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English Drama Chandalika
English Drama Chandalika
1
Chandalika
Rabindranath Tagore was a poet, novelist, shortstory writer and dramatist. He was awarded the
Nobel Prize for Literature in 1931. Tagores interest
in drama was fostered while he was a boy, for
his family enjoyed writing and staging plays. The
music in his plays is instrumental in bringing out
the delicate display of emotion around an idea.
The central interest in his plays is the unfolding
Rabindranath Tagore of character; of the opening up of the soul to
enlightenment of some sort.
1861-1941
INTRODUCTION
This short drama is based on the following Buddhist legend.
Ananda, the famous disciple of the Buddha, was one day
returning from a visit when he felt thirsty and, approaching
a well on the way, asked for water from a chandalika, a
girl belonging to the lowest untouchable caste. The girl
gave him water and fell in love with the beautiful monk.
Unable to restrain herself, she made her mother, who knew
the art of magic, work her spell on him. The spell proved
stronger than Anandas will and the spell-bound monk
presented himself at their house at night; but, as he saw
the girl spread the couch for him, he was overcome with
shame and remorse and prayed inwardly to his master to
save him. The Buddha heard the prayer and broke the
magic spell and Ananda went away, as pure as he came.
This crude plot of the popular tale, showing how the
psychic power of the Buddha saves his devotee from the
lust of a chandal girl, has been transformed by the poet
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given her the gift of a new birth and had revealed her own
true humanity. In remorse she curses herself and falls at
his feet, begging for forgiveness. The mother revokes the
spell and willingly pays the price of such revocation, which
is death. The chandalika is thus redeemed for the second
time, purged of the pride and egoism that had made her
forget that love does not claim possession, but gives
freedom.
Chandalika is a tragedy of self-consciousness overreaching its limit. Self-consciousness, up to a point, is
necessary to self-development; for, without an awareness of
the dignity of ones own role or function, one cannot give
ones best to the world. Without rights there can be no
obligations, and service and virtue when forced become marks
of slavery. But self-consciousness, like good wine, easily
intoxicates, and it is difficult to control the dose and have
just enough of it. Vanity and pride get the upper hand and he
who clings to his rights very often trespasses on those of
others. This is what happened to the heroine. Prakriti, in her
eagerness to give, forgot that Ananda need not take; her
devotion grew so passionate that she could not make her
surrender without first possessing. Yet it was inevitable that
it should be so; for a new consciousness, after ages of
suppression, is overpowering and one learns restraint only
after suffering. Hence the tragedy. The good mother who, so
unwillingly, worked the spell to please her importunate
daughter, and who so willingly revoked it to save Ananda,
dies in the process. The daughter, though chastened and
made wise by suffering, has paid a heavy price; for wisdom is
not happiness and renunciation is not fulfilment.
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PRAKRITI. All these days you have never really known me,
mother. He who has recognised me will reveal me.
And so I wait and watch. The midday gong booms
from the palace, the girls take up their water-pots
and go home, the kite soars alone into the far sky,
and I bring my pitcher and sit here at the well by the
wayside.
MOTHER. For whom do you wait?
PRAKRITI. For the wayfarer.
MOTHER. What wayfarer will come to you, you crazy girl?
PRAKRITI. That one wayfarer, mother, the one and only. In
him are all who fare along the ways of all the world.
Day after day goes by, yet he does not come. Though
he spoke no word, his word was givenwhy does he
not keep his word? For my heart is become like a
waterless waste, where the heat-haze quivers all day
long. Its water cannot be given, for no one comes to
seek it.
MOTHER. I can make nothing of your talk today; its as
though you were intoxicated. Tell me plainly, what do
you want?
PRAKRITI. I want him. All unlooked forhe came, and
taught me this marvellous truth, that even my service
will count with the God who guides the world. O words
of great wonder! That I may serve, I, a flower sprung
from a poison-plant! Let him raise that truth, that
flower from the dust, and take it to his bosom.
MOTHER. Be warned, Prakriti, these mens words are meant
only to be heard, not to be practised. The filth into
which an evil fate has cast you is a wall of mud that
no spade in the world can break through. You are
unclean; beware of tainting the outside world with
your unclean presence. See that you keep to your own
place, narrow as it is. To stray anywhere beyond its
limits is to trespass.
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PRAKRITI [sings].
Blessed am I, says the flower, who belong to the
earth.
For I serve you, my God, in this my lowly home.
Make me forget that I am born of dust,
For my spirit is free from it.
When you bend your eyes upon me my petals
tremble in joy;
Give me a touch of your feet and make me heavenly,
For the earth must offer its worship through me.
MOTHER. Child, Im beginning to understand something
of what you say. You are a woman; by serving you
must worship, and by serving you must rule. Women
alone can in a moment overstep the bounds of caste;
when once the curtains of destiny are drawn aside,
they all stand revealed in their queenliness. You had
a good chance, you know, when the kings son was
deer-hunting and came to this very well of yours. You
remember, dont you?
PRAKRITI. Yes, I remember.
MOTHER. Why didnt you go to the kings house? He had
forgotten everything in your beauty.
PRAKRITI. Yes, he had forgotten everythingforgotten that
I was a human being. He had gone out hunting beasts;
he saw nothing but the beast whom he wanted to
bind in chains of gold.
MOTHER. At least he noticed your beauty, if only as game
to be hunted. As for the Bhikshu, does he see the
woman in you?
PRAKRITI. You wont understand, mother, you wont! I feel
that in all these days he is the first who ever really
recognised me. That is a marvellous thing. I want
him, mother, I want him beyond all measure. I want
to take this life of mine and lay it like a basket of
flowers at his feet. It will not defile them. Let everyone
marvel at my daring! I shall glory in my claim. I am
your handmaid, I shall declarefor otherwise I must
lie bound for ever at the whole worlds feet, a slave!
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[Enter Ananda.]
O Lord, you have come to give me deliverance,
therefore have you known this torment. Forgive me,
forgive me. Let your feet spurn afar the endless
reproach of my birth. I have dragged you down to
earth, how else could you raise me to your heaven?
O pure one, the dust has soiled your feet, but they
have not been soiled in vain. The veil of my illusion
shall fall upon them, and wipe away the dust.
Victory, victory to thee, O Lord!
MOTHER. Victory to thee, O Lord. My sins and my life lie
together at thy feet, and my days end here, in the
haven of thy forgiveness. [She dies.]
ANANDA [chanting].
Buddho Susuddho karuna mahannvo
Yoccanta suddhabbara-gnana locano
Lokassa papupakilesa ghatako
Vandami Buddham ahamadarena tam.
To the most pure Buddha, mighty ocean of mercy,
Seer of knowledge absolute, pure, supreme,
Of the worlds sin and suffering the Destroyer
Solemnly to the Buddha I bow in homage.
1.
2.
Why is the girl named Prakriti in the play? What are the images
in the play that relate to this theme?
3.
4.
How does the mirror reflect the turmoil experienced by the monk
as a result of the working of the spell?
5.
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6.
1.
How does the dramatic technique suit the theme of the play?
2.
3.
4.