1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Drama/2
2. Indian Drama
The origin of the Indian drama may unhesitatingly be described as purely native. The Mahommedans, when they overran India, brought no drama with them; the Persians, the Arabs and the Egyptians were without a national theatre. It would be absurd to suppose the Indian drama to have owed anything to the Chinese or its offshoots. On the other hand, there is no real evidence for assuming any influence of Greek examples upon the Indian drama at any stage of its progress. Finally, it had passed into its decline before the dramatic literature of modern Europe had sprung into being.
The Hindu writers ascribe the invention of dramatic entertainments to an inspired sage Bharata, or to the communications made to him by the god Brahma himself concerning an art gathered from the Vedas. As the word Bharata Origin. signifies an actor, we have clearly here a mere personification of the invention of the drama. Three kinds of entertainments, of which the nātya (defined as a dance combined with gesticulation and speech) comes nearest to the drama, were said to have been exhibited before the gods by the spirits and nymphs of Indra’s heaven, and to these the god Śiva added two new styles of dancing.
The origin of the Indian drama was thus unmistakably religious. Dramatic elements first showed themselves in certain of the hymns of the Rig Veda, which took the form of dialogues between divine personages, and in one of which is to be found the germ of Kālidāsa’s famous Vikrama and Urvāsī. These hymns were combined with the dances in the festivals of the gods, which soon assumed a more or less conventional form. Thus, from the union of dance and song, to which were afterwards added narrative recitation, and first sung, then spoken, dialogue, was gradually evolved the acted drama. Such scenes and stories from the mythology of Vishnu are still occasionally enacted by pantomime or spoken dialogue in India (jātras of the Bengalis; rāsas of the Western Provinces); and the most ancient Indian play was said to have treated an episode from the history of that deity—the choice of him as a consort by Laxmi—a favourite kind of subject in the Indian drama. The tradition connecting its earliest themes with the native mythology of Vishnu agrees with that ascribing the origin of a particular kind of dramatic performance—the sangīta—to Krishna and the shepherdesses. The author’s later poem, the Gītagovinda, has been conjectured to be suggestive of the earliest species of Hindu dramas. But, while the epic poetry of the Hindus gradually approached the dramatic in the way of dialogue, their drama developed itself independently out of the union of the lyric and the epic forms. Their dramatic poetry arose later than their epos, whose great works, the Mahābhārata and the Ramayana, had themselves been long preceded by the hymnody of the Vedas—just as the Greek drama followed upon the Homeric poems and these had been preceded by the early hymns.
There seems, indeed, no reason for dating the beginnings of the regular Indian drama farther back than the 5th century A.D., though it is probable that the earliest extant Sanskrit play, the delightful, and in some respects incomparable, Mrichchhakatīkā (The Toy Cart), was considerably earlier in date than the works of Kālidāsa. Indeed, of his predecessors in dramatic composition very little is known, and even the contemporaries who competed with him as dramatists are mere names. Thus, by the time the Indian drama produced almost the earliest specimens with which we are acquainted, it had already reached its zenith; and it was therefore looked upon as having sprung into being as a perfect art. We know it only in its glory, in its decline, and in its decay.
The history of Indian dramatic literature may be roughly divided into the following periods.
I. To the 11th Century A.D.—This period virtually belongs to the pre-Mahommedan age of Indian history; but already to that second division of it in which Buddhism had become a powerful factor in the social as well as in the moral First period (classical). and intellectual life of the land. It is the classical period of the Hindu drama, and includes the works of its two indisputably greatest masters. The earliest extant Sanskrit play is the pathetic Mrichchhakatīkā (The Toy Cart), which has been dated back as far as the close of the 2nd century A.D. It is attributed (as is not uncommon with Indian plays) to a royal author, named Sūdraka; but it was more probably written by his court poet, whose name has been concluded to have been Dandin. It may be described as a comedy of middle-class life, treating of the courtship and marriage of a ruined Brahman and a wealthy and large-hearted courtesan.
