytical dead ends and start formulating pseudo socio-​religious theories to explain why and how people produced texts in a given language. The fine-​grained analysis of Ālāol’s literary background and traditional models brought to light a creative recourse to Sanskrit language that had nothing to do with religious considerations. Similarly, his reception of supraregional vernacular traditions such as Avadhi romances and Maithili lyrics should not be construed by simply invoking the place of Sufism in his life or an assumed engagement with Vaiṣṇavism as a faith. In both cases there is a fascinating literary history to uncover that sheds more light on the meaning of his poems than preconceived notions on the spiritual meaning of conventional poetical images would do. What we need to know is what precisely participated in the making of a text, so that we can appreciate the full extent of its semantic content. Applying preconceived analytical grids provided by sometimes totally unrelated doctrine often means missing what a poem has to offer. The geography of the production of Bengali literature is both fragmented and, in many cases, connected to a wide network of other centers of literary production and consumption. For reasons that still need to be determined the texts written in polities like Arakan remained within the boundaries of those polities, even after they were integrated into larger 8. My treatment of narratological features and genres is limited to passing comments and there is no doubt that these questions will have to be addressed by scholars.

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political entities. Contrasting with this fragmented landscape is the map that we can draw based on widely shared prosodic forms, genres, and literary idioms. Future histories of literature will have to revisit the geo-​ cultural space of Middle Bengali. To do so, we will distinguish between literary practices that correspond to large geographic areas and literary traditions defined on the basis of actual intertextual connections and claims of belonging to a kavi-​kula [poetic genealogy], which, as Ālāol taught us, could be remarkably multilingual. If we use Middle Bengali and Maithili/​Brajabuli, and the paẏār meter as criteria to delineate a space of shared literary practices, then we cover an area extending from Nepal to Arakan and Assam to Orissa. If we look at specific literary traditions, then the result may vary widely between the horizon of a poet like Ālāol and that of the author of a maṅgal-​kāvya like Vipradās Piplāi.9 In Ālāol’s case his kavi-​kula connects him to the Caucasus as well as to Bihar and Arakan itself. His theoretical background connects him to the courts of Nepal, Assam, Bengal, and Orissa through Śubhaṅkara’s work. His poetic genealogy and theoretical training involve at least five languages (Sanskrit, Persian, Avadhi, Brajabuli, Middle Bengali).Vipradās, on the other hand has simply no explicit textual genealogy beyond occasional references to Sanskrit authors when describing the education of a character.10 Therefore one must fall back on shared literary practices to locate Vipradās in a “tradition.” What I mean to say is that interpretative methods will be radically different for the study of Vipradās’s and Ālāol’s poetry, not so much because one is a Muslim poet composing epic romances and the other a Hindu poet narrating the story of the local goddess Manasā, but rather because of the very different ways both texts are located within the fragmented traditional landscape of Middle Bengali literature. To conclude, I want to stress the relevance of Middle Bengali texts for the study of Indo-​Persian literature. Reading Ālāol/​ʿAlāwal’s texts in parallel with their Persian sources is necessary to reach a proper interpretation of his poetry. In addition to the mere fact that he translated Persian texts,

9. Vipradāsa, La victoire de la déesse Manasā: Traduction française du Manasā Vijaya, poème bengali de Vipradāsa (XVe), trans. France Bhattacharya, Collection Indologie 105 (Pondicherry; Paris:  Institut français de Pondichéry; École française d’Extrême-​Orient, 2007). See especially the introduction and the comments on each canto to gather a sense of his sources and the traditional intertextuality of Vipradās. 10. See for instance Vipradāsa, La victoire de la déesse Manasā, 204–​5 [10.5].

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I  have repeatedly pointed to the Persian semantic content that is often conveyed by his Sanskritized literary idiom. We have also seen that the linguistic capacities of Sanskrit were mobilized to perform a close rendering of the Persian source texts. But it would be wrong to stop there and consider that Middle Bengali comes at the end of the road and simply benefited from this cultural transfer without offering anything in return to Persian literature. Ālāol’s poems are statements about those classical texts. They are invaluable contributions to Indo-​Persian literature because they provide a window on the potential meaning that could emerge from an encounter with Sanskrit aesthetics and the poetics proper to Ālāol’s Middle Bengali texts discussed in this book. The value and interest of this Middle Bengali corpus for the Persian literati of the two centuries that followed the poet’s lifetime is attested by the mention of Ālāol’s life and literary achievements by the nineteenth-​century historian Ḥamīd Allāh Khān. The Persian marginalia on one of Padmāvatī’s manuscripts, although they amount to just a few words, are yet another sign of the presence of Persian in the actual reading of his texts. The example of this manuscript, as anecdotal as it may seem, illustrates how Persian could surround the life of a Middle Bengali text. We are not here dealing with a single event of transmission from one language to another, but with the sustained dialogue between two literary idioms. Ālāol is but one, particularly remarkable, example of the history of Persian language and literature in Arakan, Bengal and eastern South Asia. In the centuries that followed, Persian would deeply penetrate into Bengal’s society, outside courtly milieus. Eventually Persian ended up playing the role of Sanskrit in some regions of western and eastern Bengal and become the default medium to access literacy. Therefore one cannot ignore the importance of multilingual literacy for a proper study of Middle Bengali literature. It is, I  think, an undeniable fact that most Middle Bengali authors, and all later Dobhashi and Sylheti Nagari authors, were to some degree multiliterate.11 Work needs to be done on Persian literature in Bengal. We will have to gain an intimate knowledge of the ways people learned Persian, studied the classics and creatively engaged with Persian literacy. At this point the scholarship may be lacking, but a tremendous amount of sources is still available to fill this lacuna and enrich the study of Bengali literature.

11. d’Hubert, “Dobhāshī.”

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Despite the years I  spent reading and pondering on Ālāol’s poems, painstakingly trying to get a little closer to his knowledge on languages and poetry, I  have just provided some landmarks so that one may find his or her way in his vast oeuvre. Beyond the mistaken interpretations of my work that will have to be fixed, a lot remains to be done to finish mapping Ālāol’s poetic art and clear the ground for a fruitful reading of his oeuvre. The editions of his texts need to be greatly improved and further commented upon before we can engage in the translation of his poems. But this will come in due time and I hope the present book will contribute to kindling the interest of future generations of readers and scholars for the poet who sang the grandeur of the kingdom of Arakan. Because Ālāol was remembered as the one who taught later generations of poets to give praises and build a memorial of words to the worthy, it seems fair to give the final word to Ḥamīd Allāh Khān who praised the poet’s achievements in the superlative terms that he deserved: wa ʿAlāwal-​i madhkūr ba-​zabān-​i bangāla ba-​muḥāwara-​yi gawṛī afṣaḥ-​i shuʿarā-​yi bangāla wa amlaḥ-​i sukhan-​sanjān-​i ānjā būd. In the Gauḍī diction of the Bengali language, the aforementioned ʿAlāwal was the most eloquent among the poets of Bengal and the most tasteful of the connoisseurs of that place.

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Summaries of Ālāol’s Padmāvatı̄ and the Story of the Goldsmith’s Wife

a .   Su m m a ry of   Ā l ā ol’ s Pad m āvat ī   ( 1 6 5 1 ) 1. Siṃhal and Chittaur: Introducing the protagonists The narrative opens with the description of the island of Siṃhal, a paradise-​like place located outside of the seven continents of the world.1 The king of Siṃhal is Gandharvasen who has a harem of 1,600 wives. The first queen is Campāvatī. The poet describes the beauties of the natural landscape of this place, its inhabitants, the capital city, the palace, and its royal court. One day, the king and his queen have a daughter whom they name Padmāvatī. She is taught as befits a person of her rank, and, when she reaches her twelfth year, her father decides to find her a husband. He fails in his attempt to provide her with a man worthy of her qualities. The princess spends her days with a parrot called Hīrāmaṇi, with whom she enjoys discussing poetry and the contents of treatises. As her youth is blooming, the desire to find a companion becomes stronger. When her father uncovers the longing of his daughter, he blames the parrot, whom he accuses of prompting such an emotional state in his daughter with his discussions. He orders that the parrot be executed. Pādmāvatī

1.  Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 1–​144. Note that the prologue is not provided in this summary. For a comparative table of the narrative structure of Jāyasī’s and Ālāol’s poem, as well as an annotated French translation of the prologue, see d’Hubert, “Histoire culturelle et poétique de la traduction,” 578–​82, 745–​71. For a detailed comparative study of Jāyasī’s and Ālāol’s poems, see Ālāol, Padmāvatī, ed. Syed Ali Ahsan (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Ṣṭūḍenṭ Ūẏej, 1968).

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goes to the lake, Mānasarovar, with her followers and plays with them, and in the meantime the bird flies away toward the forest. Padmāvatī comes back from the lake, and a guard informs her that Hīramaṇi went away. The loss of her dear bird friend throws her into deep distress. In the forest, the parrot realizes that he has lost his way, and he prays God to receive some help. His prayers are momentarily answered, and he manages to lead a happy life surrounded by the other animals of the woods. But one day he is caught by a bird-​ catcher and bitterly regrets his heedless behavior. The setting of the story changes, and we are brought to Chittaur, a city ruled by Citrasena on the Jambudvīpa continent. The king has a son, Ratnasen, whose fabulous adventures are foreseen by his court Brahmans on the day of his birth. At that time, a Brahman of Chittaur accompanies a merchant to Siṃhal. The Brahman, who fails to succeed in gaining a livelihood, asks the advice of a parrot in the marketplace. The parrot, who happens to be Hīrāmaṇi, replies that he himself is undergoing a difficult time and hence he is in no position to assist him. The Brahman, after blaming the bird-​catcher for the cruelty of his profession, buys the parrot and heads back to Chittaur. In the meantime, Citrasen passes away, and Ratnasen succeeds his father on the throne. The Brahman goes to the court with this unusually gifted parrot, and the king buys him. Ratnasen is charmed by the discourses of Hīrāmaṇi and becomes his disciple. Queen Nāgamaṇi questions the bird about the so-​called beauty of the young princess of Siṃhal. The parrot bluntly answers that Padmāvatī is way more charming than her. Consequently the queen of Chittaur orders her wet nurse to get rid of the insolent bird. The nurse, incapable of such cruelty, hides Hīrāmaṇi. When Ratnasen returns from his hunting game, he asks to see his bird–​guru. Nāgamati claims that a cat ate him. The king, furious, scolds his wife, but the nurse brings the bird to the queen, who returns him to her husband. The king asks Hīrāmaṇi the cause of his wife’s grudge. He then tells the king that it is because he told her the truth about his former owner, Princess Padmāvatī’s beauty. Ratnasen wants to know more about it. The bird, after warning him about the powers of love, describes Padmāvatī’s charms. The king is immediately stricken by love and falls unconscious. The courtiers who witness the scene manage to bring him out of his torpor. Unexpectedly, the king scolds them bitterly for doing so by saying: sahariṣe āchilũ amarā-​purī yathā | vanavāsa-​mr̥tyupure ke ānila ethā ||2 I was so glad in the city of immortals, Who pulled me down in this exile of death?

2.  Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 30. Compare with Jāyasī, Padmāvat 121.3: hauṃ to ahā amara-​pura jahā̃ | ihā̃ marana-​pura āeũ kahā̃ | [There, I was in the city of the immortal gods; what is this city of death that I have reached?]

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The courtiers try to bring him to his senses by invoking his duty as a king. They warn him again about the dangers awaiting him on the path of love that requires sacrifices that do not befit a king. But the king holds to his will to go find Padmāvatī. He takes the garb of a yogī and, despite the words of warning of the astrologers, he goes, accompanied by the princes of his kingdom and guided by Hīrāmaṇi. He goes to Orissa where he requests King Gajapati’s help to charter a fleet that would bring him and his troop of yogīs to Siṃhal. Gajapati makes another attempt to talk him out of engaging in this perilous endeavor. But, short of arguments, he agrees to put some boats at his disposal. During the crossing, Ratnasen and his men see extraordinary animals. But the king is not the least unsettled and reminds his crew that “the boat goes swiftly like the wind, propelled by the forces of Truth” [pavana-​gamane naukā cale satya-​bale].3

The hero as a yogī 2.  First meeting in Siṃhal

Ratnasen sees a light, and Hīrāmaṇi tells him it is the island of Siṃhal. The parrot then sets out his plan to arrange a meeting in the temple of Śiva. Ratnasen and his followers head toward the temple where all kinds of ritual are taking place that Ālāol describes in detail. They settle in the temple and “singing a prelude, each sits where it befits him.” Afterward they sing the name of Padmāvatī all night long. Meanwhile, Padmāvatī shares with her followers the viraha that keeps tormenting her. The parrot goes to her and invites her to come to the temple. She fears her father’s reaction, but agrees anyway. The parrot claims his unfailing loyalty and returns to Ratnasen. After a depiction of the springtime celebrations, Padmāvatī and her followers reach the temple. She pronounces a prayer and praises sincere devotion [śuddha-​bhāve bhakti] that surpasses all hypocritical offerings. The followers invite Padmāvatī to go and see the yogīs who came from a faraway land with an ascetic as their leader. The latter is endowed with all the signs of kingship and surpasses Matsyendranāth and Gopīcandra in asceticism. The two lovers see each other for the first time. Ratnasen faints. Padmāvatī makes her followers bring presents and smear sandal paste on his limbs to soothe him. Seeing that all this has no effect, she writes a message with the sandal paste on his body and leaves him. That very night, Padmāvatī sees in a dream the moon and sun united. Her followers interpret this as an omen of her forthcoming union with her lover. When Ratnasen wakes up, he reads the message traced on his chest, which

3. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 11–​36.

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increases his torment. He complains about the vanity of this world and of the worshiping of idols: mūrkhāṇāṃ pratimā devo, vipradevo hutāśanaḥ | yoginām prārthanā devo, devadevo nirañjanaḥ || The fool’s god is the idol, the Brahman’s god is fire, the yogīs’ god is prayer, but the God of gods is the Attributeless One.4

Śiva’s statue answers that it is unfair to blame him this way, because it also suffers from the love aroused by Padmāvatī’s beauty. Moreover, he should revere Hara (i.e., Śiva), whose mere “shadow” [chāẏā] the idol is, for “the Master-​of-​the-​daughter-​of-​mounts is affectionate toward his devotees.” The yogī–​king decides he would immolate himself in hope of obtaining his beloved in another life: kākanucha pakṣī yena citā viracaẏa | tena citā raci sabe kaila agnimaẏa || As the phoenix sets up his pyre, he built his and put it on fire.

Ālāol’s patron Māgan breaks into the narration and asks the poet to explain what a phoenix is. The poet thus states that it is a bird that lives in the mountains of Hindustan. He describes it and adds that his melodies charm other animals who dance around him while gathering wood for his pyre. When the pyre is set on fire, the dance of the phoenix stirs up the flames and he burns. Among the ashes there is an egg from which the phoenix is reborn. And this is how the phoenix lives eternally. The poet further adds that one can verify his statement in the book of Shaykh Farīd al-​Dīn ʿAṭṭār, who is a great pīr “whose speech equals that of the Veda” [veda prāẏa vacana tāhāna]. When Ratnasen sets the pyre on fire, the gods, panic stricken, beg Mahādeva (i.e., Śiva) to rescue them: āẏa prabhu mahādeva mr̥tyuñjaẏa-​kāẏā | yadyapi pāṣāṇa āmi haï tomā chāẏā || Alas Lord! Śiva whose body overcame death! Even though we are made of stone, we are your shadow!

4. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 43.

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Śiva goes to meet Ratnasen and tries in vain to talk him out of committing suicide. Then, Pārvatī turns into an apsarā coming from Indra’s court and attempts to seduce Ratnasen. But Ratnasen expresses his disdain for her: Indra’s apsarā, listen to my words! Only cowards blemish sincerity. If one gives his life in the thought of Unicity, he is saved; if he gives up to duality, he certainly falls in hell. Truth is that I was born a human, and I would gain nothing from a hundred apsarās. The Supreme Agent bestowed dignity upon human beings, see the hundreds of gods who serve human beings! By the wrath of Durvāsas, born among men, in an instant Indra was deprived of his power. Kr̥ṣṇa, the dear son of Nandan, was born in a human lineage, and Brahmā and all the gods bent to his feet. Many such accounts could be related, see by yourself all those testimonies. I have put my wealth and my life at stake for Padmāvatī. Apsarā, you should worship me! The Supreme Agent created human beings from a part of himself, hence, union between humans and gods is strictly impossible.5

Eventually, Śiva appears assuming the appearance of an ascetic saint [siddhā-​mūrti]6 and delivers Ratnasen his teachings on complete renunciation. He then resolves to enter the fort and ask Padmāvatī for alms [bhikṣā] to King Gandharvasen. The news provokes the wrath of the king of Siṃhal who, on the advice of his ministers, decides not to use violent means against this army of ascetics. Meanwhile, Ratnasen writes a letter with his own blood to Padmāvatī that Hīrāmaṇi brings to his beloved. Padmāvatī replies with a letter written with golden ink, and Ratnasen takes fresh heart. Gandharvasen orders that the yogīs be arrested, but his guards fall under the spell of Ratnasen’s melodies and they fail to catch him. Finally, the leader of the yogīs appears at the court, but he refuses to reveal his true identity, only invoking his unfailing devotion to Padmāvatī. The king sentences him to death by impalement, which throws Padmāvatī into fathomless despair. But a herald [bhāṭa] of the court recognizes the king of 5. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 45. 6. Siddhā mūrti may also be translated as “accomplished form.”

