Introduction to The Rise of Wisdom Moon (Prabodhacandrodaya)

THE CLAY SANSKRIT LIBRARY FOUNDED BY JOHN & JENNIFER CLAY GENERAL EDITOR Sheldon Pollock EDITED BY Isabelle Onians www.claysanskritlibrary.com www.nyupress.org  Artwork by Robert Beer. Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro at . : .+pt. XML-development by Stuart Brown. Editorial input from Dániel Balogh, Ridi Faruque, Chris Gibbons, Tomoyuki Kono & Eszter Somogyi. Printed and bound in Great Britain by T.J. International, Cornwall, on acid-free paper.  THE RISE OF WISDOM MOON b y K R. S. N . AMIŚRA TRANSLATED BY Matthew T. Kapstein WITH A FOREWORD BY J.N. MOHANTY NEW YORK UNIVERSITY PRESS JJC FOUNDATION   Copyright ©  by the CSL All rights reserved. First Edition  e Clay Sanskrit Library is co-published by New York University Press and the JJC Foundation. Further information about this volume and the rest of the Clay Sanskrit Library is available at the end of this book and on the following websites: www.claysanskritlibrary.com www.nyupress.org ISBN-: ---- (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-: --- (cloth : alk. paper) Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kr. s. namiśra. . [Prabodhacandrodaya. English & Sanskrit.] e rise of wisdom moon / by Kr. s. namiśra . ; translated by Matthew T. Kapstein ; with a foreword by J.N. Mohanty. -- st ed. p. cm. -- (e Clay Sanskrit library) Sanskrit texts with parallel English translations on facing pages. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN-: ---- (cl : alk. paper) ISBN-: --- (cl : alk. paper) . Hinduism--Drama. . Sanskrit drama--Translations into English. I. Kapstein, Matthew. II. Title. PK.KP  '.--dc   CONTENTS CSL Conventions vii Foreword xv Introduction xvii Bibliography lxii Dramatis Personæ lxvii THE RISE OF WISDOM MOON Prelude to Act One  Interlude  Act One: Illusion’s Game  Interlude Introducing Act Two  Act Two: Where Magnus Nescience is Chief  Act ree: Charlatans’ Charades  Interlude Introducing Act Four  Act Four: Intuition’s Endeavor  Prologue to Act Five  Act Five: e Dawn of Dispassion  Prologue to Act Six  Act Six: Living Liberation  Chāyā  Notes  Meters Used   CSL CONVENTIONS Sanskrit Alphabetical Order Vowels: a ā i ī u ū r. ¯r. .l ¯.l e ai o au m. h. Gutturals: k kh g gh n˙ Palatals: c ch j jh ñ Retroflex: t. th . d. dh . n. Dentals: t th d dh n Labials: p ph b bh m Semivowels: yrlv Spirants: ś s. s h Guide to Sanskrit Pronunciation a but loch, or an aspiration with ā, â father a faint echoing of the last i sit element of the preceding ī, î fee vowel so that taih. is pro- u put nounced taihi ū,û boo k luck .r vocalic r, American pur- kh blockhead dy or English pretty g go .¯r lengthened .r gh bighead .l vocalic l, able n˙ anger e, ê, ē made, esp. in Welsh pro- c chill nunciation ch matchhead ai bite j jog o, ô, ō rope, esp. Welsh pronun- jh aspirated j, hedgehog ciation; Italian solo ñ canyon au sound .t retroflex t, try (with the m . anusvāra nasalizes the pre- tip of tongue turned up ceding vowel to touch the hard palate) h. visarga, a voiceless aspira- .th same as the preceding but tion (resembling the En- aspirated glish h), or like Scottish d. retroflex d (with the tip vii    of tongue turned up to b before touch the hard palate) bh abhorrent dh . same as the preceding but m mind aspirated y yes n. retroflex n (with the tip r trilled, resembling the Ita- of tongue turned up to lian pronunciation of r touch the hard palate) l linger t French tout v word th tent hook ś shore d d inner .s retroflex sh (with the tip dh guildhall of the tongue turned up n now to touch the hard palate) p pill s hiss ph upheaval h hood CSL Punctuation of English e acute accent on Sanskrit words when they occur outside of the Sanskrit text itself, marks stress, e.g., Ramáyana. It is not part of tra- ditional Sanskrit orthography, transliteration, or transcription, but we supply it here to guide readers in the pronunciation of these unfamiliar words. Since no Sanskrit word is accented on the last syllable it is not necessary to accent disyllables, e.g., Rama. e second CSL innovation designed to assist the reader in the pro- nunciation of lengthy unfamiliar words is to insert an unobtrusive mid- dle dot between semantic word breaks in compound names (provided the word break does not fall on a vowel resulting from the fusion of two vowels), e.g., Maha·bhárata, but Ramáyana (not Rama·áyana). Our dot echoes the punctuating middle dot (·) found in the oldest surviving samples of written Indic, the Ashokan inscriptions of the third century . e deep layering of Sanskrit narrative has also dictated that we use quotation marks only to announce the beginning and end of every di- rect speech, and not at the beginning of every paragraph. viii    CSL Punctuation of Sanskrit e Sanskrit text is also punctuated, in accordance with the punc- tuation of the English translation. In mid-verse, the punctuation will not alter the sandhi or the scansion. Proper names are capitalized. Most Sanskrit meters have four “feet” (pāda); where possible we print the common śloka meter on two lines. In the Sanskrit text, we use French Guillemets (e.g., «kva samcicīr . . instead of English quotation marks .suh?») (e.g., “Where are you off to?”) to avoid confusion with the apostrophes used for vowel elision in sandhi.  