Kālidāsa, the brightest of the “nine gems” of genius in whom the Indian drama gloried, lived at the court of Ujjain, though whether in the earlier half of the 6th century A.D., or in the 3rd century, or at a yet earlier date, remains an unsettled question. He is the author of Sākuntalā—the work which, in the translation by Sir William Jones (1789), first revealed to the Western world of letters the existence of an Indian drama, since reproduced in innumerable versions in many tongues. This heroic comedy, in seven acts, takes its plot from the first book of the Mahābhārata. It is a dramatic love-idyll of surpassing beauty, and one of the masterpieces of the poetic literature of the world. Another drama by Kālidāsa, Vikrama and Urvāsī (The Hero and the Nymph), though unequal as a whole to Sākuntalā, contains one act of incomparable loveliness; and its enduring effect upon Indian dramatic literature is shown by the imitations of it in later plays. (It was translated into English in 1827 by H. H. Wilson.) To Kālidāsa has likewise been attributed a third play, Mālavika and Agnimitra; but it is possible that this conventional comedy, though held to be of ancient date, was composed by a different poet of the same name.
To Harsadeva, king of northern India, are ascribed three extant plays, which were more probably composed by some poet in his pay. One of these, Nagananda (Joy of the Serpents), which begins as an erotic play, but passes into a most impressive exemplification of the supreme virtue of self-sacrifice, is notable as the only Buddhist drama which has been preserved, though others are known to have existed and to have been represented.
The palm of pre-eminence is disputed with Kālidāsa by the great dramatic poet Babhavūti (called Crikańťha, or he in whose throat is fortune), who flourished in the earlier part of the 8th century. While he is considered more artificial in language than his rival, and in general more bound by rules, he can hardly be deemed his inferior in dramatic genius. Of his three extant plays, Mahāvāra-Charitra and Uttara-Rāma-Charitra are heroic dramas concerned with the adventures of Rāma (the seventh incarnation of Vishnu); the third, the powerful melodrama, in ten acts, of Mālatī and Mādhava, has love for its theme, and has been called (perhaps with more aptitude than usually belongs to such comparisons) the Romeo and Juliet of the Hindus. It is considered by their critical authorities the best example of the prakarańa, or drama of domestic life. Babhavūti’s plays, as is indicated by the fact that no jester appears in them, are devoid of the element of humour.
The plays of Rājasekhara, who lived about the end of the 9th century, deal, like those of Harsadeva, with harem and court life. One of them, Karpura Manjuri (Camphor Cluster), is stated to be the only example of the saltaka or minor heroic comedy, written entirely in Prakrit.
In this period may probably also be included Viśākhadatta’s interesting drama of political intrigue, Mudrā-Rakshasa (The Signet of the Minister), in which Chandragupta (Sandracottus) appears as the founder of a dynasty. In subject, therefore, this production, which is one of the few known Indian historical dramas, goes back to the period following on the invasion of India by Alexander the Great; but the date of composition is probably at least as late as A.D. 1000. The plot of the play turns on the gaining-over of the prime minister of the ancien régime.
Among the remaining chief works of this period is the Veni-Samhara (Binding of the Braid) by Nārāyana Bhatta. Though described as a play in which both pathos and horror are exaggerated—its subject is an outrage resembling that which Dunstan is said to have inflicted on Elgiva—it is stated to have been always a favourite, as written in exact accordance with dramatic rules. Perhaps the Candakanśika by Ksemīśvara should also be included, which deals with the working of a curse pronounced by an aged priest upon a king who had innocently offended him.
II. The Period of Decline.—This may be reckoned from about the 11th to about the 14th century of the Christian era, the beginning roughly coinciding with that of a continuous series of Mahommedan invasions of India. Hanūman-Naťaka, Second period (decline). or “the great Nataka” (for this irregular play, the work of several hands, surpasses all other Indian dramas in length, extending over no fewer than fourteen acts), dates from the 10th or 11th century. Its story is taken from the Rāma-cycle, and a prominent character in it is the mythical monkey-chief King Hanūman, to whom, indeed, tradition ascribed the original authorship of the play. Kŕishńamicra’s “theosophic mystery,” as it has been called,—though it rather resembles some of the moralities,—Prabodha-Chandrodaya (The Rise of the Moon of Insight, i.e. the victory of true doctrine over error), is ascribed by one authority to the middle of the 11th century, by another to about the end of the 12th. The famous Ratnavali (The Necklace), a court-comedy of love and intrigue, with a half-Terentian plot, seems also to date from the earlier half of the period.