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Chittaur and the parrot. Convinced by his words, the king frees Ratnasen and his yogīs. Then Gandharvasen assesses Ratnasen’s qualities as a gentleman by subjecting him to a series of tests. He makes him ride a horse, organizes a game of polo, and confronts him with the pandits of his court to examine his knowledge of the treatises [śāstra] and poetry [kāvya].7 The hero as a bhogī 3.  The wedding of Ratnasen and Padmāvatī

Ratnasen and his followers recover their princely garb and enjoy the pleasures of Siṃhal. But Ratnasen is still suffering from viraha, and the parrot keeps bringing messages between the two lovers. The date of the wedding is fixed by the astrologers, and the festivities begin. The poet takes the opportunity to describe the court in detail. After performing all the usual ceremonies, they finally bring the bride and groom face to face. Ālāol then depicts the palace of Siṃhal. Padmāvatī’s friends play with the newlyweds, and they leave them alone in the bridal room. They make love, and the day after her friends come at dawn to wake Padmāvatī. Upon witnessing her daughter’s happiness, Queen Campavatī is delighted and distributes alms to the poor. Ratnasen gives girls from good families for all his companions to marry. The poet then describes their games during the six seasons of the year. After this year of pleasure and games, Hīrāmaṇi asks permission to return to his homeland because he feels his end is near. Ratnasen agrees, and the bird goes to end his life practicing yoga. Nāgamati, who stayed in Chittaur, complains about the long absence of her husband and she is stricken by viraha. She begs clouds and bees to convey the message of her grief to Ratnasen and prays the Attributeless God to come and save her. A bird of the palace garden hears her laments and offers to bring a message to Siṃhal. When he reaches the island, the bird settles on the branch of tree at whose foot Ratnasen is resting during a hunting game. The king sees the bird and asks why his feathers are blackened. The latter replies that he was burned by Nāgamati’s viraha in Chittaur. The bird also warns him about the sultan of Delhi who could conquer Jambudvīp while he is away. Ratnasen, smitten with remorse, offers his kingdom in return for the bird’s wings. But the bird replies that freedom is too dear to him and that ruling would take him away from devotion 7. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 36–​61.

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to God. Ratnasen resolves that he will go back to Chittaur. He explains the situation to Padmāvatī and her parents. Unwillingly, Gandharvasen charters a fleet for his son-​in-​law. After giving her some advice, Padmāvatī’s mother says her farewells and the couple sails for Jambudvīp.8 4.  Ratnasen returns to Chittaur: The conflict with the sultan During the crossing, Ocean [Samudra] comes disguised as a Brahman and asks for a quarter of Ratnasen’s goods in return for a safe sail. Ratnasen answers back that he cannot squander his wealth for he needs his treasure to take good care of his subjects. The Brahman blames him for his behavior and disappears. A fierce tempest starts, and a demon rises from the ocean. Ratnasen orders his crew to open fire on him, but the demon claims his friendly intentions and says he is one of Vibhīṣaṇ’s servants. Ratnasen trusts him, and the demon seizes the boats and throws them away. Almost all the crew dies. Ratnasen manages to pull Padmāvatī and four of her followers onto a raft that goes drifting off. Padmāvatī and her followers come to ground on the coast of Samudra. Princess Padmā take them into her palace and makes them recover. When Padmāvatī wakes up she realizes that she is once again separated from her lover. Padmā asks Padmāvatī about her story and promises she will help her. Padmā talks about the matter to her father and he comforts her by claiming that Ratnasen is alive and that he also is aground on the beach of some island. He then goes to find him and brings him back to Samudra. Padmā then wants to play a trick on Ratnasen by taking the appearance of Padmāvatī, but she fails to deceive him. They stay all together in Samudra for some time, and the king charters a fleet in order to bring them back to Jagannāth (i.e., Orissa) and then Chittaur. The couple makes a magnificent return to Chittaur. When evening comes, Ratnasen goes to Nāgamati who refuses to see him, claiming that he behaves like a bee, gleaning from flower to flower. He admits his misbehavior and asks her to forgive him. The day after, it is Padmāvatī who complains to her husband that he spent the night with his other wife. Ratnasen then explains that there is no other way but to comply with this situation and the co-​wives eventually become friends. A Brahman named Rāghavcetan joins Ratnasen’s court and overcomes all the pandits with his knowledge. One day, the king asks when the moon would appear. Rāghav replies that the moon would appear that very day, but the other pandits claim it would appear the day after. They decide that the one who will be wrong will be banned from the kingdom. Rāghavcetan who invokes the yakṣas is able to make happen anything he says [vākyasiddhi], and he manages to show the moon to the king. The pandits prove that Rāghavcetan deceived the king, and he is banned. Padmāvatī

8. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 61–​86.

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sympathizes with the Brahman, and she gives him a golden bracelet. When the Brahman gets a glimpse of her beauty, he is completely charmed. He then goes to the court of Ālāuddin in Delhi to benefit from his patronage. He reaches the court of the sultan who questions him about the golden bracelet. Rāghavcetan answers that it belongs to a queen who would be worth sitting next to him on the throne of Delhi. After mocking the Brahman’s words, he listens to the description of her beauty and he falls deeply in love. He sends to Ratnasen a Brahman named Śrījā to propose that he receive the fort of Chanderi and be exonerated from his tribute if he agrees to send Padmāvatī to Delhi. Ratnasen categorically declines his proposition. The sultan sets up his army to attack Chittaur. A war breaks out between the sultan and the raja. Ratnasen’s men, overwhelmed, must take shelter in the fort. Then begins Ālāuddīn’s siege of Chittaur. The sultan makes his men build formidable war devices, always more powerful. The Hindus start losing hope. A letter comes from Delhi to warn the sultan about the dangers of leaving his capital unattended for such a long period. But the sultan persists and bombards the fort even while festivities are going on. The besieged denizens of Chittaur prefer ending their lives rather than surrendering, and they start building pyres. They wear their finest clothes and rejoice for a last time before leaving this world. The sultan sends Śrījā to offer a truce. He claims he renounces to obtain Padmāvatī and only asks for five precious gems in return for Chanderi. Ratnasen agrees and invites the sultan to a banquet in the fort. Ālāuddīn is welcomed in style and sits in front of the show of saṅgīta. Two ministers called Gorā and Bādil warn Ratnasen regarding the real intensions of the sultan. But the king answers that he must comply with the duty of a host toward his guest. After the show is over, as they are playing chess, Ālāuddīn sees Padmāvatī’s image reflected in a mirror and he falls senseless. When he regains consciousness, Rāghavcetan tells him that he was victim of Padmāvatī’s beauty. When the time to go back to his camp arrives, Ālāuddīn’s men seize Ratnasen, who is made prisoner. Thankfully, Gorā and Bādil manage to close the doors of the city and the sultan fails to conquer Chittaur. When he comes back to Delhi, Ālāuddīn sends a dancer disguised as an ascetic in a hospice [dharmaśālā] established by Padmāvatī. The queen is informed that an ascetic who sings about viraha just reached the city. The spy claims that her husband disappeared and that she travels from shrine to shrine to find him. She adds that she went to Delhi and saw Ratnasen in prison there. Padmāvatī wants to go, but her followers talk her out of this idea. In the meantime, in the kingdom of Kumbhalanir, King Devapāla learns about Ratnasen’s misfortune. He summons an old brahman woman named Kumudinī and gives her the mission to convince Padmāvatī to come to him. Then follows a humorous discourse by Kumudinī about her past youth and the calamities of old age. When in Chittaur, she pretends to be the former wet nurse of Padmāvatī, the daughter of Dube Veṇī, the family priest [purohita] of Siṃhal. She claims to be now

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the wife of the purohita of Kumbhalanir. Padmāvatī is delighted and treats her with utmost respect. Kumudinī tries to put to the test Padmāvatī’s faithfulness, but it is in vain. The queen eventually unveils the intentions of the old brahman woman. She orders she be beaten and makes her parade in through the city seated on an ass. Padmāvatī, desperate, wants to commit suicide, but her followers tell her to have recourse to her loyal servants, Gorā and Bādil. When summoned by the queen, the two brothers think of a plan. Bādil wants to use force, and Gorā is in favor of ruse. They choose the latter option and ask Subuddhiśekhar to deliver a letter from Padmāvatī to the sultan asking him to spare the king in return for her coming to Delhi. The emissary completes his mission. Ālāuddīn agrees to the offer. Subuddhiśekhar also manages to inform Ratnasen of their plan without uttering a word, through signs [iṅgite]. Gorā and Bādil disguise a troop of soldiers as Padmāvatī’s servants. As they are about to leave Chittaur, Gorā and Bādil’s mother begs them not to go fight the sultan. They refuse by invoking their duty. Then the poet mentions the arrival of a gamanā (i.e., a new bride coming to the house) in Bādil’s home, which, once again, kindles Māgan’s curiosity and prompts him to ask Ālāol the meaning of this term in the Rajput context.9 The young bride wants to be united to her man before he goes to war. Bādil refuses, claiming that it is not the moment for such things and that he better focus on how to free the king. When he arrives in Delhi, Gorā goes to the sultan’s court and asks for a last meeting between Ratnasen and Padmāvatī. When in prison, the servants launch an attack and free the king. When Ālāuddīn learns what just happened he sends a large army to catch them. Gorā advises his young brother to go to his gamanā while he faces the army of the sultan. The battle lasts for seven days. Many of Ratnasen’s men die, but they manage to stop the army for some time. The sultan is furious to learn of the setback of his troops. His ministers advise him to do as Sikāndar did: He bribed dignitaries of Dārā’s court to be victorious. He sends a letter to make an offer to Gorā, but his plan fails.10

5.  Ratnasen’s conflict with Devapāl When back in Chittaur, Ratnasen gathers the Hindu kings around him and raises an army to join Gorā. This second battle proves fatal to Gorā. Ratnasen mourns for his faithful general’s death and announces the sad news to his brother, Bādil. Ratnasen builds a fort on the frontier of the kingdom and puts it under Bādil’s command. Another conflict breaks out between Ratnasen and Devapāl, who learns about Kumudinī’s failure. Devapāl is vanquished, but Ratnasen is seriously wounded. Back in Chittaur, Padmāvatī gives birth to two sons: Candrasen and Indrasen. His health

9. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 127. 10. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 86–​137.

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quickly gets worse and he summons his two wives, asking them to make sure his two sons will succeed him on the throne of the kingdom. He adds that they should be entrusted to the sultan so that he may take good care of them. He passes away, and the whole city mourns him. Padmāvatī adorns herself with her finest garment and jewels to step up on her husband’s funeral pyre. She is followed by Nāgamati. The two children try in vain to prevent them from stepping into the flames. The cremation ceremony takes place, and the children are brought back to the palace.11

6. Epilogue Candrasen and Indrasen write a letter to the sultan asking that he take the children with him, according to their father’s will. Ālāuddīn agrees; he warmly welcomes and comforts them by mentioning the power of fate, and he puts them in charge of the forts of Chanderi and Marwa.12

b.   T h e story of   t h e g ol d s mi t h ’ s w ife in   S a ẏ ph u l m u luk B adi u j j ā m ā l ( c a . 1 6 5 6 ) To cure the mysterious disease of the prince of Egypt, Saẏphulmuluk, the king decides to let the daughter of a physician try to cure him using alternative means. Pretending to speak with the guards in Saẏph’s appartments, she tells the love story between a goldsmith and a young princess of Greece (Iunān). The story is an entertaining combination of spiritual didacticism on passionate love [prema/​ʿishq] and satirical passages on feigned religiosity and politics. The story goes as follows:1 3 One day, a princess who was looking down at the garden of the palace where workmen were busy with their craft noticed a beautiful young goldsmith. She immediately fell in love, and although the young man had not yet seen her, he was taken by a strange feeling of separation from the beloved [viraha-​vikāra]. He looked around, and his gaze crossed that of the princess. He tried to resume his work, but could not overcome the forgetfulness induced by the viraha: adāhana ṣuvarnna nih[ā]te toli piṭe | agnite nā diẏā phuka ghana jala chiṭe || karāṅgule hema dhare agnira bhitare | hānae hātuẏā ghāta hastera upare ||

11. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 137–​42. 12. Ālāol, “Padmāvatī,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 142–​4. 13.  Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no.  185/​ā 32, maghi 1216/​1854 AD, fol. 12r–​ 20v, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad” collection, Dhaka University Library; “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” in Ālāol racanāvalī, 2007, 463–​72. The text of the manuscript is much more reliable than the one given in Ālāol’s complete works, which is based on the Battala edition.

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He placed the unheated [gold] on the anvil and beat it, instead of blowing on the flames, he sprinkled water on it. He grabbed the gold with his bare hands, he hit his fingers with the hammer.14 Eventually, his co-​workers, who had noticed his strange behavior, told him to go back home and take some rest. The goldsmith complied, and on his way home stopped near a pond pretending he wanted to drink water, but instead exchanged a few glances with the princess who, despite the young man’s lack of experience in reading the signs through which refined people communicate, somewhat managed to indicate a place for a rendezvous [saṅketa] on the same night. Excited and anxious, he came back home, and his wife, a very pious and insightful woman, noticed his unusual behavior and read the signs of viraha’s torment. When she learned the cause of her husband’s pale face and silent mood, she decided to help him handle his intimidating date. Here Ālāol explains her reaction by subverting the behavior expected from a pativratā, an exemplary wife, who is always devoted to her husband. At this point in the narrative, she even sings a song in the Brajabuli poetic idiom describing how a lover, in the present case her own husband, should behave with his beloved: Song on the rāga Asoẏāri15 prathama baẏāna heri pr̥ẏa-​sisa musie | First he looks at her face and caresses the beloved’s head; lips against lips, he embraces her neck. Slowly, he holds her tight and, with his kisses, arouses the god of love, who dresses up. The amorous young woman comes forward, smiling; the young man and woman exchange a few words. Moving her veil aside, he places pan in her mouth; he takes her hand and brings it to his head. Using the pretext of applying some fragrant ointment,

1

2

14. Ālāol, “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” Ms. no. 185/​ā 32, maghi/​1854 1216), fol. 13v. Compare with Ālāol, “Saẏphul Muluk Badiujjāmāl,” 464. 15.  Asoẏāri  =  āsāvarī  =  asāvarī  =  śabarī. This rāga is said to be “full of the emotion of grief” [karuṇa-​rasa-​nirbharā]. Dhyāna:  śrīkhaṇḍa-​śaila-​śikhare śikhipuccha-​vastrā, mātaṅga-​ mauktika-​kr̥ta-​manohara-​hāravallī | ākr̥ṣya candanataror uragam vahantī, sāsāvarī valayam ujjvala-​nīla-​kāntiḥ || [On the top of the Sandalwood mountain, clad in peacock’s tail-​feathers, wearing a beautiful necklace made of exquisite pearls, having attracted a snake from a sandalwood tree, and wearing it as a bracelet, such is Asāvarī of blazing dark beauty] (modified translation from A. A. Bake). I chose the variant reading -​manohara-​hāra-​vallī rather than -​kr̥toghamahāravallī, which does not make sense to me. Dāmodara Miśra, Saṅgīta-​darpaṇa. The Mirror of Music, 54–​5. This dhyāna is not present in the Saṅgītadāmodara.

031

310

Appendix 1

he touches her breasts with his hand. Such is how a graceful woman makes love, she enjoys herself in delightful games, to her heart’s desire. She welcomes the pleasure of love after feigning aversion. He asks her permission and starts making love. On the garland, he drinks the nectar of the night-​flowering jasmine, the noble, clever, and perfectly urbane Māgan; so says the humble Alaol.

3

4

5

When night came, the goldsmith went to his rendezvous but fell asleep. His beloved came but did not dare wake him up, fearing that he may think that she was a slave to her desires. She wrote a message on his body with sandal paste and left a handful of nutmeg seeds [jāti-​phala] in his garment.16 In this section and the following Ālāol makes some scholarly comments on sleep [nidrā] and references to the yogic treatment of the matter. Ālāol’s digression about the yogic understanding of sleep and the intermediary state called tandrā is a clear reference to the figure of the prince disguised as a yogi. He repeatedly mentions that the goldsmith, while waiting for his beloved, visualized her beauty and meditated on this vision. Of course, the story shows that he made a very poor yogī, and that it is not his own dedication and focus, but rather his wife’s wit and resourcefulness, that will bring him success. To avoid another failure, the wife told him to scratch his hand and put some salt in the wound, so that every time he would feel sleepy, he could press on the wound and keep himself awake. Because she was very careful, she also gave him a ring and instructed him that, in case any danger arose, he should find a reliable person to whom he would entrust the ring and ask this person to go throw a brick at his house. Then she would know he is in a perilous situation and she would design a plan to rescue him. The second time the rendezvous went well, except that the kotwals (i.e., the city guards) smelled the perfume that the lovers were rubbing on each other’s limbs and caught the princess with the goldsmith in the act—​here, the poet does not fail to

16.  Nutmeg [jāti-​phala] was used in aphrodisiac preparations. Besides, and more relevant in the context of this story, “as a sign of particularly passionate love one would pass a bundle of scented ingredients, including nutmeg and cloves together with cardamom, which were wrapped in red thread and sealed with wax.” This “bundle” is called a poṭalī in the Nāgarasarvasva (7.4). Thomas J. Zumbroich, “From Mouth Fresheners to Erotic Perfumes: The Evolving Socio-​cultural Significance of Nutmeg, Mace and Cloves in South Asia,” eJournal of Indian Medicine, 5 (2012): 74–​5. snehe sugandhi-​vastūni pūgaṃ khadirasārakam | atisnehe ca sūkṣmailā jātīphala-​lavaṅkam || Padmaśrī and Jagajjyotirmalla, Nāgarasarvasvam Śrī-​ Jagajjyotirmalla-​praṇīta-​saṃskr̥ta-​ vyākhyayānāvilākhyayā hindī-​ vyākhyayā ca samalaṅkr̥tam, ed. Bābūlāla Śukla (Delhi: Īsṭarṇ Buk Liṅkars, 1994), 24 [7.1].

31

Appendix 1

311

play on the paronyms saṅketa [place of a rendezvous] and saṅkaṭa [danger]. After they brought the two lovers to jail, the kotwals celebrated and rejoiced, thinking that they would obtain the goods of the goldsmith as a reward. The husband followed his wife’s advice, and she was warned of his situation. She then dressed as a wandering mendicant and went to the jail with ruṭis, halvas, and alcohol. When she arrived, the kotwals were already celebrating and drinking alcohol and bhang. Then the wife pretended she saw the Prophet Muḥammad in a dream, telling she should bring sweets to one of his descendants who was kept in this very jailhouse. But, unfortunately, she did not know who exactly this person was and asked to distribute the sweets herself to all the prisoners to make sure that she accomplished the Prophet’s order. Once inside the jail, she exchanged her dress with that of the princess, who got outside and was brought back to the palace by the goldsmith’s wife’s servant. In the morning, the kotwals went to the king and told him the entire story. The king ordered them to bring the two lovers to the court to verify their allegation. The two lovers who were introduced to the king’s court were, of course, a very innocent and lawfully married couple. As a consequence, the kotwals were executed and the goldsmith obtained their goods. Then the poet briefly goes back to the frame story to mention the positive effects of the story on Saẏphulmuluk and resumes telling the end. The princess expressed her gratitude to the wife because she managed to protect her mahattva [literally “greatness, grandeur”]. She even told her to sit on the throne, but the intelligent wife refused such a thing that would not fit her actual social condition. Nevertheless, she secretly ran the kingdom while her husband and the princess enjoyed themselves, in secret. Then Ālāol’s patron asks the poet to relate the rest of the story of Saẏphulmuluk.

231

31

A p p e n d i x  2

Analytical Tables of Ālāol’s Songs

A not e on   m e t er s The general patterns indicated in Table A2.1 often undergo some modifications from one song to another. Moreover, the refrain is typically (but not always) composed in another meter or in some variant derived from the prosodic pattern that is used for the couplets (e.g., song nos. 19, 25). Some meters are not indicated in the paratext for which I could not identify any known prosodic pattern (song nos. 6, 10, 13, 27). In Table A2.1, an apostrophe indicates a caesura without rhyme, whereas a hyphen indicates a caesura with a rhyme. Terms between square brackets are not found in the paratext of the poem and were drawn from other sources. Note that bhujaṅgapraẏāta is adapted from a Sanskrit meter of 12 syllablles (ya ya, ya ya; 6, 6). However, when adapted to Middle Bengali, the gaṇa-​based meter is turned into a purely syllabic meter. To put it differently, the weight of the syllables and their arrangement do not matter, only the number of syllables count.1 The case of upendravajrā seems to be different though, and I do not know why the name of this Sanskrit meter of eleven syllables (ja ta ja ga ga; 5, 6) was given in the paratext of this song (no. 24) that is actually composed in trichanda.

1. Wakil Ahmed is wrong when he analyzes the Middle Bengali bhujaṅgapraẏāta as four segments of ten morae. The example that he draws from Bhāratcandra’s Annadāmaṅgal is an exception; the prosody of the rest of the song from which he quotes the envoi follows the 6-​6 syllabic pattern without any fixed moraic scheme. W. Ahmed, Bāṃlā sāhitya koṣ (prācīn o madhyayug), s.v. “chanda,” 138.

431

314

Appendix 2

Table A2.1  Meters used in Ālāol’s songs Name of the meter

Syllable count Rhyme

Songs

pa.

paẏār

8’6

aa, bb . . . 

15, 22, 29, 31

ca. dī.cha. mā. [ekā. pari. tri. up. bhu.

candrāvalī dīrgha chanda mālinī ekāvali]a paritāl trichanda upendravajrā (?) bhujaṅgapraẏāta

6-​6-​8 8-​8-​10 4’4’2 or 4’6 6’5 6-​6-​9b 8-​8-​6-​6-​8 see tri. 6-​6-​6-​6

aab, ccb . . .  aab, ccb . . .  aa, bb . . .  aa, bb . . .  aab, ccb . . .  aabba . . .  —​ aabb . . . 

1, 17, 28, 32 1, 7, 11, 16, 19, 26, 30 2 5, 9 4 3, 8, 20 24 12, 25

[bhujaṅgapraẏāta 2]c

6’6

aa, bb . . . 

21

a See W. Ahmed, Bāṃlā sāhitya koṣ (prācīn o madhyayug), s.v. “chanda,” 133. b The syllable count of the only song composed in this meter is not regular. W. Ahmed analyzes it as a quantitative meter of 8,8,8 and 4 units, but this scheme does not work for the entire song. W. Ahmed, Bāṃlā sāhitya koṣ (prācīn o madhyayug), s.v. “chanda,” 137. c I consider this meter a variant of bhujaṅgapraẏāta, the difference being the rhyming scheme in aa, bb, instead of aabb.

In Table A2.2 the songs that are discussed in the present monograph are marked with an asterisk. The page numbers correspond to Abdul Qayyum and Raziya Sultana’s edition of Ālāol’s complete works.2 It is important to remember that the paratextual indications, and especially the rāgas [musical modes], often change from one manuscript to another. Therefore more research needs to be done to ascertain that these paratextual indications were provided by the poet himself. Otherwise, these must be taken as evidence of the various ways Ālāol’s poems were performed and transmitted up to the late nineteenth century in Chittagong.

2.  Ālāol, Ālāol racanāvalī, ed. Muhammad Abdul Qayyum and Raziya Sultana (Dhaka, Bangladesh: Bangla Academy, 2007). Because the text of the edited text was not always reliable, I quoted the opening lines of song nos. 14, 15, and 24 from “Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl,” ms. no. 185/​ā 32, maghi 1216/​1854 AD, fol. 13v–​15v, Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad” collection, Dhaka University Library, and “Saptapaẏkar,” facsimile no. 4, fol. 83v–​84r, Bangla Academy. Finally, the meter and rāga of song no. 4 are not given in Qayyum and Sultana’s edition but they are indicated as rāga karṇāṭa paritāla chanda in Padmāvatī, ed. Debnath Bandyopadhyay, vol. 2, 180.

351

Table A2.2  Analytical table of Ālāol’s songs Song (gīta) Page no. no.

First words of the opening line

Rāga

Theme

Meter

No. of Patron stanzas

lament, discourse on spirituality lament, separation

ca. + dī.cha.

5

Pad. (1651)—​13 songs 1.*

19

śravaṇa-​naẏana

kedāra

2.

33

sukha-​bhoga goṅāilu kāla

bhāṭiẏāla

3.*

53

tumi pakṣī priẏatama

tri.

18

4.*

66–​67

calila kāminī

pari.

5

5.

71

tuẏā pada heraïte

śrīgāndhāra-​kahu lament, separation, message karṇāṭa description of the beauty’s charms dakṣiṇānta erotic, union

ekā.

4.

Māgan

6.

76

vasanta

description of spring

?

9

Māgan

7.

91

vasante nāgara vara-​nāgarī-​vilāse tomāra kr̥pāra bale

bhāṭiẏāla

prayer

dī.cha.

4

-​

8.* 9.

95 100

āji sukhera nāhi ora kuṭila kabari kusuma sāja

suhi śrī gāndhāra

tri. [ekā.]

5 9

Māgan Māgan

10. 11. 12.

120 122 123

barikhe locana gagane garaje yena satī satya chāḍe

suhi mallāra bhairavī

? dī.cha. bhu.

4 5 5

Māgan Māgan Māgan

13.

124

oha baṛi ṭheṭā

āsoẏārī

end of separation, union description of the beauty’s charms viraha viraha, monsoon the heroine blames the messenger idem

mā.

?

Māgan Māgan Māgan

Māgan (continued)

631

Table A2.2  Continued Song (gīta) Page no. no.

First words of the opening line

Rāga

Theme

Meter

No. of Patron stanzas

Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl—​part 1 (ca. 1656)—​6 songs 14.*

465

prathama baẏāna heri

āsoẏārī

erotic, union

?

5

15.

466

vr̥ndāvane saṅketa calila vara-​bālā

dakṣiṇī śrīrāga

the heroine who sets off to a rendezvous

pa.

7

16.

485

eka bindu jala diẏā

bhāṭiẏāla

prayer

dī.cha.

4

Māgan

17.*

518

viyoginī abhilāṣa-​rasa-​raṅge suhi

ca.

7

Māgan

18.

519

nava-​ghana mr̥gamada

dhānasī

?

8 (?)

Māgan

19.

521

sukha teji duḥkha lābha

—​

description of the beauty’s charms description of the beauty’s charms dialogue on love

dī.cha.

12

Māgan

tri.

9

Solemān

[bhu .2]

10

Solemān

pa.

11

Solemān

Māgan

Satī Maẏnā Lor-​Candrāṇī (1959)—​3 songs 20.*

151

taraṇi pracaṇḍa

mallāra

21.

152

sahasra kiraṇa

śrīgāndhāra

22.*

157

hāhā prabhu nirañjana

paṭamañjarī

separation, song of the twelve months the heroine blames the messenger lament, prayer

371

Sapta paẏkar (ca. 1660)—​7 songs 23.

230

malaẏā samīraṇa

24.*

241

25.

tiroẏā dhānasī

separation

?

6

Saiẏad Muhāmmad Khān

vacana kathā : sei jāna mitthāāśāvari

spiritual discourse, language of signs

up.(?) = tri.

7

Saiẏad Muhāmmad Kān

244

āẏa dīnabandhu : e haẏa duḥkha sindhu

—​

lament, prayer

bhu. + ca.

7

Saiẏad Muhāmmad Kān

26.

246

hera re bāndhava rāi

kāphi

dī.cha.

5

Saiẏad Muhāmmad Kān

27.

254

nāc[a]‌ta nāẏarī -​: kula nāẏarī: dakṣiṇa śrīrāga mājhe

spiritual discourse, the retribution of one’s actions erotic, union, music and dance

?

5

Saiẏad Muhāmmad Kān

28.

282

āẏa huṇa-​nidhi

śrīgāndhāra

prayer

ca.

7

29.

284

dīnabandhu kara paritrāṇa

bhāṭiẏāla

prayer

pa.

6

Saiẏad Muhāmmad Kān —​

dhānasī —​

letter, separation separation

dī.cha. pa.

5 5

—​

dhānaśī

lament, spiritual discourse

ca.

6

majlis Nabarāj

Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl—​(ca.1670)—​2 songs 30. 31.

577 578

āila re sujāni saire ki lāgi likhiche vidhi e pāpa karame

Saiẏad Musā

Sikāndarnāmā (1671)—​1 song 32.*

348

bhāi ki michā dhandha

831

931

A p p e n d i x  3

Original Texts of the Middle Bengali and Old Maithili Songs

See Appendix 2 regarding the meters of Ālāol’s songs. The dhyānas of some of the rāgas mentioned in the paratext, as well as some additional information regarding the time of the day during which these rāgas were to be performed, may be found in the footnotes of the translations of the songs. References to the sources of the songs are given in the footnotes of the translations. For each song, I have revised the punctuation and hyphenation, and numbered each stanza, but I did not indicate these changes in a critical apparatus to make the text more readable. The songs are arranged in the order in which they are discussed in the monograph.

C h a p t er   3 || rāga kedāra chanda || śravaṇa-​naẏana : mana-​buddhi-​jñāna : eka nā āsae kāje | ye kichu karama-​pāṭha : viphala yehena nāṭa : sei puni antare virāje || mr̥tyu vā amr̥ta cāhi : rīta bujhi jāni nāhi : manuṣya āne āne | upakāra kara bhāi : parama viṣama ṭhāi : guru-​mukhe śuni jane jane || duḥkha-​sukha-​bhoga : cañcala saṃyoga : sampada ante vipada | cāndani ṣoṛaśa : tāta amā-​nivasa : pūrṇa grāse vidhuntuda || tāta mātā-​suta-​ : dārā-​bandhu yata : saṅkaṭa-​kāle nā uddhārā | eka-​nirañjana-​ : jagajana-​sevana : āpada-​tāraṇa-​harā || hīna ālāola kahũ : dhairaja dharaha bahu : saṃyoga karae vidhātā | rasika-​nāẏaka gunīna-​toṣaka : śrīyuta māgana dātā || || rāga, dīrgha chanda || sāraṅga-​ari-​rahita : tāhāna bāndhava-​mita : tāra suta pracaṇḍa pratāpa | tāhāra tanaẏa pati : munira se susantati : tāna ripu āmā dila śāpa ||

1 2 3 4 5

1

0 23

320

Appendix 3

sakhī he mora vākya kara avadhāna | bhuvana duguṇa kari : tāhāte tapana pūri : tāra ardha karimu ye pāna || 2 || śrīgāndhāra kahu rāga, trichanda || tumi pakṣī priẏatama : saṅkaṭa kailā suṣama | se saba rahasya : vighaṭita haiẏā : ki lāgi haïla viṣama ||1 śuna śuka prāṇa āmāra minati re || dhru || 2 kahio nr̥pati āge : mora mana-​anurāge | ye sakala {pīṛe} : tāhāna śarīre : āmāra parāṇe lāge || 3 kaṭhina viraha-​jāla : prāṇera nikaṭe kāla | triloka mājhāre : vyakta nā {kare} : ghana ghana hāne śāla || 4 pūrva-​tapa-​phalāntara : milila se yogya vara | hena kārya hita : kaila viparīta : hailā vidhi pāmara || 5 ki buddhi-​bala karimu : kemate prāṇa dharimu | viccheda-​ānala : haïla prabala : āpanā hāniẏā marimu || 6 manete kaila vicāra : upāẏa nā dekhi āra | prabhura ye gati : haïba samprati : sei se gati āmāra || 7 prema-​rasamaẏa nidhi : {ṣurūpa} guṇa-​avadhi | hena ratna-​var[e]‌ : dekhāiẏā more : ki lāgi vañcila vidhi || 8 āmāra piriti lāgi : nr̥pati haïla yogī | mr̥tyu-​kāle yadi : nāhi haẏa gati : haïmu vadhera bhāgi || 9 prabhura dekhilu saṅkaṭa : prāṇa kare chaṭaphaṭa | yadi pākhā haẏa : teji lāja bhaẏa : uṛiẏā yāo nikaṭa ||10 rasika-​nāgara-​rāẏa : dāna-​sindhu dharma-​kāẏa | śrīyuta-​māgana-​: ārati kāraṇa : hīna ālāole gāẏa ||11 Emendation:  3 pīṛe] duḥkha; 4 kare] kari; 8 ṣurūpa, ms. Bandyopadhyay ed.,  144] svarūpa. || gīta, rāga sūhi || āji sukhera nāhi ora : ānande mana vibhora | cira pati-​āśe : cittera mānase : nāgara sadane mora || 1 sudhā-​rasamaẏa nidhi : āni milāila vidhi | bahula yatane : deva-​ārādhane : bhela manoratha-​sidhi || 2 vāta pika śaśadhara : candana phula bhramara | āchila ahita : ebe bhela mita : śītala madana-​śara || 3 viraha-​matta-​mātaṅga : yateka vāhinī saṅga | hari-​daraśane : aṅga-​paraśane : sasainya haila bhaṅga ||4 rasika-​vara sujāna : rūpe jini pañcabāṇa | śrīyuta-​māgana-​ : ārati kāraṇa : hīna ālāola bhāna || 5 || rāga suhi || viẏoginī abhilāṣa-​rasa-​raṅge :

321

Appendix 3

321

matta mātaṅginī : hīna saṅginī : kāma māhuta raṅge || 1 || dhuẏā || kuṭila kuntala : mukutā ujjvala : śobhita sindura bhāle | yena ravi-​śaśī : rāhu pāśe āsi : beṛila tāraka-​jāle || 2 {bhurū}-​śarāsana : naẏana-​āñjana : {kaṭākṣe} mana-​bhaṅga | teji phula-​dhanu : haïẏā atanu : pulakita sarba aṅga ||3 nāsā-​{khageśvara} : amiẏā-​adhara : raiche haraṇera āśe | bhuvana-​mohana : ḍālimba-​daśana : bijuli-​camaka-​hāse || 4 kanaka śrīphala : yini payodhara : rañjita mukutā-​dāme | yena umāpati-​: śire bhāgirathi : tana-​prāṇa aviśrāme (?) || 5 kaṭite kiṅkinī : sulalita dhvani : aṅga-​dhavala-​ākāre | kanaka-​nūpura-​: śabda sumadhura : śuni muni-​mana hare || 6 prema-​pipāsinī : nahe udāsinī : {gajagāminī} laghu-​gāmā | ārati māgane : ālāole bhaṇe : jagata-​mohinī-​rāmā || 7 Emendations:  3 bhurū] bāẏu; kaṭākṣe] kaṭākṣete; 4 khagesvara] khaḍga-​svara; 7 gajagāminī] rāja-​mālinī. || rāga mallāra || taraṇi pracaṇḍa : dharaṇī khaṇḍa khaṇḍa : taḍāgīra jala bine | rahiba dinakara : viraha antara : nidāgha-​samaẏa kaṭhine ||1 śuna dhani jyaiṣṭha ṣaṭa r̥tu re | rasika rasavatī : maẏnā rasa ati : vañcita sukha ati re || 2 || dhuẏā ||1 madhukare jhaṅkr̥ta : capala {camakita} : gagane khaṇḍa-​khaṇḍa garjeu | ḍāhuka dādura : kuhake giricara : samaẏa pāi kare rāu || 3 jaghana ghana ora : {udaẏe} himakara : śītala nirmala rātiẏā | āñjana-​rañjana-​ : naẏāna-​khañjana : virodha śārada-​bhātiẏā ||4 saghana jaladhara : barikhe jharajhara : prabala pavana [dhābau] | śītala kampamāna : vasana oḍana : śiśira hemanta jāna [bāẏu] ||5 mālatī madhu r̥ta : saghana jhaṅkr̥ta : [surabhi]-​malaẏā-​samīre | purita phala-​phula : kokila-​kalakala : samae madhu surucire || 6 tohāra sunāgari : puruṣa āgari : āo-​lo sampada dharāi | sukha-​nivāraṇa : āpanā vañcana : veśa laï śarīre pairāi || 7 dekha-​lo jīvana : cala tataikṣaṇa : svapana tulanā jāna | śiśira-​rañjana : surabhi-​bhūṣaṇa : rasika śaṅkara samāna || 8 vr̥thā e yauvana : nā kara āpana : milāõ nāgara āla re | guṇika sampada : {rahuka} nirāpada : śrīyukta-​solemāna re || 9

1. The edited text indicates that the first and third stanzas are refrains. There should not be two refrains in one song. Besides, the prosody and content of the poem clearly indicate that the refrain must be the second stanza.