The remaining plays of which it has been possible to conjecture the dates range in the time of their composition from the end of the 11th to the 14th century. Of this period, as compared with the first, the general characteristics seem to be an undue preponderance of narrative and description, and an affected and over-elaborated style. As a striking instance of this class is mentioned a play on the adventures of Rāma, the Anargha-Rāghava, which in spite, or by reason, of the commonplace character of its sentiments, the extravagance of its diction, and the obscurity of its mythology, is stated to enjoy a higher reputation with the pundits of the present age than the masterpieces of Kālidāsa and Babhavūti. To the close of this period, the 14th century, has likewise (but without any pretension to certainty) been ascribed the only Tamil drama of which we possess an English version. Arichandra (The Martyr of Truth) exemplifies—with a strange likeness in the contrivance of its plot to the Book of Job and Faust—by the trials of a heroically enduring king the force of the maxim “Better die than lie.”
III. Period of Decay.—Isolated plays remain from centuries later than the 14th; but these, which chiefly turn on the legends of Kŕishńa (the last incarnation of Vishnu), may be regarded as a mere aftergrowth, and exhibit the Indian Third period (decay). drama in its decay. Indeed, the latest of them, Chitra-Yajna, which was composed about the beginning of the 19th century, and still serves as a model for Bengali dramatic performances, is imperfect in its dialogue, which (after the fashion of Italian improvised comedy) it is left to the actors to supplement. Besides these there are farces or farcical entertainments, more or less indelicate, of uncertain dates.
The number of plays which have descended to us from so vast an expanse of time is still comparatively small. But though, in 1827, Wilson doubted whether all the plays to be found, and those mentioned by Hindu writers on the drama, amounted to many more than sixty, M. Schuyler’s bibliography (1906) enumerates over five hundred Sanskrit plays. To these have to be added the plays in Tamil, stated to be about a hundred in number, and to have been composed by poets who enjoyed the patronage of the Pandian kings of Madura, and some in other vernaculars.
There certainly is among the Hindus no dearth of dramatic theory. The sage Bharata, the reputed inventor of dramatic entertainments, was likewise revered as the father of dramatic criticism—a combination of functions to Critical literature. which the latter days of the English theatre might perhaps furnish an occasional parallel. The commentators (possibly under the influence of inspiration rather than as a strict matter of memory) constantly cite his sūtras, or aphorisms. (From sūtra, thread, was named the sūtra-dhāra, thread-holder, carpenter, a term applied to the architect and general manager of sacrificial solemnities, then to the director of theatrical performances.) By the 11th century, when the drama was already approaching its decline, dramatic criticism had reached an advanced point; and the Dasa-Rupaka (of which the text belongs to that age) distinctly defines the ten several kinds of dramatic composition. Other critical works followed at later dates, exhibiting a rage for subdivision unsurpassed by the efforts of Western theorists, ancient or modern; the misfortune is that there should not be examples remaining (if they ever existed) to illustrate all the branches of so elaborate a dramatic system.
“What,” inquires the manager of an actor in the induction to one of the most famous of Indian plays, “are those qualities which the virtuous, the wise, the venerable, the learned and the Brahmans require in a drama?” “Profound Exclusiveness of the Indian drama. exposition of the various passions,” is the reply, “pleasing interchange of mutual affection, loftiness of character, delicate expression of desire, a surprising story and elegant language.” “Then,” says the manager (for the Indian dramatists, though not, like Ben Jonson, wont to “rail” the public “into approbation,” are unaffected by mauvaise honte), “I recollect one.” And he proceeds to state that “Babhavūti has given us a drama composed by him, replete with all qualities, to which indeed this sentence is applicable: ‘How little do they know who speak of us with censure! This entertainment is not for them. Possibly some one exists, or will exist, of similar tastes with myself; for time is boundless, and the world is wide!’” This disregard of popularity, springing from a consciousness of lofty aims, accounts for much that is characteristic of the higher class of Indian plays. It explains both their relative paucity and their extraordinary length, renders intelligible the chief peculiarity in their diction, and furnishes the key to their most striking ethical as well as literary qualities. Connected in their origin with religious worship, they were only performed on solemn occasions, chiefly of a public nature, and more especially at seasons sacred to some divinity. Thus, though they might in some instances be reproduced, they were always written with a view to one particular solemn representation. Again, the greater part of every one of the plays of Northern India is written in Sanskrit, which ceased to be a popular language by 300 B.C., but continued the classical and learned, and at the same time the sacred and court form of speech of the Brahmans. Sanskrit is spoken by the heroes and principal personages of the plays, while the female and inferior characters use varieties, more or less refined, of the Prakrit languages (as a rule not more than three, that which is employed in the songs of the women being the poetic dialect of the most common Prakrit language, the Saurasēnī). Hence, part at least of each play cannot have been understood by the large majority of the audience, except in so far as their general acquaintance with the legends or stories treated enabled them to follow the course of the action. Every audience thus contained an inner audience, which could alone feel the full effect of the drama. It is, then, easy to see why the Hindu critics should make demands upon the art, into which only highly-trained and refined intellects were capable of entering, or called upon to enter. The general public could not be expected to appreciate the sentiments expressed in a drama, and thus (according to the process prescribed by Hindu theory) to receive instruction by means of amusement. These sentiments are termed rāsas (tastes or flavours), and said to spring from the bhāvas (conditions of mind and body). A variety of subdivisions is added; but the sańta rāsa is logically enough excluded from dramatic composition, inasmuch as it implies absolute quiescence.