23

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Appendix 3

Emendations: 3 camakita] camakata; 4 udaẏe] udare; 5 dhābau] dābau; bāẏu] bāẏa; 6 surabhi] surati; rahuka] bahuka. || lācāṛī, rāga paṭamañjarī || āhā prabhu nirañjana kibā kailyā more | āpanāra karma-​doṣa ki balimu tore || 1 śiśu-​kāle āilum teji mā o bāpa | svāmī-​preme kiñcita khaṇḍila manastāpa || 2 rāja-​lakṣmī mahādevī preẏasī haïẏā | apāra sāgare ghora calilũ bhāsiẏā ||3 svāmīra vicchede saba sakhīra viẏoga | bhāviẏā nā pāma kichu duḥkhera praẏoga ||4 mũi hata abhāginī khaṇḍa-​vrata kailũ | tāra phale icchā mr̥tyu kudaśā pāilũ ||5 garbhavatī samaẏe haila hena daśā | pāpa bhaẏa purite nā pāre mana-​āśā || 6 nahe eka jhāmpe dukṣa khaṇḍe tatkāla | yadi nā haïta kāla udareta śāla || 7 dhariẏā daẏāla nāma niṭhura carita | duṣṭā sarasvatī diẏā bhramāila cita || 8 e bhava-​sāgare mora lakṣya nāi āra | nija-​guṇe kr̥pāmaẏa karaha uddhāra || 9 ālāole bale dhani bhāva nirañjana | kariba karuṇāmaẏa duḥkha vimocana || 10 śrīyukta solemāna guṇera sampada | vidhi-​vase satata thākauka nirāpada || 11

C h a p t er   4 || gīta, rāga bhāṭiyāla || dīna-​bandhu karo paritrāṇa | tumi vinā durgatira gati nāhi āna || 1 bhuliẏā saṃsāra-​rase tomā pāsarilũ | anurūpa pratiphala hāte pāilũ ||2 nā cāhi parama pada cāhilũ sampada | nija-​doṣe saṅge 2 bhramaẏa āpana || 3 candana tyajiẏā yena makṣikā paraśe | uṛiẏā paṛaẏa yena cittera hariṣe ||4 takhane smaraṇa kainu kṣama aparādha | tumi bhinna maneta nāhika mane sādha || 5 hīna ālāole kahe mukti pāibā yabe | samūle kapaṭa nāśi bhaja daṛa bhāve || 6

2 3

Appendix 3

323

|| vilāpa, rāga dhānaśī || bhāi ki michā dhandha jagata-​vāsanā | madhu diẏā pāle : viṣa diẏā ghāle : bhāvi sāraha āpanā || 1 || dhu || tile nr̥pa-​śira : bhūmi kare sthira : dīna-​haste dee nidhi | puṇya honte mana : bhramāiẏā ghana : karāe pāpera śudhi || 2 bhāvi dekha mane : janma māṭi hane : paścāte haïba māṭi | gr̥hapaṇā kari : ācha dina cāri : kene ’dhika paripāṭi ||3 ati dhika lobha : sahaje aśubha : kṣemā se mahattva-​kāma | āji yei āche : nā rahiba pāche : kara śubha puṇya kāma || 4 akāryeta śata : lāge avirata : kārye lāgāite eka | sei śata hane : etha dhika mane : kene bhāva aviveka || 5 puṇya-​dāna-​vitti-​bhāve śubha kr̥ti : majalisa nabarāja | ālāola bhaṇi : sehi dhanya śuni : kare doha-​yuga-​kāja || 6

C h a p t er   5 || {upendravajrā} chanda || āsābari rāga || bacana-​kathā : seha jāna mitthā : saitya kaha (read: kahõ ?) kaitaba mānae re | prema-​abagraha : akula athakhaha (read : amukha ha ?) : jorapare sei jale pare || 1 sājana [ fol. 83v] eha baṅga : dekhite suraṅga : paratilahinaere | ati dukha kāti : jei kare chāti : bahara bahubida cinā re || 2 || dhu || sunaha vairāgi-​kula : khala teāgilu : priti-​surā sukha cokhore | tana mana more : saba kachu jāre : ekamati-​cita rākhae re || 3 2 jā karau āpe : jasañjerāote : haoāra nāma ha re | esana bhisekhā : katha hala dekhā : bidhi-​nr̥pa basaekagāo re || 4 bihi yucho rāmā : purānā kī mate : pahira naṭa-​syāmā re | unamatta bhesā : desa-​bidesā : jagata phirata paśunamore ||5 ramana nirantrā : sata saba dhandhā : sahaje jatna nāhi pāre | yure mohantā : calae ṣupantā : halaha āpānā suore ||6 guna-​grahagatā : dhara manda-​ratā : jasa jāna jasa gunae re | māhāmmada khāna : catura sujāna : hina ālāale gāe re || 7 Emendation : upendravajrā] unpendrabadra

C h a p t er   7 dhānasī-​rāga-​cañcupuṭa-​tālau | aṅgane āoba yaba rasiẏā | pālaṭi calaba hāma īṣata hasiẏā ||1 āveśe ā̃care piẏā dharabe | 2. There is a pa written in the margin. Perhaps should we add it at the end of the second prosodic unit or replace te by pe?

2 4 3

324

Appendix 3

yāoba hāma yatana bahu karabe || 2 kā̃cuẏā dharaba yaba haṭhiẏā | kare kara bāraba kuṭila ādha diṭhiẏā ||3 rabhasa māgaba piẏā yabahĩ | mukha pheri bihasi bolaba nahi tabahĩ ||4 sahajahĩ supurukha bhaṅarā | cibuka dhari adhara pioba hāmarā || 5 taikhaṇe hāma haraba āju cetane | vidyāpati kara saphala tuẏā jīvane || 6 pahilahĩ rāga naẏana-​bhaṅga bhela | anudina bāḍhala avadhi nā gela || 1 nā so ramaṇa nā hāma ramaṇī | duhũ mana manabhava peśala jāni || 2 ei sakhi so saba prema-​kahānī | kānu ṭhāme kahabi bichuraha jni || 3 || dhru|| nā khojalũ dūti nā khojanu āna | duhũka milane madhyata pā̃ca-​bāṇa ||4 aba so virāge tuhũ bheli dūti | supurukha-​premaka aichana rīti || 5 vardhana-​rudra narādhipa-​māna | rāmānanda rāẏa kavi bhāṇa ||6 āẏa dhāi kujanī : ki moka śunāosi : veda-​ukati nahe pāṭhaṃ | lākha upāẏe : miṭāte ke pāraẏa : yo vidhi likhala lalāṭaṃ ||1 nā bola nā bola dhāi anucita vāṇī | dharama nā cāhasi : teji satītva-​mati : lora-​preme karāosi hāni || 2 [|| dhu ||] mohara sunāẏaka : guṇera pālaka : madhura mūrati mukha bheśaṃ | so madhu tejiẏe : karāosi viṣa-​pāna : bhāla dhāi kaha upadeśaṃ ||3 tuhu baṛa pāpinī : pāpa śunāosi : dharama karāosi vāmaṃ | pātakī ghātakī dhāi : ki moka cintasi : jāti-​kula karaha nirṇāmaṃ ||4 duranta durmati dūti : dūtīpanā dūra kari : cintaha mora kalyāṇaṃ | kāji daulate bhaṇe : dātā-​manobhava mane : śrīyuta āśarapha khānaṃ ||5 || dhānaśī || geli kāmini : gajahu kāmini : bihasi palaṭi nihāri | indrajālika : kusumasāẏaka : kuhaki bheli vara-​nārī || jori bhuja-​yuga : mori beṛhala : tatahi baẏana suchanda | dāma-​campake : kāma pūjala : yaiche śārada canda || urahi añcala : jhā̃pi cañcala : ādha paẏodhara heru | pavana-​parābhave : śarada-​ghana janu : bekata kaẏala sumeru || punahi daraśane : jibana juṛāẏaba : ṭuṭaba virahaka ora | caraṇe yāvaka : hr̥daẏe pāvaka : dahaï saba aṅga mora || bhaṇaẏe vidyāpati : śunaha yūvati : cīta thira nāhi hoẏa | se ye ramaṇī : parama guṇa-​maṇi : puna ki mīlaba moẏa || 5

1 2 3 4

2 35

Appendix 3 calila kāminī gajendra gāminī khañjana gañjana śobhitā | kiṅkiṇī ghũghara bājaya jhā̃jhara jhanajhana nepūra madhura gītā || bhuru-​vibhaṅga manmatha-​mana-​mohitā || 2 || dhuẏā || kuṭīla keśa kusuma subeśa sindura candana tilaka tathā | saghana rāti tārakā pā̃ti bāndhuli ratna virājitā || sundara bhāla mayaṅka bāla adhara daśana adhara-​yuti | rasanā {sulāla} vacana {rasāla} viraha-​vedana mohitā || uraja joṛa hema kaṭora ehi se payodhara rañjitā | māgana nāẏaka guṇaka gāhaka jagajana sukha jāra sarahe (?) || ālāole bhane ramaṇī-​gamane apsarā naṭa gañjitā || 5

325

1

2

3

4

virahiṇī-​kathanam aṣṭa-​nāyikā-​kathanam || mālava || e || rati-​rasa-​guṇe basa :  kabahu na teja pāsa :  ehana adhina pahu more | [svādhīnabhartr̥kā] vacana chalae kata : paraka nāri rata : rasa khaṇḍae ohi core || 1 [khaṇḍitā] he sajanī, sara || ki ohe etae āva : nahi tã tatahi jāeba : hame abhisāriṇi bālā | [abhisārikā] vinu dose tejala :  vālabhu kalahu kaela :  tẽ hame hoa hiasālā || 2 [kalahāntaritā] gelāhu sãketa-​ sthala :  hame na bujhala chala :  tanhi vinu raaṇi bahalī | [vipralabdhā] mohi parihari pahu :  paradeśa baisi rahu :  nisi dina jhā̃khi rahalī || 3 [proṣitabhartr̥kā] kisalae seja sāji : pahu-​patha heri āji : rahalahu vāsaka sāje | [vāsakasajjā] ki hetu nahi āela pahu :  saṃśaya bhela mohu :  kahaba kā̃hi taji lāje || 4 [utkaṇṭhitā] nr̥pajagajoti kaha : rasikaka mana raha : virahini kahie juvatī | niya mana anumāni : āṭhao vilāsini : būjhia eka ukutī || 5 athānantaraṃ gauṛānusāreṇa druta-​yati-​manthara-​yatī likhyete || khaṇḍitā-​nāyikoktiḥ || kedārā || kharjati | vacana-​rasa parapañca vājhie, kaie toha saño neha | hr̥daya-​vedana kaela dina dina, jhākhi jhāmara deha || kapaṭa-​pāsa pasāra parihari, karaha sojha paāna | dhūma dharahara, tāva sundara, jāva jāna na āna ||

1 3

6 23

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Appendix 3

nayana kauśala kā̃i vañcaha, āna bhae anurāgi | divasa khana eka pāe daraśana raaṇi khepao jāgi || bhamara bhaya mana thira na kariae, chāṛi deha majhu pāsa | jatahi rasa mana pūri pāia, tatahi kari vilāsa || prathama dui lahu aora eka guru kaie sama kae tāla | nāma drutajati, gāva jagajotimalla dharanīpāla || virahiṇyā uṣāyā uktiḥ || kūṭaṃ || pahaḍiā || e || amia sunia varu addhaja rāti | cārū pada bujhi phāṭae chāti || prathamaka pahila dosara lela tīni | tehi mora mana hari lela acha jīni || e sakhi e sakhi kahaite lāja | nahi jīuba hame jānala āja || juvati vikala hoa ehi vasanta | rajanī śeṣa samayakā̃ anta || nr̥pa jagajotimala ī rasa gāva | bhūpa-​siddhinarasiṃha bujha bhāva ||

4 5 6

1 2 3 4 5

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‫‪A p p e n d i x  4‬‬

‫‪A Persian Appraisal of Ālāol’s‬‬ ‫‪Life and Works‬‬

‫اکث مسلمنان دکهن کول رود سنکوتی که ایشانرا رخنگی گویند‪ ۱‬چنان می ناید که ایشان قبل از فتح اسلمیه در رخنگ رفته متوطن‬ ‫بودند و بعد از فتح از رخنگ آمده اند یا بعد فتح نصت شاه پادشاه باز بتحت حکومت قوم مگه رفته مختلط با آنها شده بودند—​ َ‬ ‫وال َو ُل‬ ‫اس—​والله اعلم‪ .‬و مانگن نامی وزیر ارخنگ و علول شاعر گوڑی بنگاله انیس و جلیس وزیر مذکور و صاحب‬ ‫أَشْ َبهُ وأَ ْقرَ ُبإلی الْ ِق َی ِ‬ ‫تصانیف از قصص و اسمر که بفصاحت و بلغت بزبان گوڑی و اشعار بنگالی اشتهار دارد از آنجمله بودند‪ .‬و از تصانیف بنگله‬ ‫علول می تراود که او بعد نصت شاه بادشاه[ و] قبل عالگیر‪ ۲‬در ایام فتت حین تسلط مگهان رخنگ بر چاٹگام از مقام فتح آباد‬ ‫که در آن حین قبل نام زد شدن‪ ۳‬شهر اسلم آباد دارالمارۀ چاٹگام بود‪ ،‬بقتل پدرش از دست حرامیان در زمرۀ سواران سپاه در‬ ‫بتوصل بعضی از رؤسای ملّت اسلمیه مثل مانگن وزیر و مجلس قطب که جاه و مکنت و‬ ‫رخنگ افتاده بود‪ .‬و قبل و بعد از آن ّ‬ ‫زر و دولت داشتند تصنیف بنگاله با همه فصاحت و بلغت بنام آنها پرداخته بعزت‪ ۴‬و آبرو اوقات بس برده‪ .‬فیم بین آن چون‬ ‫از همراهیان شاه شجاع بود غمزی چیزها از علول براجه رسانیده که منافر طبع راجه بود‪ .‬لهذا زمانی بضبط جای و زمین و زر‬ ‫و مایه با همه پریشانی[ ‪ ]۵۵‬بکمل نکبت گذرانیده‪ .‬بالخر غمز مذکور پاداش عمل بد خود بصد خواری بدار رسیده و معنی َل‬ ‫یَ ِح ْی ُقالْ َمکْ ُر ال َْس ّئ إ ِّلبِأ ْهلِ ِه ظاهر گردیده‪ .‬و علول بعلم و فضلی که داشت باز بوسیلۀ بعضی از امرای مذکور بجاه و عزت فایز‬ ‫شده‪ .‬ازینجا مستنبط میشود که حین فرار شجاع پس شاهجهان بادشاه از میر جمله نواب معظم خانخانان سپه سالر عال گیر‬ ‫بادشاه جنت آرامگاه و ورود‪ ۵‬شجاع برخنگ علول آنجا بود والله تعالی اعلم‪ .‬و تالبی بزرگ بنام دیگهی علول و مسموعست‬ ‫که دیگهی دیگر بنام مجلس قطب در نواحی فتح آباد هنوز مشهور است‪ .‬و علول مذکور بزبان بنگاله بحاورۀ گوڑی افصح‬ ‫شعرای بنگاله و املح سخن سنجان آنجا بود‪ .‬و تصانیف بسیار پرداخته و سکندرنامه و هفت پیکر نظامی را اکث لفظ بلفظ در‬ ‫شعر بنگله متجم ساخته‪ .‬و چند قصص و افسانۀ دیگر بفصاحت و بلغت تام بعرف خرافات[ و] واهیات هندوان گفته‪ .‬در آن‬ ‫براه بیقیدی و بیپروائی رفته‪ .‬و چنان مینمید که در فارسی هم شاعر بود چنانچه از استاق‪ ۶‬مضامین و تشبیهات و طور گفتارش‬ ‫ظاهر می شود‪ .‬اما شعرش در فارسی ندیده ام مگر بعلّت قلّت فارسی دانان آن وقت محفوظ و مکتوب نانده واللّه اعلم‪ ۱1.‬گویند]‬ ‫گویاند و‪ ۲ ،‬عالگیر] عالگیری‪ ۳ ،‬شدن] شد‪ ۴ ،‬بعزت] بغرت‪ ۵ ،‬ورود] وردو ‪ ۶ ،‬استاق]‪ ‬اشتاق‬ ‫​‪Most of the Muslims who live south of the Sankawatī River are called “Rakhangī-‬‬ ‫‪s” (i.e., Arakanese). It seems that they [first] went to Arakan (Rakhang) before the‬‬ ‫‪Muslim conquest and settled there, and [then] came [to Chittagong] after the‬‬ ‫‪1. Khān Bahādur, Aḥādīth al-​khawānīn, yaʿnī tārīkh-​i Islāmābād Chāṭgām ki ham musammá‬‬ ‫‪ba-​Tārīkh-​i Ḥamīd ast, 54–​5.‬‬

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Appendix 4

Arakanese conquest [of the region]. Or they came after the campaign of king Nuṣrat Shāh and then fell under the sway of the Arakanese and mixed with them, the first option is more likely and closer to correct speculation, and God knows best. Māngan was a reputed minister of Arakan, and ʿAlāwal was a poet from Gawḍ in Bengal and one of the confidents and guests of the aforementioned minister. He is the author of works based on stories and tales that are famous for the eloquence of the [style of his] Gawṛī language and Bengali poetry. [Māngan and Ālāol] were among them (i.e., the Rakhangīs). From the Bengali works of ʿAlāwal it appears that during the period between Nuṣrat Shāh and ʿĀlamgīr (i.e., Awrangzeb), [he came] from Fatiḥābād when the Arakanese ruled over Chittagong—​before the city was officially called “Islāmābād” it was [called] “Chittagong, the Seat of the Government”—​[and] when his father was killed by Portuguese pirates, he ended up in the cavalry of Arakan. Because he had connections before and after this [arrival in Arakan] with people among the Muslim community, such as the minister Māngan and Majils Quṭb who held powerful positions and wealth, he composed eloquent works in Bengali in their name and he lived honored and respected.2 During this period, a sycophant among Shāh Shujāʿ’s followers informed the king of displeasing things about ʿAlāwal. Because of this, [the poet] had his position, lands, money and goods confiscated and he had to face extreme misery. Eventually, the aforementioned sycophant’s retribution for his misconduct was that he suffered hundred torments as he was impaled. The meaning of “the evil plot does not encompass except its own people” (Q. 35.43) became manifest. ʿAlāwal, because of his erudition and learning, regained his position and honor thanks to the intervention of some of the officers mentioned above. From all this we learn that ʿAlāwal was there when Shāh Shujāʿ, son of emperor Shāh Jahān, fled from the governor Mīr Jumla, the exalted Khān-​Khānān, general of the army of emperor ʿĀlamgīr—​ who now rests in Heaven—​and [also] when Shujāʿ arrived in Arakan. And God the Most High knows best! I have heard that still today, in the region of Fatiḥābād there is a famous pond called Ālāol’s dīghī (pond) and another named after Majlis Quṭb.3 In the Gawḍī diction of Bengali language the aforementioned ʿAlāwal was the most eloquent among the poets of Bengal and the most tasteful of the connoisseurs of that place. He composed many works and translated almost word for word Niẓāmī’s Sikandarnāma and Haft paykar. He also most eloquently told other stories and tales, which are well-​known absurd and ludicrous stories of the Hindus. By doing so he engaged on the path of carelessness and negligence. It seems that he was also a poet in Persian; this fact appears clearly from his borrowing of themes and similes [ from Persian poetry], and from the style of his diction. But I  have not seen any Persian poem of his and perhaps, due to the dearth of Persian knowing people at that time, they were not memorized or committed to writing—​and God knows best! 2. Here Ḥamīd Allāh seems to confuse Majlis Quṭb of Fatihabad and Majlis Nabarāj, Ālāol’s last patron in Mrauk U. 3. On this pond, see Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad,” “Ālāoler jīvanī prasaṅga,” in Ābdul Karim Sāhityaviśārad racanāvalī, ed. Abdul Ahsan Chaudhuri, vol. 1 (Dhaka, Bangladesh:  Bangla Academy, 1997), 337–​40.

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Zarcone, Thierry, Ekrem Işin, Arthur Buehler, and Alexandre Popovic, eds. The Qâdiriyya Order. İstanbul: Simurg, 2000. Zaydpūrī, Ghulām Ḥusayn. Riyāḍ al-​salāṭīn: tārīkh-​i Bangāla. Edited by ʿAbd al-​Ḥaqq ʿĀbid. Bibliotheca Indica. New series. Calcutta: Maṭbaʿ-​i Bīptist Mishin, 1890. Zaydpūrī, Ghulām Ḥusayn. The Riyaz̤u-​s-​Salāt̤īn: a History of Bengal. Translated by Maulavi Abdus Salam. Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, 1902. Zöllner, Hans-​ Bernd. “Die Rohingyas -​Konstruktion, De-​ Konstruktion und Re-​ Konstruktion einer ethnisch-​religiösen Identität/​The Rohingyas in Myanmar. Construction, De-​ construction and Re-​ construction of an Ethnic Identity.” ASEAS—​Österreichische Zeitschrift für Südostasienwissenschaften/​Austrian Journal of South-​East Asian Studies 1, no. 1 (2008): 53–​64. Zuber, Roger. Les “Belles infidèles” et la formation du goût classique. Perrot d’Ablancourt et Guez de Balzac. Paris: Arman Colin, 1968. Zumbroich, Thomas J. “From Mouth Fresheners to Erotic Perfumes: The Evolving Socio-​cultural Significance of Nutmeg, Mace and Cloves in South Asia.” EJournal of Indian Medicine, no. 5 (2012): 37–​97. Zumthor, Paul. Essai de Poétique Médiévale. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 2000. Zumthor, Paul. Toward a Medieval Poetics. Translated by Philip Bennett. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992.

357

Index

ʿAbd al-Ḥaqq Muḥaddith Dihlawī, 235 ʿAbd al-Qādir Jīlānī, 104, 109, 146 ʿAbd al-Raḥmān Jāmī, 40 Ābdul Hākim, 35, 40, 41, 89 Abdul Karim “Sāhityaviśārad,” 10, 42, 64, 92n10, 152, 159 ʿAbdullāh, 233 abhidhārtha, 203 abhisāra, 269 ābhoga, 108, 112, 166 Abraham, 36 Abū al-Faḍl, 43n82, 195, 271 Abū al-Ḥasan Quṭb Shāh, 251 accessibility of the regional language, 257 Aceh, 28, 31n39, 43, 50, 57, 109n74 Achiatnāmā, 41 adab in Ālāol’s milieu, 180 in the Arakanese court, 10, 106 in the Bay of Bengal, 8 of the bhuyans’ courts, 98 of Chishtiyya brotherhood, 104 cosmopolitan Muslim, 160 as a loan word, 77 of Lodi dynasty, 97 in Niẓāmī´s poems, 135 in Saptapaẏkar, 138 administrators, 66, 130 adultery, 41 aesthetics in/of Avadhi poetry, 124

bhāva-rasa, 272, 279, 287, 293 deśī, 13, 230n14, 235, 252–7, 265 Indic, 137 in Middle Bengali literature, 11 Sanskrit, 99, 105, 114, 172 and saṅgīta in Ālāol’s works, 153, 173, 224, 294 in Sufi romance, 227 Vaiṣṇava, 168 Afghanistan, 40 Agnipurāṇa, 282 Ahmad Sharif, 42, 49, 64, 92 Āʾīn-i akbarī, 195, 271 Āinuddīn, 152 Akbar, 93, 98, 226n3, 233, 241n40, 243, 249 akṣara (syllable/foot), 113n89, 182n64, 183 ākṣepa ~ samādhana (in Skt. commentaries), 220 the figure of speech “rejection” 267 ʿAlā al-Dīn Fīrūz Shāh, 38 ʿAlā al-Ḥaqq, 95 Alam, Muzaffar, 243 Al-Andalus, 16 alaṅkāra, 168, 173, 180n54, 184, 185, 200–2, 207, 224, 289, 293 causality [kāvyaliṅga], 268 contrast [vyatireka], 202 poetic fancy [utprekṣā], 202n116, 267 rejection [ākṣepa], 267

8 53

358 alaṅkāra (cont.) subtlety [sūkṣma], 210n138 See also upamā alaṅkāra-śāstra, 169, 172, 173, 203 Ālāol on alaṅkāras, 200–2 Ālāolian ethics, 150 and Avadhi romance, 248–51 on bhāva-rasa, 188 confluence of Indic/Sanskrit and Persian literature in, 105, 106, 212 courtly ethos of, 65–8, 72 as a court poet, 17, 63–4 cultural background of, 94–7, 104, 162, 180, 295 depiction of ideal patron, 246–7 description of courtly life, 58, 6–63, 68, 70, 73–8, 130 description of Mrauk U, 21n4, 240 and deśī-bhāṣā, 229 early poems, 107, 112, 116 Ḥamīd Allāh Khān on, 6 ideological reading of, 13 on kavitva, 181–2, 203 on language choice/use, 8, 9, 244, 245n49, 296 later influence, 153–7, 298 Life, 6, 66, 78, 89 [oeuvre], 95, 98–101, 135, 141, 145, 226 on literary tradition, 214 on Muslims in Mrauk U, 30–1, 51, 60n48, 62, 151 name of, 95–7 on nāyikā-bheda, 196–9 notion of speech, 171–5, 178–9 on pā̃cālī̄ tradition, 164–5, 224 Padmāvatī, 102, 103, 120, 137–40 patrons of, 56, 57n35, 59, 60, 65n56 and Persian models of literature, 137 on poetics, 10, 162, 171–5, 184, 291–2 predecessors of, 8, 29, 48–50 on prema-rasa, 193–4 prologues of, 175 on prosody, 184–6 and rāga, 107–8

Index readership in modern era, 158–60 on religion, 109–10 and saṅgīta, 39 and saṅgīta-śāstra, 168, 170 and Sanskrit poetics, 104–6, 179, 292, 293 Saptapaẏkar, 137–40 on sarva-artha-gā̃thani, 203, 205 Satī̄ Maẏnā, 114 Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl, 117, 118, 120, 144 on secondary courts, 62–3, 98 Sikāndarnāmā 137–40, 151 similarity with Ābdul Hākim, 41 Tohphā, 140, 143 and transcreation, 221–3 on translation, 171, 213, 217–20 on upamā, 201, 207–9 use of Śubhaṅkara, 277, 278 and Vidyāpati, 266–9 ʿAlāwal Khān, 96 ʿAlāwal, 96, 97, 296, 298, 328. See also Ālāol ʿAlī, 41 amātya, 52–6, 58, 61, 62, 66, 69, 75, 142 ambrosia to abandon ~ to drink poison, 139n30 lips of ~ 121, 122 ~ of speech, 285 Amīr ʿAlā al-Mulk, 133 Amīr Khusraw, 104, 192n91 analogy, 149, 206–13. See also speech Anaṅgaraṅga, 94 Anantamāṇikya of Bhulua, 26n22, 40 Ancients and the Moderns, the, 214n148, 216 andarz, 148 anklets jingling sweetly, 267 sound of golden ~ 121 antaḥpura, 69, 260 antarā, 112, 166, 267 anthology, 92, 98, 153 of Sanskrit verse, 287, 293 Vaiṣṇava, 270, 271, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284

9 53

Index anti-Kr̥ṣṇa, 41 antima, 274 Anushirwan, 74 anusvāra, 259n11, 265, 268 Apabhramsha, 94, 256, 258, 263, 264n25, 265, 269, 272, 273, 292 Arabia, 31, 49 Arabian descent, 53 Arabic in Ālāol’s works, 8, 180 ārajā, 244 in Arakan’s political culture, 27 in Dobhāṣī literature, 158 forgotten place in Bengali literature, 11–12 literary tradition, 207, 209–10 script, 90n4, 96, 157 part of multilingualism in court, 240, 241, 246, 247 political culture in eastern Bengal, 28, 35, 102 sources in eastern Bengal, 40 travel accounts in, 25 Arakan Yoma, 22 Arakan, 1, 26 adab in, 10, 106 Bengali Muslims in, 30–2 courtly culture in, 63–8, 73–5, 90, 94, 129, 228 as frontier region, 3–5 geography, 17, 21–2 political idioms of, 27–9 power in the region, 24, 93, 94, 143 religious context in, 102, 104, 147 Shāh Shujāʿ in, 133, 135 Arakanese turban, 53 ārambha, 109, 112, 267n33. See also udgrāha arila, 244 ars poetica/poetic art [kavitva] 18, 103, 171–3, 179, 182, 183–6, 187, 188, 220, 224, 294, 298 artha, 183n66, 184, 188n80, 203, 204, 205, 210, 247 artha-prakr̥ti, 203, 204

359

artificial, classical languages and the realm of the ~ 268 Asam, kingdom of, 43 ascetic, 83, 85, 107n67, 108, 112, 116, 120, 161, 211n140, 236, 301, 303, 306 Āsi, 43, 50 Aśiṣṭa, allegorical character in Saptapaẏkar, 67, 140; aśiṣṭa [vulgar], 76 Āśraph Khān, 48, 51, 57, 62n52, 100, 104, 124, 265 asrār and the category of mystic poetry, 206 and the generic code of Avadhi romance, 249 and passionate love [ʿishq], 236 Assam in Ālāol’s work, 31 mentioned in Bengali poetry, 43n82 regional court in, 227 relationship with Arakan, 93 Sanskrit literary culture in, 243 Saṅgītadāmodara in, 277, 279 translation into vernacular language in, 33 Vidyāpati’s language in, 262, 270 Assamese, 30 Assamese hagiography, 243 aṣṭa-nāẏikā-bheda, 184, 185, 194–200, 272 ʿAṭṭār, 99, 103n59, 105, 106, 206, 209, 302 Ava, 22, 26 Avadhi canon, 85, 251, 252, 294 language and literature, 7, 8, 48, 72, 76, 83, 94, 99, 104, 105, 117, 124, 129, 156, 172, 173, 179, 187, 193, 206, 213, 220, 222, 223, 224, 244n46, 245, 247–59, 262, 269, 288, 294, 295, 296 poetics, 211 prema-rasa, 151, 194 romance, 13, 47, 50, 83n97, 84, 85, 88, 104, 178n50, 193, 213n145, 231, 235, 238, 247–59, 262, 277, 295

6 03

360

Index

Avahattha, 187, 256, 257, 258, 262 Awadh, 94, 248 Awrangzeb, 18, 132, 328 axis mundi, Mrauk U’s Golden palace as, 5 Babbarabab, 61, 141 Babupur, 40 Bāburnāma, 243 Bacchic imagery, 148 Badāʾiʿ al-afkār fī ṣanāʾiʿ al-ashʿār, 206 Badiujjāmāl, 122, 157, 269n35 Bahlol Lodī, 97n27, 226n3, 232, 233, 239, 240 Bahrām Gūr, 67, 136, 138, 208, 246, 247 Bakkhali, 21 Bala, Amritalal, 12–13, 98n34 bāndhuli flowers, 268, 325 bāṅgālā, as a term used to designate the language of a work, 159n84, 185 Bangladesh, 1, 2, 7, 10, 11, 16, 25, 41, 64, 152 Baṛa Ṭhākur, 55n28, 58, 187 baṛa ujīra, Assamese title, 55n28 bards, 69 Bārha sayyids, 134 bār-i ʿām, 242 Baṭtalā, 111n83, 143n39, 157, 158, 159, 231n16, 308n13 Bay of Bengal networks, 23, 46, 123 bayt, 148, 219, 220, 289 beggar, 44 Behl, Aditya, 13, 176, 227, 241, 245, 247, 249 belles lettres, 100, 134, 216 Benares, 79, 86, 134, 292 benevolence, 109, 150, 151 Bengal Ālāol on, 31 Ālāol’s place in, 9, 298 ~-Arakan continuum, 17, 20, 21, 26, 30 Avadhi romance in, 247, 250, 251, 253 Bay of, 22–4, 27n23, 28

Brajabuli in, 263 Chittagong as, 24–5 colophon tradition in, 183n65 Dobhāṣī in, 158 eastern ~, 32–3, 39 Islam in, 35 Mughals in, 93, 97, 118n110, 141 multilingual literacy in, 255, 290 Persian history of, 133n6, 134 Persian literacy in, 297 Shāh Shujāʿ in, 132–4 Saṅgītadāmodara in, 286, 289 Śubhaṅkara’s status in, 189n84 sultanate of, 16, 20, 232, 234 tantrism in, 109 “twelve-landlords” of, 226 Vaiṣṇava literature in, 193, 200 Vidyāpati’s influence in, 262, 264, 276 Bengali (language) dramas in, 281 Gauḍī diction in, 298 in Muslim communities in Arakan, 6, 7 prosody, 313. as trading language in Arakan, 57n35 translation in, 218 Bengali (literature) in Arakan, 1–3 Avadhi romance and, 248–50, 269 bhaṇitā, in, 165 colophons in, 183n65 courtly culture in, 63, 73 didactic literature in, 157, 223 Dobhāṣī, 158 Geography of, 295 individuality in, 167n24 pā̃cālī̄ tradtion in, 163–8, 171, 217, 291 panegyric in, 156 and Persian literary culture, 297 poetic terminology in Middle ~, 162, 163 prosody as a defining feature of, 185, 289, 296 rhyme in, 187

361

Index Bengali diaspora, 10 Bengali émigrés, 64 Bengali Muslims, 10, 32, 39, 45, 46, 51, 56n32, 68, 94, 100, 102n53, 106, 109, 123, 124, 135, 143, 144, 161 as cultural intermediaries in Arakan, 57, 58, 60, 129 literature of, 3, 11n37, 12, 19, 21, 26, 32, 36n56, 47, 110, 208n131 in Mrauk U elite society, 30, 31 betel box, 69 Bhadrāvatīnagar, 49 Bhāgīrathī, 121, 321 bhāgyodaẏa, 65, 67 Bhaktapur, 280, 281, 283, 285, 286 bhakti, 66, 74, 76, 109, 142n37, 301 Bhaktiratnākar, 287 bhāṅg [cannabis], 44, 311 bhāṅg-/bhāṅgana [to break; to translate], 185, 219, 220 bhaṇitā, 112, 149, 164, 165, 166, 167, 260n15, 266n31, 270n37, 282n72 Bhānudatta, 195, 196n101 Bhāratīcatur, 75–88, 113n90 Bhartr̥hari, 179 bhartr̥kā, 196, 199 Bhaṭṭa Tauta, 181 Bhavabhūti, ancestor of the performer Jayata of Mithila, 275 Bhavabhūti, Sanskrit author, 9 bhāva-rasa, 184, 185, 188, 189n84, 85, 272, 279, 287, 293 Bhikan, 49, 96 bhoga, 30n37, 108, 319 bhogī, 83, 85, 120, 151, 249, 304 Bhulua, 26n22, 39–42, 54n23, 94n16, 109, 119n110 Bihar, 57, 88, 97, 226, 227, 234, 247, 296 bīja, 203 Bijapur, 251, 252 Bilhaṇa, 37 bindu, 149n59, as a term of Sanskrit dramaturgy, 203, 317 bird-catcher, 82, 107, 108, 300 Blumhardt, 252