The Hindu critics know of no distinction directly corresponding to that between tragedy and comedy, still less of any determined by the nature of the close of a play. For, in accordance with the child-like element of their character, the Species of dramas. Hindus dislike an unhappy ending to any story, and a positive rule accordingly prohibits a fatal conclusion in their dramas. The general term for all dramatic compositions is rūpaka (from rūpa, form), those of an inferior class being distinguished as uparūpakas. Of the various subdivisions of the rūpaka, in a more limited sense, the nātāka, or play proper, represents the most perfect kind. Its subject should always be celebrated and important—it is virtually either heroism or love, and most frequently the latter—and the hero should be a demigod or divinity (such as Rāma in Babhavūti’s heroic plays) or a king (such as the hero of Sākuntalā). But although the earlier dramatists took their plots from the sacred writings or Purānās, they held themselves at liberty to vary the incidents—a licence from which the later poets abstained. Thus, in accordance, perhaps, with the respective developments in the religious life of the two peoples, the Hindu drama in this respect reversed the progressive practice of the Greek. The prakarańas agree in all essentials with the nātākas except that they are less elevated; their stories are mere fictions, taken from actual life in a respectable class of society. Among the species of the uparūpaka may be mentioned the troťaka, in which the personages are partly human, partly divine, and of which a famous example remains. Of the bhańa, a monologue in one act, one literary example is extant—a curious picture of manners in which the speaker describes the different persons he meets at a spring festival in the streets of Kolahalapur. The satire of the farcical prahasanas is usually directed against the hypocrisy of ascetics and Brahmans, and the sensuality of the wealthy and powerful. These trifles represent the lower extreme of the dramatic scale, to which, of course, the principles that follow only partially apply.
Unity of action is strictly enjoined by Hindu theory, though not invariably observed in practice. Episodical or prolix interruptions are forbidden; but, in order to facilitate the connexion, the story of the play is sometimes The “unities.” carried on by narratives spoken by actors or “interpreters,” something after the fashion of the Chorus in Henry V., or of Gower in Pericles. “Unity of time” is liberally, if rather arbitrarily, understood by the later critical authorities as limiting the duration of the action to a single year; but even this is exceeded in more than one classical play. The single acts are to confine the events occurring in them to “one course of the sun,” and usually do so. “Unity of place” is unknown to the Hindu drama, by reason of the absence of scenery; for the plays were performed in the open courts of palaces, perhaps at times in large halls set apart for public entertainments, or in the open air. Hence change of scene is usually indicated in the texts; and we find the characters making long journeys on the stage, under the eyes of spectators not trained to demand “real” mileage.
With the solemn character of the higher kind of dramatic performances accord the rules and prohibitions defining what may be called the proprieties of the Indian drama. It has been already seen that all plays must have a happy Proprieties. ending. Furthermore, not only should death never be inflicted coram populo, but the various operations of biting, scratching, kissing, eating, sleeping, the bath, and the marriage ceremony should never take place on the stage. Yet such rules are made to be occasionally broken. It is true that the mild humour of the vidūshaka is restricted to his “gesticulating eating” instead of perpetrating the obnoxious act. The charming love-scene in the Sākuntalā (at least in the earlier recension of the play) breaks off just as the hero is about to act the part of the bee to the honey of the heroine’s lips. But later writers are less squeamish, or less refined. In two dramas the heroine is dragged on the stage by her braid of hair; and this outrage is in both instances the motive of the action. In a third, sleeping and the marriage ceremony occur in the course of the representation.
The dramatic construction of the Indian plays presents no very striking peculiarities. They open with a benediction (nāndī), spoken by the manager (supposed to be a highly accomplished person), and followed by “some Construction. account” of the author, and an introductory scene between the manager and one of the actors, which is more or less skilfully connected by the introduction of one of the characters with the opening of the play itself. This is divided into acts (ankas) and scenes; of the former a nātāka should have not fewer than 5, or more than 10; 7 appears a common number; “the great nātāka” reaches 14. Thus the length of the higher class of Indian plays is considerable—about that of an Aeschylean trilogy; but not more than a single play was ever performed on the same occasion. Comic plays are restricted to two acts (here called sandhis). In theory the scheme of an Indian drama corresponds very closely to the general outline of dramatic construction given above; it is a characteristic merit that the Scenes and situations. business is rarely concluded before the last act. The piece closes, as it began, with a benediction or prayer. Within this framework room is found for situations as ingeniously devised and highly wrought as those in any modern Western play. What could be more pitiful than the scene in Sākuntalā, where the true wife appears before her husband, whose remembrance of her is fatally overclouded by a charm; what more terrific than that in Mālatī and Mādhava, where the lover rescues his beloved from the horrors of the charnel field? Recognition—especially between parents and children—frequently gives rise to scenes of a pathos which Euripides has not surpassed. The ingenious device of a “play within the play” (so familiar to the English drama) is employed with the utmost success by Babhavūti. On the other hand, miraculous metamorphosis and, in a later play, vulgar magic lend their aid to the progress of the action. With scenes of strong effectiveness contrast others of the most delicate poetic grace—such as the indescribably lovely little episode of the two damsels of the god of love helping one another to pluck the red and green bud from the mango tree; or of gentle domestic pathos—such as that of the courtesan listening to the prattle of her lover’s child, one of the prettiest scenes of a kind rarely kept free from affectation in the modern drama. For the dénouement in the narrower sense of the term the Indian dramatists largely resort to the expedient of the deus ex machina, often in a sufficiently literal sense.
Every species of drama having its appropriate kind of hero or heroine, theory here again amuses itself with an infinitude of subdivisions. Among the heroines, of whom not less than three hundred and eighty-four types are said Characters. to be distinguished, are to be noticed the courtesans, whose social position to some extent resembles that of the Greek hetaerae, and association with whom does not seem in practice, however it may be in theory, to be regarded as a disgrace even to Brahmans. In general, the Indian drama indicates relations between the sexes subject to peculiar restraints of usage, but freer than those which Mahommedan example seems to have introduced into higher Indian society. The male characters are frequently drawn with skill, and sometimes with genuine force. Prince Samsthanaka is a type of selfishness born in the purple worthy to rank beside figures of the modern drama, of which this has at times naturally been a favourite class of character; elsewhere, the intrigues of ministers are not more fully exposed than their characters and principles of action are judiciously discriminated. Among the lesser personages common in the Indian drama, two are worth noticing, as corresponding, though by no means precisely, to familiar types of other dramatic literatures. These are the vitā, the accomplished but dependent companion (both of men and women), and the vidūshaka, the humble associate (not servant) of the prince, and the buffoon of the action. Strangely enough, he is always a Brahman, or the pupil of a Brahman—perhaps a survival from a purely popular phase of the drama. His humour is to be ever intent on the pleasures of a quiet life, and on that of eating in particular; his jokes are generally devoid of both harm and point.
Thus, clothing itself in a diction always ornate and tropical, in which (as Rückert has happily expressed it) the prose is the warp and the verse the weft, where (as Goethe says) words become allusions, allusions similes, and similes Diction. metaphors, the Indian drama essentially depended upon its literary qualities, and upon the familiar sanctity of its favourite themes for such effects as it was able to produce. Of scenic apparatus it knew but little. The plays were usually performed in the hall of a palace; the simple devices by which exits and entrances were facilitated it is unnecessary to describe, Scenery and costume. and on the contrivances employed for securing such “properties” as were required (above all, the cars of the gods and of their emissaries), it is useless to speculate. Propriety of costume, on the other hand, seems always to have been observed, agreeably both to the peculiarities of the Indian drama and to the habits of the Indian people.