361

bosom compared to golden bowls, 268 hastily covered, 266 washed by a stream of tears, 149n59 Brahman, 52, 66, 78–87, 93, 94, 95, 102, 113n90, 143n39, 275, 300, 302, 305, 306, 307 antibrahmanical feelings, 275 Brahmanical culture, 40, 86 Brahmanical purity, 86 Brahmanical kingdom of Mithila, 259, 269 Brahmanical textual practices, 275 Brahman king, 275 Brahmanism, 11, 32n40 Braj, 134, 185, 187, 196, 197, 199, 242, 272, 274 Braja, 166 Brajabuli grammar, 264 Brajabuli lyrics, 47, 48 Brajabuli, 16, 38, 39, 47, 48, 88, 106, 115, 116, 124, 140, 165, 166, 187, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 268, 270, 277, 293, 296, 309 Brajawali, 262, 270 Br̥haspati, 180 British period, 231 Buddha, 48, 74, 102, 130 Buddhification, 101, 102 Buddhist institutions, 101, 102 Buddhist king, 7, 26, 34, 48, 65, 72, 73, 123 Buddhist monasteries, 4 Buddhist power, Arakanese, 32 Buddhists, Arakanese, 74 Burhān al-Dīn Abū al-Ḥasan ʿAlī al-Marghīnānī, 145 Burmese invasion, 22 Caitanyacaritāmr̥ta, 167, 263 Calcutta, 96 editions of Ālāol in, 157–9 Camnār, 136 Candasudhammarājā, 27, 54, 56, 57, 58, 74, 117, 118, 119, 133n6, 144, 161

6 23

362

Index

Cāndāyan, 48n4, 84n99, 129n136, 248, 250n59, 251n61 Caṇḍīdās, 270 Candrāṇī, 48, 78, 81, 114 Candrāvatī, 49–51 Candrāvatī, princess of Sarandvīp, 49 canon Avadhi, 231, 248–52, 253, 255, 294 of Middle Bengali poetry, 16 regional literary, 37 Vidyāpati’s poetry and Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava, 270 caupaï/caupāi/caupāī, 219, 244, 245, 249, 250, 252 cavalry, 48, 52n16, chief of, 54, 66, 67n59, 98, 328 Chaghatay, 216n152, 243 chailla, 257n6, 261 Chakrashala, 22, 29n31, 32, 34, 37, 49 chamberlain and treasurer of the king, 56 champa, garland of (metaphor for the arms), 266 chanda/chandas and amānaka principle, 274n51, 293, 313–17 as the root of poetic art, 220 Sanskrit didactic literature on, 8, 184, 186–8 See also prosody Chandaḥsūtra, 60, 185n73, 186, 188n78 chāyā [Sanskrit rendering of Prakrit and Apabhramsha texts], 199n109 and intralinguistic translation, 221, 257n7, 262n20 Cheduba, 21 chieftains, 226, 227 China Sea, 23 China, 213 Chishtī, 8, 104, 145, 147 Chishtiyya, 35, 49, 104, 130, 146 Chittagong, 4n10, 6, 7, 10, 15n54, 21–5, 26n22, 29n31, 32, 33, 34, 38, 40, 41, 42, 47, 49, 52n16, 65n56, 66n58, 88, 90, 94, 96, 98n31, 100, 109, 141, 143, 144, 148n55, 152, 153, 156, 157, 158, 161, 271, 287, 314, 327, 328

Chola Empire, 23 chronicle(s), 23, 24n15, 51, 96, 134, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 238, 240n36, 247, 252, 253 Chuṭi Khān, 33 citation, 183, 184 as a component of Ālāol’s poetics, 205–6 Citrāvalī, 173n39, 248 City of Bengal, 24 civilized world, perception of Arakan in the margins of, 4–5 cleverness of speech, 183, 205 collective memory, 2 Comilla, 15n54, 34 commensurability, 66, 130 companions of the Prophet Muḥammad, 71 conjugal morality, 41, 46 connoisseur(s), 76, 115, 127, 153, 246, 282, 288, 293 Bengali terms for, 79n87, 80 compared with bees, 81, 127 disciplines mastered by, 179 gifts to, 86, 180 vs. the ignorant reader, 222 king among, 112 music and, 279 opening up of literacy and, 259 of poetics and allied treatises, 59 patron satisfies, 107 and riddles, 113n90 in Sanskrit poetics, 189 and speech, 82 and transcreation, 223 connoisseurship, 79, 153, 222, 223, 259, 283 courtly sociability and, 246 cultivation of literacy beyond expert, 260 ideal of, 280 lexicography and, 245 in lyrical arts, 19 and music, 288, 289 new kind of, 269 in regional courts, 19

6 3

Index sectarian affiliations and, 270 and vernacular poetry, 108n70, 276, 279 continence, sexual, 41 conventions, Sanskrit literary, 68, 73, 91, 116, 125, 143, 173, 206, 218, 294 conversion to Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism, 262 to orthodox Islam, 110 scenes of, 119, 130, 136 cosmographers, 4 cosmopolitan adab, 106, 160 brotherhood, 49 city, 5 kingdom, 75 languages, 228 milieus and multiple ṭarīqa affiliations, 145n47 and regional, 169 society of Mrauk U, 31–2, 51 cosmopolitanism, 146–7 counselor(s), 52, 53 in charge of the eunuchs, 55 court pandit, 52, 86, 256, 270 court poet(s), 17, 33n44, 38, 39, 47, 61, 62, 63–4, 68, 75, 89, 104, 156, 243, 250, 276, 280, 281 mundane and spiritual ambitions of, 177 courtly sociability, 14, 19, 47, 227, 240, 246 multilingualism and, 241 reconfiguration of, 289 riddles and, 285 suggestive language and, 200 Sanskrit representations of, 225 courtly values, 34, 61, 75 cultural area, 3, 5n14, 293 cultural ethos, 19, 21, 51 Islamicate, 1, 8, 9 Lodi and Sūr, 227 Muslim, 28 polyvocal, 3

363

cultural geography, 16 polycentric, 5 cultural refinement, 113, 129, 179 cultural trends, 18, 295 synchronized, 23 culture languages, supraregional, 24 curriculum, 10, 38, 103n59, 146,  262n20 dafālī, 242 Dakani, 84, 182 Dāmodara Miśra. See Saṅgītadarpaṇa Daniel Havart, 55 Dārā Shukoh, 146 Daśarūpaka, 195 Daśāvatāranr̥tya, 281 daśāvatārastuti, 278 dāstān, 8, 250, 251 Middle Bengali epic romances based on, 72, 73n75 Dāʾūd Khān Karrānī, 232, 234 Daulat Kājī, 7, 8, 21n4, 28n25, 45, 47, 48, 50, 52n16, 57, 60, 62, 63, 64, 75, 85, 87, 88, 100, 124, 125, 128n135, 137, 156, 159, 206, 251n61, 255, 259n11, 264, 265, 268, 269, 287 Daulat Ujīr Bahrām Khān, 37, 98n31 daulat ujīr, 47, 54n26, 58 de Bruijn, Thomas, 247 Debān Ālī, 153 Deccan, 19, 24, 29n30, 31, 37, 39n64, 49, 51, 224, 250–4 Deccani sultans, 23 Delhi Sultanate, 227 deprofessionalization of literacy, 255, 257, 269, 288 deśī-bhāṣā, 229, 262 desila vaẏanā, 257n6, 258 destiny, 43, 44, 82n95 Dharmanārāyaṇa, 279 dhātu, 169, 170, 171 dhruvaka/dhuẏā, 112, 166, 264, 267n33, 275 dhruvaka-prabandha, 108 Dhūrtasamāgama, 258

6 43

364

Index

dhyāna [personified description of a rāga], 107n67, 108, 114n97, 125n127, 127n132, 128, 139n28, 149n59, 153, 154n68, 272, 278, 279, 286, 287, 288, 293, 309n15 digressions, technical, 8, 18, 103n57, 105, 165, 186, 191, 224, 271, 279, 283 Dobhāṣī, 158 dohā, 244, 245n46, 249, 250n59, 251n61, 252 drama(s), 107, 243, 256, 257, 270, 285, 287 lyric, 38n63 in Nepal, 280–2 dramatic lyric, 38 dramaturge, 262 dramaturgy, 203–5 druta-yati, 284, 325 Durre majliś, 40–1 Dutch factory, 143 Dutch trading post, 99 East Asia, 1, 2 economy of mutual satisfaction, 66 economy of the sabhā, 47, 65,  76, 78 edifying story, 119, 207 Egypt, 31, 43, 45, 122, 308 Ekatāla, 283, 285 elegiac mode [vilāpa], 113 elevation, social, 65, 67, 68, 78, 85 eloquent speech [bhāratī], 76, 79, 86, 113n90 emissaries, 58, 73–5, 210n138 emporia, 23, 25 enjoyer [bhogī], 83, 85, 151, 249 the hero as, 304 viraha of, 120 envoi, 108, 112, 128, 135, 136, 141, 224, 313n1 episteme, 265 Sanskrit, 88, 105n63, 169, 179, 224, 258, 259n11, 269, 274, 288, 289, 292, 294

śāstric, 276, 279 epistemic shift, 3, 292 erotics, 258 esoteric knowledge, 146 Ethiopia, 31 eulogies of speech in, 172 romance genre in, 250–2 as a supraregional culture language, 24 eunuch(s), 55, 56, 118, 135 European(s), 57n35, 215 exoticism, 230, 252 exoticization of Hindu culture, 13 eyebrows charm Love’s heart, 267 compared with bows, 121 fanā, 249 faqīr, 28, 29, 238 Faridpur, 7 Fatihabad, 66, 78, 93–9, 102, 104n60, 119n110, 328 Fayḍī, 249 female messenger, 267 Feni, 100, 153n66 Filliozat, Pierre Sylvain, 194 first dignitary of the (great) queen, 49, 99, 118, 144 first queen, 58, 299 Flower-Weaponed Love, 266 forehead compared with the moon, 268 fate written on one’s, 265 vermillion on, 121 France, 214n148, 216 Gajapati, 262, 301 Galen, Stephan van, 93 gaṇa (i.e. metrical unit), 183n66, 185n73, 186–7, 273, 313 gāndharva, 147, 290, 291 Gaṅgā, sprouting from Śiva’s hair, 122 Gangetic plains, 23 Garden of Iram, 122

6 35

Index Garuḍa nostrils compared with his beak, 121 stealing ambrosia, 122 gāthā, 244 Gauḍā [kind of song], 282 Gauda, 16, 25, 29n31, 33, 34, 49, 278 Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava, 89n1, 172n37, 191, 193, 270, 287 Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism, 38n63, 194, 262 as the product of a regional courtly ethos, 95 genre, cross-linguistic, 19, 247 Ghanaśyāma, 286 ghāṭ, 74 Ghawwāṣī, 84, 182, 250, 251 Ghoshal, Satyendranath, 12–13, 87n103, 163n4 Ghulam Samdani Quraishi, 96 gifts, 70, 76, 80, 81, 86, 150, 198n108 gīta, 92, 108, 110, 111n79 and 84, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 127, 138, 139, 140, 145, 164, 165, 166, 169, 170, 188n80, 259n10, 263, 264n25, 267, 272n44, 274, 282, 293, 315–16, 322, 325 Gītagovinda, 38n63, 243n43, 278, 279 gīti-kavitā, 163 glory, 66, 81, 101, 144, 177, 178, 219 goat, 74 Gohārī kingdom, 84 language (i.e. Avadhi), 251n61 Golden Age, 3, 17 Golden Palace, 3, 60, 68, 75 destruction of, 152n63 Golkonda commercial activities of, 23 commercial partner of Mrauk U, 51 Islamicate and political idiom in, 28 poetry in, 182, 250, 251 Gorip Hācan, 44 governor(s) Arakanese ~ of Chittagong, 26n22 of eastern Kāmarūpa, 278

365

Ḥusayn Shāhī ~ of northern Chittagong, 271 of Jaunpur, 242n42 of Laungrak, 101 Mughal ~ of Bengal, 100, 132, 141, 242, 328 grandeur [mahimā/mahattva], 17, 56n33, 60, 65, 66, 68, 70, 71, 72, 74, 75, 79, 85, 86, 87, 88, 106, 125, 144, 145, 150, 151, 154, 298, 311 great council, 54 Greek, 247 Green, Nile, 231 Grierson, Abraham, 273 Gulshan-i ʿishq, 251 Gulshan-i rāz, 206 guru, 9, 84, 85, 105n64, 140, 148, 149, 187, 211, 281, 288n83, 300, 319, 321 Habiganj, 34 Hājī Muhāmmad, 37 Ḥamīd Allāh Khān, 6, 7, 25n18, 33n41, 96, 148n53, 153n66, 156n77, 158, 297, 298 Hanafi school of Islamic law, 104 hand gestures, 180, 277 Hāniphār digvijaẏ, 37 Haq, Enamul, 33, 42, 64, 152 Haq, Muhammadd Enamul, 42 Haragaurīvivāhanāṭaka, 281 Harandīṃ, 84, 85 Hari, 115–16 hārmāda, 99 Ḥasan Manjū Khaljī “Hans,” 251 Hastamuktāvalī, 190, 286, 294 head of the artillery, 56 heads of the villages, 54 Hellenic cosmography, 4 Hemanta, 126, 321 Herat, 40, 206, 216n152, 252 high deeds of kings, 75, 81, 97, 137, 138 ḥikāyat, 235, 24 ḥikāyat-i tamthīlī, 208–9 Hindavi, 7, 9, 11n37, 59, 218, 222n167, 235, 240, 241, 246, 247, 289

63

366

Index

Hindu court pandits [puṇṇas], 52, 94n15 Hindu landlord, 39 Hindu zamindārs, 226 Hindus, 4, 6, 32, 42, 48n5, 61, 62, 74, 142, 215, 306, 328 Hindustan, 7, 19, 31, 39n64, 48, 49, 57, 97, 104, 137, 195, 215, 226, 227, 231, 234, 238, 239, 247, 250, 302 Hindustani, language, 158, 180, 246 hinduẏānī, 41, 158, 265 Hīrāmaṇi, 85, 107, 108, 299, 300, 301, 303, 304 historical narratives, 45, 239 historical poem(s), 231n16, 256 historical referentiality, 88, 228, 252, 260 Hitopadeśa, 94 homeland, 68, 85, 304 honnête homme, 261 house of war [dār al-ḥarb], 161 hr̥daya-saṃvāda, 189 Ḥusayn Shāh Sharqī, 227, 246, 247, 256n5 Ḥusayn Shāh, 95, 269 Ḥusayn Shāhī dynasty, 16, 32n40, 38 Iberian Peninsula, 16 Ibn Ḥanbal, 146 Ibrāhīm Sharqī, 94 imām, 28–9 Imām-vijaẏ, 37 impalement, 43, 303, 328 incarnation of the law of truth [satyadharmāvatāra], 74 Indo-Afghan literary culture, 99, 226 in the Deccan, 250–2 Indo-Afghan milieus of Bengal, 99, 254 Indo-Afghan period, 39, 226, 247, 252, 255 Indonesian Archipelago, 24 Indra-sabhā, 68 ingenuity [caturatā], 50, 113, 140 iṅgita-vacana [language of signs], 88, 139, 200, 210

inner meaning of words, 80, 87 insular Southeast Asia, 23 intertext, 250, 251, 269 intertextuality, 12, 14, 15, 16, 63, 214, 216, 217, 218, 248 invocation Arabic, 29 to God and the Prophet, 71, 103n56, 138n25, 175 Iran, 23, 134n14, 204 ʿIsāʾ Khān, 96 iśaka-bhāva [love], 106n66, 207, 294 ʿishq [passionate love], 235, 236, 271n40, 308 Islām Shāh Sūr, 240–2, 246 Islamic judge, 9, 29n30, 45, 60, 145, 146 Islamicate culture courtly, 248, 288 deśī, 254 Islamicate literacy, 26 Islamicate political idiom, 20, 25, 30, 45, 51 Jagajjyotirmalla/Jagajotimalla/Jagajoti, 71, 92, 280–7, 310 jāgīr, 98, 153n66 Jahāngīr, 278 Jahangirnagar, 26n22, 100, 134, 141 Jaina, 95, 209, 294 Jaunpur, 94, 229, 235, 239, 242n42, 256, 289 Java, 23, 66 Jayadeva, 38n63, 122, 270, 278n61, 280 Jāyasī, 8, 9, 71, 76, 85, 99n37, 104, 106, 108, 129, 137, 182, 193n93, 206, 211n140, 222, 223, 248, 249, 299n1, 300n2 Jayata, 272, 275 jewel(s), 80, 136, 268, 308 beloved compared with, 112, 266 honor compared with, 80 poetry/speech compared with, 77, 180, 181, 182, 186, 210 Vikramāditya’s nine jewels, 287

6 37

Index justice, 237 king departs from, 83, 85 reestablished, 136 of the ruler, 73, 74, 85 sincerity rooted in, 130 Jyaiṣṭha, 126, 321 Jyotirīśvara, 71n69, 94, 245n48, 258, 259, 294n6 Kaḍā, 229 Kahalgaon, 227 Kājī Śekh Mansur, 152 Kālā Lodī, 239–41 Kaladan, 21 Kali age, 209n135, 259 Kālidāsa, 9, 70, 80, 86, 270 “second Kālidāsa” 79 kalima, 44 Kalyāṇa Malla, 94 Kāma, 111n79, 113, 122, 321, 324 Kāmarūpa, 33, 278 Kāmasūtra, 199, 210n138 Kanchi, 42 Karbala, battle of, 35, 37 karma, 43, 125, 208, 322 Karnafuli, 21 Kashmir, 31, 37 Kathāgurucarita, 243 kathaka, 275 kavi [poet], 9, 63, 72n73, 108, 155n71, 159n84, 165n13, 180n56, 181n59, 182, 185n71, 193, 197n104, 202n115, 272n44, 296 “Kavīndra” Parameśvar Dās, 33, 167 Kavikarṇapūra, 192–3 Kaviśekhara, 270 kavitva [poetic art], 171, 179, 182, 203, 224 kāvya, 68, 87, 101n47, 147, 160, 172n39, 176n46, 180n54, 181n60, 182n60, 185, 187n78, 189n84, 200, 201n113, 217, 221, 224, 231n16, 273n45, 279, 284, 304 Kāvyamīmāṃsā, 242 kāyastha(s), 39, 95, 262, 275

367

Khamsa, 71, 103n58, 106n66, 137, 159, 172n39, 216 Kharjati, 284, 325 Khayr, 67 khīchrī, 242 khuṭba, 239 Khuwarnaq, 135–6 kingship, 69, 102, 117, 239, 240n36, 241, 301 Kīrtilatā, 255–63 Kīrtisiṃha, 256, 260 Koreśī Māgan, 49 Kr̥ṣṇa, 34, 36, 41, 81, 106, 109, 116, 122, 134, 166, 191, 192, 263, 266n31, 269n35, 303 Kr̥ttivāsa, 167, 218 Kr̥ttivāsī Rāmāyaṇ, 16, 167 Kshatriyas, 95 Kubera, 70 Kulke, Hermann, 23 Kumudinī, 127, 306–7 Kuntala, 243 Kusala, 101 Kuvalayāśva, 281 lac, on the beloved’s feet, 266 lācārī/lācāṛī, 127, 138, 164, 166n17, 170, 322; lahacarī, 164, 271 Lāḍ Khān Lodī, 94 Lahjāt-i sikandar-shāhī, 97 Lahore, 31 lakṣaṇārtha, 203, 220 Lakṣmaṇamāṇikya, 39, 40, 119n110 Lalitamādhava, 287 Lalitpur, 285 language of signs, 88, 139, 210, 211, 317. See also sign(s) language purification [taṭhīr-i zabān], 244 lashkar wazīr, 52n16, 54, 55n28, 57, 100, 123 Laungrak, 101 Lāẏlī Majnu, 37, 54n26, 159 Laylī u Majnūn, 106n66, 137 Leider, Jacques, 26, 28n27

6 83

368

Index

Lemro, 21 lexicographical knowledge, 206 lexicographical method, 259n11 lexicography, 8, 39, 134, 242n42 Old Maithili, 258 Sanskrit, 259 libraries, 4 līlā, 174n42, 191 linguistic economy, 242–5 literacy, 2, 10, 12, 17, 26, 32, 63, 153, 205, 227, 247, 255–60, 275, 288, 289, 292, 297 literacy, multilingual, 12, 17, 63, 205, 227, 247, 255, 297 literarization, of the vernacular, 254–6 literary conventions, 68, 91, 173 literary identity, 62, 185, 245, 255 literary traditions, 7, 10, 16, 21, 106, 228, 238, 239, 255, 259n10, 262, 289, 291, 296 literati, 5, 35, 103n59, 152, 157, 227, 276, 297 lives of the prophets, 35 Locana, 270–6, 287, 289, 293 Lodis, 19, 96, 97, 174n43, 227, 232, 235, 244n44 long-distance trade, 51, 57, 73, 100, 133, 143 Lor, 48, 78, 79, 80–5, 87, 114, 151 lord of the white and red elephants, 156 love poetry, 206, 247, 248 love, 34, 37, 43, 49, 50n12, 83, 84, 85, 106, 110, 111, 113, 114, 115, 116, 120, 121, 122, 129, 137, 148, 184, 185, 188, 192, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 199, 206, 207, 208n134, 211, 212n144, 213n145, 227, 235, 236, 237, 238, 247, 248, 249, 252, 253, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 267, 270, 271, 283, 284, 285, 294, 300, 301, 302, 304, 306, 308, 309, 310, 316 lyric poetry, 16, 18, 38n63, 88, 91, 254, 269, 275, 276, 280 lyrical arts, 8, 19, 39, 54, 103n57, 153, 154, 164, 168, 170n35, 174, 179, 180, 184, 188, 191, 201, 224, 225, 245, 255,

256, 271, 272n42, 275, 276, 277, 280, 282, 286, 287, 288, 289, 293 Madālasā, 281 Madālasopākhyāna, 281 Mādhavānala Kāmakandalā, 248 Madh-Mālatī, 240. See also Madhumālatī Madhu, 126 Madhumālatī, 173n39, 176n47, 248, 251 Madhyadeśabhāṣā, 272 Māgan Ṭhākur, 45, 47, 49, 50, 53, 55, 56n30, 58, 59, 60, 62, 67, 78, 88, 96, 99, 100, 105, 107, 112, 115, 117, 118, 122, 123, 129, 135, 143, 144, 156, 179, 187, 189, 201, 219, 246, 250, 268, 302, 307, 310, 315–16 Magī (i.e. Arakanese), 74 Mahābhārata (Skt.), 33, 207, 248, 249, 271; Mahābhārat (Ben.), 167 mahādevī-mukhya-pātra, 55, 58, 59n42, 118 Mahāmuni, 102 mahāpātra, 54, 61n48 Māhāsum, 118 mahattva [grandeur], 17, 56n33, 65–7, 70n67, 74, 79, 85, 88, 106, 125, 151, 311, 323 Mahīnāth Ṭhākur, 271 Maḥmūd Shabistarī, 206 main dignitary [mukhya-pātra], 59 Maithili, 16, 71n69, 94, 129, 166, 253, 255, 256, 258, 259, 261, 262, 267, 268, 269, 272, 274, 281, 282, 286, 293, 295, 296, 319 majlis Nabarāj, 117, 144, 150, 317, 328n2 Majlis Quṭb, 95, 98, 328 majlis, 18, 56, 57, 58, 60n46, 61n48, 77, 233, 235, 240–2, 253 Makhzan al-asrār, 103, 106n66, 176 Mālādhar Vasu, 167 Mālatīmādhava, 191 Malay, 5n14, 24 Māle Mohāmmad, 158 malfūẓ literature, 232

6 93

Index Malika Śāhi, 94 Malika-yi Jahān, 239 Mālinī, 84, 125, 127 maṅgal-kāvya, 50, 89n1, 296 maṅḥ kywan, 54, 99 maʿnī-band, 203–4 Manipur, 52, 55n29, 93 Manjhan, Mīr Sayyid, 173n39, 176n47, 240–1 manthara-yati, 284, 325 Manṭiq al-ṭayr, 105, 209 Marʿashī Shūshtarī, Muḥammad ʿAlī, 133 Mardān, 42–4, 47, 50, 109n75, 208n134 mārga, 168, 229–30, 272, 274, 276 maritime trade, 22, 43n82, 50, 74 Mārkaṇḍeyapurāṇa, 281 Masahud, queen of, 212 master of the assembly [sabhā-pati], 60, 69–70, 78 Masulipatnam, 24 mathal, 207–9, 233, 294 Mathews, David, 251 mathnawī, 8, 40, 48, 92, 99n37, 103n58, 130, 147, 148, 172, 187, 208, 249, 250, 252, mathnawī-i ʿāshiqāna, 249 mātu, 169, 170, 171 Maulānā Dāūd, 84 maẏnā bird, 87 Maynā Satvantī, 84 Maẏnā, 48, 78– 86, 114, 125–7 Maẏnāvatī, 48 Mayu, 21 Mecca, 146 Meghadūta, 70 Meghavatī, 21 mendicant, 80, 311 merchants, 30, 43, 47, 50, 56, 57, 58, 60, 65, 73, 74, 75, 87, 117n105, 119, 123, 130 migration, 2n3, 32, 39, 49, 152, 226, 253 Mirʾat al-maʿānī, 206

369

Mirigāvatī, 227, 244, 245, 248, 279n62 Mīrjā, 141 Mithila, 39, 88, 92, 94, 97, 255, 256, 257, 269, 271, 275, 276, 280, 282, 286, 288, 289, 293 mobility, social, 51, 70 mockery, 284 Mohar kingdom, 78 monarch, Solomonic, 74 monk, 118 monsoon, 22 Moses, 36, 45 Mount Meru, 3, 266, 268 Mrauk U, 22, 25, 29 Ālāol in, 89–9 courtly culture in, 7, 8 decline of courtly milieu in, 159, 160 Mughals in, 132 Persianization in, 26 place within Arakan, 21, 24 religious context in, 9, 130 secondary courts of, 62–5, 253, 287 structure of society in, 51, 52, 56–8 Mrauk U period, 1, 22, 29 administrative and political language, 28 Arakanese society, 51 Bengali language, 6 as a Golden Age, 3 Muditakuvalayāśvanāṭaka, 281 Mughal Bengal, 28, 39 Mughal Empire, 5n14, 226 Mughal expansion, 98 Muhāmmad Ālī, 152 Muhammad Śāhābuddīn, 40 Muhāmmad Śaphī, 37, 41 Mujāhed, 49 mulk, 98 Multan, 31 muqṭiʿ Naṣīr al-Dīn, 94 Murād Khān, 98, 119 murīd, 146 Murshidabad, 286 Mūsan, 240

0 73

370 Mushtāqī, Rizq Allāh, 232–40 Music. See saṅgīta; saṅgīta-śāstra “On the Musical Modes of the Hindus,” 277 Muslim dignitaries in Bhulua, 40n69 in Mrauk U, 7, 8, 17, 51, 73, 94, 101, 117, 118, 123, 124, 129, 160, 161 Muslim elite, 18, 20, 29n31, 34, 49, 62, 73, 87, 94n16, 99, 101, 151, 270 Muslim identity, 110 Muslim preceptor, 102 Muslim society, 30, 226 Muslim World, 3, 16, 145, 146, 161 Myanmar, 1, 2, 10, 45, 64 mystic poetry, 139, 178, 206 Nabīvaṃśa, 33, 36, 218 Nachirat Śāhā, 44 nakha-śikha, 59, 121, 122 Nal Daman, 249 Nala and Damayantī, 248 Nalacaritra, 281 Nāmehā, 119, 130 Naokhali, 39 Naoẏājīs Khān, 155 Naqshbandiyya, 35 Nara mit lha, 26, 27 Nārada, 188 Narahari Cakravartī, 287 Naranārāyaṇa, 33, 243 Narapati krīḥ, 101 Narapati, 58, 101, 102, 133 Nasibnāmā/Sādhur vacan, 42–5, 50, 51, 208n134 Nāṣir Shāh, 28 Nasirā, 45 Nasle Osmān Islāmābād, 156 Nat Rhaṅ, 101 Nāthism, 42 nationalist cultural narratives, 10 nāṭyagīti, 38, 165n15 Nāṭyaśāstra, 181, 191n88, 194, 197n101, 204, 282

Index nāyaka/nāẏaka, 59, 108, 165n13, 260, 267, 272, 277, 282 nāẏaka-nāẏikā, 119, 166 nāyikā/nāẏikā, 59, 119, 134, 194–9, 260, 284 the betrayed, 196–7 the impatient, 196, 198 the messenger for herself, 196, 198, 199 the one who is disappointed, 197 the one who possesses her husband, 196–9, 284, 325 the one who prepares a bed, 196–7 the one who sets off to a rendezvous, 196–7 the one who was deceived, 196 the one whose husband left, 196 parakīyā/parakīẏā, 122, 199 near foreignness, 230, 235, 252 Nepal, 71n69, 94, 106, 227, 253–6, 262, 270, 276, 277, 280, 281n68, 289, 296 New Indo-Aryan Languages, early examples of, 229, 258 nisba, 95 nīti, 106, 159n84, 207, 217n154, 295 nīti-śāstra, 142 Niẓāmī Ganjawī, 8, 9, 37, 90, 103, 106, 148, 149, 160, 161, 172n39, 176, 178, 181, 182, 206, 209, 210, 213, 219, 223, 224, 294, 328 Nomān, 136, 246 nostalgia, 91, 144, 234 Nr̥patigiri, 101 nr̥tya, 168n28, 169, 170, 189n84, 193n94, 293 Nuh sipihr, 104 Nūrnāmā, 37, 41, 175n44 Nuruddin, 43–4 Nushāba, 151 Nuṣrat al-Dīn Bīshkīn, 72 Nuṣrat Shāh, 96, 270, 327, 328 Nuṣratī, 251 obligations (as a royal slave), 145 olamā, 59

371

Index Old Testament, 141 oral contests, 80 orality, 183, 229, 239, 252, 253, 290 Orissa, 38n63, 94, 106, 192, 195, 262, 286, 296, 301, 305 Ottoman Empire, 31 Oẏāhid Muhammad Caudhurī, 287 pā̃cālī, 8, 16, 18, 38, 88, 89n1, 90, 92, 132, 137, 138, 147, 157, 158, 159, 160–8, 170, 171, 183, 187, 201, 202, 203, 204, 213, 217, 218, 221, 223, 224, 268, 290, 291, 293 pada [lyric poem], 49, 124n122, 165, 200n112, 261n19, 265n29, 266, 293 pada-ccheda, 220 Padakalpataru, 266, 270n37 padārthokti, 220 Padmāvat, 8, 231, 249–52 Padmāvatī. See Ālāol Padyāvalī, 287 pagodas, 4, 130 Pala kingdom, 23 Pali, 21n4, 27, 207 Pandey, Shyam Manohar, 247 panegyric, 73, 153, 154, 156, 178 Panjabi, 249 Parāgal Khān, 33, 271 paratext, 113n93, 164–6, 211, 270, 278, 282, 284, 293, 313, 314, 319 parrot, 85, 106, 107, 108, 110, 111, 117, 139, 299, 300, 301, 304 patākā, 203 pāṭha, 79, 170, 324 Pathan, 30, 155 pātra, 28, 29, 49n6, 54, 55, 56, 58, 66, 72, 80, 118 paẏār, 16, 71, 127, 144, 154, 164, 166, 167, 185, 219, 220, 221, 264, 288, 296, 314 paẏāra-bhāṣā, 164, 185 paẏāra-prabandha, 164 people of the mountains, 73 performers, 275, 279, 280

371

Persian (language) Ālāol’s use of, 8, 9, 74, 76, 77, 105, 129, 219, 297 chronicles in, 231, 235, 238 as a court language, 240–4 and deśī poetics, 292 histories of Chittagong written in, 25n18, 96, 153n66, 156n77 history written in, 133, 226 literary culture in eastern Bengal, 40, 41, 43n82, 48 Māgan’s knowledge of, 59 multilingual literacy and, 269, 271, 289, 291, 296 as political language of Mrauk U, 28, 30n33 in saṅgīta, 39n64 and Sufism, 35, 37 textual transposition from, 7, 218–20, 221 translations into Bengali from, 172n39, 225 translations of texts into, 94, 146n50, 168, 169, 215 Persian literary culture analogy in, 206, 207, 209, 212 and Avadhi romance, 120, 249, 250, 251, 252 as background for Bengali literature, 11n37, 12, 13 as model for Ālāol, 99, 103–6, 110, 179 notion of speech in, 171–3, 224 notion of tradition in, 214n148 rhyme in, 187, 187n77 Persianization, 26, 27n23 pessimism, Niẓāmīan, 117, 140 Phājil Nāsir, 153, 154, 287 phoenix, 105, 302 Phukan, Shantanu, 247 Piṅgala, 60, 185n73, 186, 187, 188n78, 201, 220 pīr, 43, 60, 118, 302 pīrī, 90–1 Pléiade, 216 poet, Vaiṣṇava, 89, 173

723

372

Index

poetic art [kavitva], 171, 172, 173, 179–88, 220, 224, 298 poetics of signs [iṅgitas], 113, 169, 279, 294 poetics Ālāol’s, 10, 88, 114, 149, 291 Bengali model before Ālāol, 163 deśī, 88, 255, 258, 273, 292 list of elements in Ālāol’s understanding of, 184 Niẓāmī’s, 178 in Padmāvatī, 102, 103 of Prema-rasa, 129 in Saptapaẏkar, 137–8 shaped by the economy of the sabhā, 65, 87 in Sikāndarnāmā, 147 in Tohphā, 143 Vidyāpati’s, 258, 259 political idiom, 20, 25, 27, 28, 30, 45, 51, 101, 102 polyphony, 18, 103, 106 popular presses, 157 port-states, 29 Portuguese Christians, 3 prahelikā, 113 prakarī, 203 Prakrit, 12n38, 187, 199, 207, 214n149, 221, 243, 256–8, 265, 273, 281, 291, 292 prasaṅga, 44n83, 60, 155n71, 170, 208n133, 260n14 Pratāparudra, 263–4 prayer(s), 71, 113, 116, 127, 129, 138, 139, 141, 143n39, 145, 149, 150, 160, 236, 300, 301, 302, 317 prema-kathā, 188 premākhyāna, 130. See also Avadhi preman, 191, 192, 193 prime minister [pradhāna amātya], 48, 52n16, 53, 59n42, 62n52, 100, 118 prince(s), 18, 44, 49, 58, 67, 69, 76, 119, 120, 122, 132, 135, 136, 144, 146, 260, 275, 301, 308, 310 princess, 49, 58, 67, 122, 137, 200, 208, 249, 269n35, 299, 300, 305, 308, 309, 310, 311

principle of unrestrictiveness [amānaka], 273–4 privy council, 54, 55, 56, 118, 135, 143 Prophet Muḥammad, 37, 62, 71, 142, 156n76, 175, 210, 311 prophet(s), 33, 35, 36, 41, 45, 139, 149, 150, 151, 181, 208 proṣitabhartr̥kā, 196n99, 199, 325 prosodic form(s), 16, 99, 218, 219, 221, 245, 252, 289, 293, 296 prosody, 8, 39, 60, 90, 92, 112n88, 138, 158, 166n18, 183, 184, 185–8, 201, 219, 220, 242n41, 246, 272, 273, 274, 277, 289, 293, 313n1, 321n1 puṇṇa(s), 52, 94n15 pūraba dī bhāṣā, 249. See also Avadhi Purāṇa(s), 35n55, 36n55, 80, 89n1, 163, 275 Puruṣaparīkṣā, 209n135, 260–2 pūrva-rāga, 267 qāḍī ʿAṭā Malik Naṣīr, 28 Qāḍī Nūr Allāh, 133 Qādirī, 9, 109n75, 133, 146n51, 147 Qādiriyya, 29n30, 35, 145, 146, 147 Qāsim Khān, 134 qiyās, 149, 209, 225 Quṭban, 227, 230n14, 244–9, 255n4, 256n5, 276, 279n62 Rādhā, 34, 106, 116, 122, 166, 192, 263, 269n35 Rāga- and Tāla-nāmā, 153 rāga, 108, 112, 116n102, 166n17, 282, 288, 293, 314n2 āsāvari, 211, 309, 323 bhairava, 138 bhāṭiẏāla, 139, 322 deśī, 273 dhānaśī, 149, 316, 317, 323, 324 gauḍa-mālava, 278 kahu, 111, 145, 315, 320 kedāra, 107, 108, 284, 315, 319, 325 mālava, 278, 283, 325 mallāra, 125, 321