The ministers of an art practised under such conditions could not but be regarded with respect, and spared the contempt or worse, which, except among one other great civilized people, the Greeks, has everywhere, at one period or Actors. another, been the actor’s lot. Companies of actors seem to have been common in India at an early date, and the inductions show the players to have been regarded as respectable members of society. In later, if not in earlier, times individual actors enjoyed a widespread reputation—“all the world” is acquainted with the talents of Kalaha-Kandala. The managers or directors, as already stated, were usually gifted and highly-cultured Brahmans. Female parts were in general, though not invariably, represented by females. One would like to know whether such was the case in a piece where—after the fashion of more than one Western play—a crafty minister passes off his daughter as a boy, on which assumption she is all but married to a person of her own sex.
The Indian drama would, if only for purposes of comparison, be invaluable to the student of this branch of literature. But from the point of view of purely literary excellence it holds its own against all except the very foremost dramas of the Summary. world. It is, indeed, a mere phrase to call Kālidāsa the Indian Shakespeare—a title which, moreover, if intended as anything more than a synonym for poetic pre-eminence, might fairly be disputed in favour of Babhavūti; while it would be absolutely misleading to place a dramatic literature, which, like the Indian, is the mere quintessence of the culture of a caste, by the side of one which represents the fullest development of the artistic consciousness of such a people as the Hellenes. The Indian drama cannot be described as national in the broadest and highest sense of the word; it is, in short, the drama of a literary class, though as such it exhibits many of the noblest and most refined, as well as of the most characteristic, features of Hindu religion and civilization. The ethics of the Indian drama are of a lofty character, but they are those of a scholastic system of religious philosophy, self-conscious of its completeness. To the power of Fate is occasionally ascribed a supremacy, to which gods as well as mortals must bow; but, if man’s present life is merely a phase in the cycle of his destinies, the highest of moral efforts at the same time points to the summit of possibilities, and self-sacrifice is the supreme condition both of individual perfection and of the progress of the world. Such conceptions as these seem at once to enfold and to overshadow the moral life of the Indian drama. The affections and passions forming part of self it delineates with a fidelity to nature which no art can afford to neglect; on the other hand, the freedom of the picture is restricted by conditions which to us are unfamiliar and at times seem intolerable, but which it was impossible for the Indian poet’s imagination to ignore. The sheer self-absorption of ambition or love appears inconceivable by the minds of any of these poets; and their social philosophy is always based on the system of caste. On the other hand, they are masters of many of the truest forms of pathos, above all of that which blends with resignation. In humour of a delicate kind they are by no means deficient; to its lower forms they are generally strangers, even in productions of a professedly comic intention. Of wit, Indian dramatic literature—though a play on words is as the breath of its nostrils—furnishes hardly any examples intelligible to Western minds.
The distinctive excellence of the Indian drama is to be sought in the poetic robe which envelops it as flowers overspread the bosom of the earth in the season of spring. In its nobler productions, at least, it is never untrue to its Poetry of the Indian drama. half religious, half rural origin; it weaves the wreaths of idyllic fancies in an unbroken chain, adding to its favourite and familiar blossoms ever fresh beauties from an inexhaustible garden. Nor is it unequal to depicting the grander aspects of nature in her mighty forests and on the shores of the ocean. A close familiarity with its native literature can here alone follow its diction through a ceaseless flow of phrase and figure, listen with understanding to the hum of the bee as it hangs over the lotus, and contemplate with Sākuntalā’s pious sympathy the creeper as it winds round the mango tree. But the poetic beauty of the Indian drama reveals itself in the mysterious charm of its outline, if not in its full glow, even to the untrained; nor should the study of it—for which the materials seem continually on the increase—be left aside by any lover of literature.
- e.g. Mrichchhakatīkā; Mālatī and Mādhava.
- Vikrama and Urvāsī.
- Sākuntalā; Uttara-Rāma-Charitra.
- Arichandra, act iv.
- Nāgānanda, act i.
- Act iii.; cf. Nāgānanda, act iii.
- Veni-Samhāra; Prachaṅda-Paṅdāva.
- Sākuntalā; Uttara-Rāma-Charitra.
- Ib. act vii.
- Vikrama and Urvāsī, act iv.
- Vikrama and Urvāsī: Arichandra; Nāgānanda.
- Sākuntalā; Nāgānanda.
- Sākuntalā, acts vi. and vii; Mālatī and Mādhava, act v.
- Induction to Anargha-Rāghava.
- Vikrama and Urvāsī.