37

Index paṭamañjarī, 127, 322 śrīgāndhāra kahu, 111, 320 suhi, 114, 121, 320 rāgamālā paintings, 277, 278, 286 rāga-mālā, 153, 279n62 Rāganāmā, 287 Rāhu, 107, 121, 122, 321 raiders, Luso-Arakanese, 7, 94, 99 Raja Mukund, 98 rāja-dāẏa, 54, 145 Rājan, 235 rāja-sainya-mantrī, 52n16, 55 Rājaśekhara, 242 Rājjāk, 40 Rajmahal, 93, 134 Rajput, 231, 307 Ram Oṅ, 28 Rāmagiri, 70 Rāmānanda Rāya, 38n63, 262–3, 324 Rāmāyaṇa, 217, 248. See also Kr̥ttivāsī Rāmāẏan Rāmgopāldās, 287 Rammavatī, 21 Ramre, 21 Ramu, 6, 22, 32, 152, 156, 158 rasa, 90, 91, 121, 136n22, 140, 143, 144, 168n27, 184, 185, 188, 189n84, 190, 191, 207n128, 208, 210, 217–23, 257n6, 260n12, 272, 279, 282n70, 283, 284, 287, 293, 294 karuṇa, 309n15 prema, 113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 129, 151, 190–4, 252, 294 śr̥ṅgāra, 110, 116, 138, 193, 194, 195 Rasakalpavallī, 50n12, 172n37, 200n112, 213n145, 287 rasa-śāstra, Vaiṣṇava, 287 Rāstī Khān, 33 Rasula-vijaẏ, 37 Ratanakalikā, 51, 58n41, 119, 124, 125, 138, 208 Ratanākumārī, 58, 59, 117 Ratnākar, 134 Ratnasen, 83, 85, 114, 119n110, 130, 151, 167n24, 180, 246, 247, 267, 300–7

373

Rāvaṇa, 81 reformist movements, 10, 153 refrain, 108, 111, 112, 115, 122, 126, 128, 145, 150, 166, 211, 212, 263, 275, 313, 321n1, 323 refrain-based songs, 275 regent, 118 regional courts, 19, 97, 98n33, 153, 245, 252, 276, 286, 289, 293 regional language, 35, 48, 216n152, 229, 257, 258, 262, 265, 279 religious compendia, 256 religious dialogue, 13, 130 religious literature, 13, 110 religious reforms, 2 representative of the foreign merchants, 56n33, 144 rhetorical exercise, Ciceronian, 216 rhythm [tāla], 70, 122, 153, 184, 278, 279, 282, 283, 284 rhythms, the seven, 282 Rosang, 30, 62, 72, 152, 219 royal court, 14n48, 17, 48n5, 60n48, 61, 62n52, 65, 66, 67, 68, 70, 72, 73, 161, 194, 299. See also secondary court(s) royal horseman, 54, 99 royal subject(s), 54, 99 ruler of the time [shāh-i waqt], 66, 75 Rūpa, 95, 168n27, 172n37, 191n89, 287 rūpaka, 278 sabhā, 47, 51, 61, 62, 63, 65, 68, 69, 70, 72, 74, 76, 77, 78, 81, 86, 87, 113, 119, 129, 137, 138, 147, 200, 210, 242, 285, 287. See also majlis sādhaka, 191 Sādhan, 48, 84, 251n61 sādhana, 191 Sādhur vacan, 42–5, 50, 109n75, 208n134. See also Nasibnāmā sādhya, 191 Saʿdī, 40, 103n59, 237n32 Ṣādiq Iṣfahānī, 134 Sāhasāṅka, 243

743

374

Index

Sāhityadarpaṇa, 114n95, 195, 199n109 Śāhnāmā, 156. See also Nasle Osmān Islāmābād sahr̥daya, 189 sahr̥dayatva, 189 Saiẏad Hāsān, 34 Saiẏad Ibrāhīm, 42 Saiẏad Masāud Śāhā, 145 Saiẏad Muhāmmad Khān, 54, 59n44, 135, 219, 317 Saiẏad Musā, 56, 78, 143, 145, 317 Saiẏad Sultān, 33, 34, 35, 36, 38, 41, 185, 218 saiẏad, 31, 59 Salīm Shāh, 27. See also Sīrisudhammarājā salvation, 36, 91, 128, 139, 140, 149, 151 sama tāla, 285 sambhoga, 114, 116, 121–3, 129, 143, 192, 196 Śamśer Ālī, 152 Sanātana, 95 sandalwood abandoning ~ for cowdung, 139 compared with the moon, 267 ~ paste burns the woman suffering from separation, 198 ṣaṇḍa-mati, 55 ṣaṇḍha, 135. See also eunuch sandhi, 204, 274 Sandoway, 21 Sangha, 24, 101, 102 saṅgīta. See lyrical arts Saṅgītacintāmaṇi, 286 Saṅgītadāmodara, 108, 174, 185n73, 188, 189n84, 191, 193, 196, 199, 201, 203, 272, 276–80, 289 Saṅgītadarpaṇa, 107n67, 108n70, 114n97, 139n28, 278 Saṅgītaratnākara, 69n64, 97, 174n43 saṅgīta-śāstra, 19, 112n87, 125n127, 127n132, 168, 169, 173, 193, 278, 279, 287, 289 Saṅgītaśiromaṇi, 94, 229 Sangu-Matamuhuri, 21

Śaṅkaradeva, 243 Sanskrit aesthetic theory, 99, 188, 195, 196n101, 200, 272, 297 commentarial tradition, 220, 221 in courtly milieu, 243 culture, 52, 137, 179, 189 description of courtly culture in, 68, 70, 88 didactic literature, 8, 181 episteme, 179, 224, 259, 269, 288, 289–4 kathā literature, 50 as language of Brahmanism, 12, 13, 32 literary culture, 46, 105, 110, 188, 259 as model for Ālāol, 104–6, 125, 130, 169, 172–3, 203–5 in Mughal milieu, 241n40 and multilingual literacy in Arakan, 94, 110 as political idiom, 20, 27, 28 prosody, 60, 273, 313 Purāṇas, 163n4 saṅgīta-śāstra, 108n70, 128, 166 translations from, 214–19 in Vidyāpati, 256–2 vocabulary, 110, 137 Santikan mosque, 61 Saptapaẏkar. See Ālāol sāqī-nāma, 105n64, 140, 148n55, 149, 160, 211, 212n142 Sarandvīp, 49 sarāpā, 249 Sarasvatī, mischievous, 128, 280n63 Sāravatī ṭīkā, 278–9 sārikā bird, 80, 81, 85, 87 sārikā Vimalā, 80 sarkār, 97 sarva-artha-gā̃thani, 184, 203–5 sāsatrīya, 245, 276 śāstra, 68, 80, 82, 105, 110, 142, 147, 150, 154n69, 159n84, 160, 168, 169, 194, 217, 221, 292, 304 śāstra-kāvya, 284

375

Index śāstra-vinoda, 246 śāstric discipline, 39, 276 śāstric episteme, 276, 279 Sātavāhana, 243 Satī Maẏnā. See Ālāol satītva, 125, 130, 269 Satuiḥdhammarājā, 30, 49, 58n41, 117, 133n6 satya, 56, 59, 130, 131, 160, 208, 301 Satyendranath Ghoshal, 12, 163n4, 264n28 sautana, 249 Sayf al-Mulūk, story of, 249, 250 Saẏphulmuluk Badiujjāmāl. See Ālāol sayyid, 133, 134 scribes, 211n139, 275 Sebastian Manrique, 102 second Kālidāsa, 79 secondary court(s), 14, 17, 45, 54, 60, 61, 62, 65, 71, 88, 129, 228, 295. See also royal court secular literature, 13 śekh, 59 separation. See viraha Shackle, Christopher, 247 Shāh ʿĀlam, 239 Shāh Jahān, 132, 133n3, 328 Shāh Muḥammad Farmulī, 240, 241, 242 Shāh Shujāʿ, 18, 123, 133–4, 141, 160, 328 Shantipur, 52 Sharafnāma, 8, 144, 148, 149, 161, 209n136, 211 sharīʿat, 146 Sharqīs of Jaunpur, 94 Sharr, 67 Shastri, Haraprasad, 257 Shāyista Khān, 141 Shaykh Jamālī, 206 Shaykh Kabīr, 232, 234, 240, 241, 242 Sher Shāh, 71 Shrivijaya, 23 Shushtar, 133 Siddhinarasiṃhamalla, 285 Siddiqi, Abdul Ghuffur, 159

375

sign(s) [āyāt], 209 [cinā], 212 [iṅgita], 27, 86, 87n103, 113, 139, 169, 188, 189, 198, 199, 200, 210, 214, 225, 307, 309, 317 [ishārāt], 209 [lakṣaṇa], 209n136 [nishān], 179 (see also language of signs) poetics of, 169, 279, 294 Sikandar Lodī, 235 Sikandar, 99, 105, 106, 139, 144, 149, 150, 151, 161, 212 Sikāndarnāmā. See Ālāol śikhali, 138, 144. See also paẏār śikha-nakha, 249. See also nakha-śikha Simon Digby, 142n38, 227, 231, 247, 254 Sindh, 31 Sīricandasudhammarājā/Śrīcandrasu dharma, 27 Sīrisudhammarājā, 27, 31n37, 42, 48, 101, 102 Sir-nāmā, 152 Śiṣṭa, 67, 140n33 Sītā, 81 Śiva Siṃha, 272, 275 śloka, 35n55, 81, 86 Ślokasārasaṅgraha, 281 social gatherings, multipolar, 227 social groups [varṇas], 61 social nomenclature, Arakanese, 51 society, Arakanese, 30, 51, 52, 58, 64, 101 Solāẏmān, 56, 72, 142 Solemān, 54, 56n30, 60n47, 118, 123, 127, 128, 143, 144, 207n128, 208, 316, 321, 322 song of the twelve months, 48, 84, 125, 249 soraṭhā, 244, 245n46 South India, 23, 230n14 Southeast Asia, 5n14, 12, 23, 69, 102 speech, 18, 51 in Ālāol’s poetics, 171–3, 175–80 cleverness of, 205 and distinction, 66

6 73

376

Index

speech (cont.) eloquent use in courtly milieu of, 38, 42, 51, 86, 87, 200 figures of. See alaṅkāra function in court, 78–80, 88 Niẓāmī’s notion of, 177, 178 Sanskrit as perfect expression of, 292 suggestive, 210–14, 225 in the sabhā, 75, 76 three categories of poetic, 207 and translation, 214–22 speech, analogical, 139 and the readings of songs, 129 and the understanding of narrative poetry, 106 spirits [nats], 130 spiritual master, 29n30, 32, 35, 40, 42, 43, 60, 61, 118, 146, 211. See also guru; pīr Sri Lanka, 24, 102 Śrīdhara, 38, 165n15 Śrīkara (i.e. Śrīkaraṇa) Nandī, 33 Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Caitanya, 262 steadfastness [dhairaja/dhairya], 109, 208 story of Ratanakalikā, 51, 119, 138, 208 ṣūba [province], 25, 93, 98 Śubhaṅkara. See Saṅgītadāmodara subhāṣita, 179, 281 Ṣubḥ-i ṣādiq, 134 Sufi romance, 48n4, 84n99, 129n136, 178n50, 227, 249 Sufism, 8, 35, 48, 49, 64, 134n9, 239n34, 295 Suhrawardiyya, 35 Sujāul, 49 Śukladhvaja, 33, 243, 278, 279, 280 Sukumar Sen, 11n37, 15, 124n123, 163, 164, 245n46, 256, 260n15, 264, 267, 280 Sulaimaccaritra, 94 sultanate of Aceh, 50 sultanate of Bengal, 20, 26 Sultanate period, 5 Sultanpur, 152, 153, 287

Sumati, 275 Sumatra, 31n37, 50, 109n74 superintendent, 56 supurisa, 261 supurukha, 261–4 supuruṣa, 261 Sūr, 227 Sūrdās, 240, 241, 248 Sūryabhān, 83 svādhīnabhartr̥kā, 196n99, 199 svayaṃdautya, 283 svayaṃdūtī/svaẏaṃdūtikā, 196, 199, 200 sycophant, 328 Sylhet, 34, 94, 166n17, 226n3 syllable(s), 113n89, 183, 184n66, 185n73, 186, 187, 190n88, 273, 274, 285, 313, 314 synchronisms, 51 syncretism, 12, 13, 36, 64, 110, 130 Syria, 31 ṭāʾifa effect, 16 tāla. See rhythm tālavādya, 170 tale, secondary, 87, 121, 124, 125, 137, 138 ṭālib-i ʿilm, 61, 67 Tamluk, 22 tantrism, 23, 42, 102n53, 109 Tarafdar, Momtazur Rahman, 11n37, 12n38, 32n40, 66n57, 247 Tārīkh-i dāʾūdī, 233, 234 Tārīkh-i khān-i jahānī, 96 Tārīkh-i salāṭīn-i afāghina, 234 Tārīkh-i shāhī, 233, 234 ṭarīqa, 35n53, 145 tarjuma, 215–19 taʾthīr, 238 tatsama, 258 tattva, 106, 108, 129, 206, 207, 294 tawakkul, 109 tax collector, 54, 56, 144 teeth, compared with pomegranate seeds, 121 tiger, 44, 74, 80

73

Index Tirhut, 271, 272n42, 282 Tohphā. See Ālāol tradition, 106 Ālāol’s notion of, 213 Bengali literary (see Bengali (literature)) deśī literary, 255 Indic poetic, 91 and intertextuality, 14, 213, 218, 295 manuscript, 156, 157 translation, 7, 248 Ālāol’s notion of, 171, 213–15, 217–21, 223, 225, 289 dynamic, 216 in Latin tradition, 215–16 of Mahābhārata, 33 of Sanskrit texts in Assam, 279 of songs, 92 as textual transposition, 7n23 transposition, textual, 7, 41, W213–19, 225 treasury [bhāṇḍāra], 54 tribute [rāja-kara], 73 tripadī, 16, 71, 108, 122, 147, 149, 154, 164, 166, 167, 263, 288 Tripura, 28, 34, 39, 40, 66, 93 Tuḥfa-yi naṣāʾiḥ, 8, 40, 56, 77, 109n75, 145 twelve cities of Bengal, 24 Twelve Landlords, 226 Udaya, 275 udgrāha, 112, 166. See also ārambha Ujīr Ālī, 156 Ujjayini, 243 Ujjvalanīlamaṇi, 168n27, 172n37, 191n89, 192, 287 ukti, 66, 183n66, 184, 185, 205–6 Umā, 121 Umāpatidhara, 80, 86 upakathā, 207. See also upamā upamā [edifying tale] 45, 119, 125, 138, 207–9, 260n14, 294 [simile] 201–2

377

upamāna, 207. See also upamā [edifying tale] Urdu, 12 vacana. See speech vaggeyakāra, 169–70 Vaiṣṇavism, 41, 42, 95, 109, 194, 295 critic of, 41 vākya-yojanā, 220 Vālmīki, 13n43, 217 Vāmana, 48, 81 Vāraṇ Kavi, 134 Vararuci, 37, 80, 86 Varṇaratnākara, 71n69, 258–9, 294 vatsala, 191 Vātsyāyana, 199 Veda, 80, 302 Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (VOC), 55, 57, 119, 123, 144, 152n63 vermillion, 121, 122, 267, 269n35 vernacular texts, earliest specimens of, 254 Vidagdhamādhava, 287 Vidyāpati, 91, 92, 94, 106, 111n79, 115, 122, 124, 139n30, 140, 166, 202n115, 206, 209n135, 255–76, 280, 288, 289, 293 Vidyāsundar, 37, 38, 165n15 Vidyāsundaropākhyāna, 37 vigraha, 220 Vikhyātavijaya, 39 Vikramāditya, 74, 287 Vimalā, 80–7 vipralambha, 192, 196, 269 viraha [separation from the beloved], 70, 84, 85, 110, 113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 120, 122, 123, 129, 138, 139, 143, 145, 184, 185, 189, 211n140, 268, 269, 283, 301, 304, 306, 308, 309, 315, 320, 321, 324, 325 viraha-daśā, 184–5 Vīrahamvīra, 95 virahiṇī, 85, 113, 116, 199, 325 Viṣṇupurāṇa, 282 Viśvanātha Kavirāja, 195, 199, 200

783

378 vivaraṇa, 288 Vrindavan, 166, 281, 287 vyaṅgyārtha, 203 Vyāsa, 79 wagtail, 267 Wāʿiẓ Kāshifī, 109n75, 206 Wāqiʿāt-i mushtāqī, 232, 233 well-turned verse, 179, 281. See also subhāṣita western Bengal, 34, 52, 160, 200 William Jones, 189n84, 214, 277 women, 41, 43n81, 53, 79, 83, 155, 195, 260 world of marvels, 4 Wouter Schouten, 30n34, 52n17, 53, 57n35, 61, 67, 132, 140, 141

Index Yaḥyá Kābulī, 230 yakṣa, 70 Yāminībhān, 83 yoga, 36n58, 42, 107n67, 109n74, 275, 304 yogī, 83, 85, 120, 143n39, 151, 249, 301–4, 310 Yudhiṣṭhira, 74 Yūsuf Gadā, 8, 40, 76, 109n75, 142n38, 145n46, 221, 223 Yūsuf, 41, 109 Ẓafarābād, 235, 237 zamīndār, 34, 153, 155, 156, 226, 287 zamīndārī, 32, 98, 152 Zulaykhā, 110 ẓulmāt, 4, 178, 212