Sanskrit presents the learner with a challenge: sandhi (euphonic com- bination). Sandhi means that when two words are joined in connected speech or writing (which in Sanskrit reflects speech), the last letter (or even letters) of the first word often changes; compare the way we pro- nounce “the” in “the beginning” and “the end.” In Sanskrit the first letter of the second word may also change; and if both the last letter of the first word and the first letter of the second are vowels, they may fuse. is has a parallel in English: a nasal consonant is inserted between two vowels that would otherwise coalesce: “a pear” and “an apple.” Sanskrit vowel fusion may produce ambiguity. e charts on the following pages give the full sandhi system. Fortunately it is not necessary to know these changes in order to start reading Sanskrit. All that is important to know is the form of the second word without sandhi (pre-sandhi), so that it can be recognized or looked up in a dictionary. erefore we are printing Sanskrit with a system of punctuation that will indicate, unambiguously, the original form of the second word, i.e., the form without sandhi. Such sandhi mostly concerns the fusion of two vowels. In Sanskrit, vowels may be short or long and are written differently accordingly. We follow the general convention that a vowel with no mark above it is short. Other books mark a long vowel either with a bar called a macron (ā) or with a circumflex (â). Our system uses the ix      x     xi    macron, except that for initial vowels in sandhi we use a circumflex to indicate that originally the vowel was short, or the shorter of two possibilities (e rather than ai, o rather than au). When we print initial â, before sandhi that vowel was a î or ê, i û or ô, u âi, e âu, o ā, ā ī, ī ū, ū ē, ī ō, ū ai, ai āu, au ’ , before sandhi there was a vowel a When a final short vowel (a, i, or u) has merged into a following vowel, we print ’ at the end of the word, and when a final long vowel (ā, ī, or ū) has merged into a following vowel we print ” at the end of the word. e vast majority of these cases will concern a final a or ā. See, for instance, the following examples: What before sandhi was atra asti is represented as atr’ âsti atra āste atr’ āste kanyā asti kany” âsti kanyā āste kany” āste atra iti atr’ êti kanyā iti kany” êti kanyā īpsitā kany” ēpsitā Finally, three other points concerning the initial letter of the sec- ond word: () A word that before sandhi begins with .r (vowel), after sandhi begins with r followed by a consonant: yatha” rtu represents pre-sandhi yathā .rtu. () When before sandhi the previous word ends in t and the following word begins with ś , after sandhi the last letter of the previous word is c xii    and the following word begins with ch: syāc chāstravit represents pre- sandhi syāt śāstravit. () Where a word begins with h and the previous word ends with a double consonant, this is our simplified spelling to show the pre-sandhi form: tad hasati is commonly written as tad dhasati, but we write tadd hasati so that the original initial letter is obvious.  We also punctuate the division of compounds (samāsa), simply by inserting a thin vertical line between words. ere are words where the decision whether to regard them as compounds is arbitrary. Our prin- ciple has been to try to guide readers to the correct dictionary entries. Exemplar of CSL Style Where the Devanagari script reads: क"#$%थली र*त, वो /वकीण1/स345र6ण,78रदानन%य । >शा3त@ /वAतमCछटानF /नGH5तबालातपपKलLव ॥ Others would print: kumbhasthalī raksatu . vo vikīrnasindūrare . nur . dviradānanasya / praśāntaye vighnatamaśchatānā . m . nis. thyūtabālātapapallaveva . // We print: kumbha|sthalī raksatu . vo vikīrna|sindūra|re . nur . dvirad’|ānanasya praśāntaye vighna|tamaś|chatānā . m . nis. thyūta|bāl’|ātapa|pallav” . êva. And in English: May Ganésha’s domed forehead protect you! Streaked with vermilion dust, it seems to be emitting the spreading rays of the rising sun to pacify the teeming darkness of obstructions. (“Nava·sáhasanka and the Serpent Princess” .) xiii    Drama Classical Sanskrit literature is in fact itself bilingual, notably in drama. ere women and characters of low rank speak one of several Prakrit dialects, an “unrefined” (prāk.rta) vernacular as opposed to the “refined” . .rta) language. Editors commonly provide such speeches with a (samsk Sanskrit paraphrase, their “shadow” (chāyā). We mark Prakrit speeches with popening and closingy corner brackets, and supply the Sanskrit chāyā in endnotes. Some stage directions are original to the author but we follow the custom that sometimes editors supplement these; we print them in italics (and within brackets, in mid-text) xiv  FOREWORD T    of Krishna·mishra’s “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” will be, I believe, welcomed by all lovers of Sanskrit literature and especially by admirers of this marvelous drama. Matthew Kapstein brings out the work’s literary qualities in a manner the earlier translators could not, all the more for the modern literary sensibility. Some of his renderings of Sanskrit proper names are partic- ularly ingenious. “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” belongs to a literary genre that requires from readers both philosophical knowledge and literary sensibility in order to be able to appreciate it. e work cannot be reduced to a merely philosophical trea- tise, so compelling is its literary and dramatic effect. e cast of characters, each representing a power of sensible, erotic, intellectual and spiritual life, is at first confounding, but soon, as one identifies each power’s characteristic, fa- miliar role, the entire story of conflict, struggle, and even- tual resolution coheres in its depiction of man’s inner life, and is comparable in this respect to Hegel’s “Phenomenol- ogy of Spirit.” For while Hegel’s is a philosophical treatise cast, rather severely, as a dramatization, Krishna·mishra’s is ostensibly a drama meant to be staged, but is also explicitly philosophical. Matthew Kapstein highlights, as contrasted with ear- lier translators and writers on the text, its literary quality and wishes to underplay its philosophical nature. e irony lies precisely here, in the work’s literary style. is irony xv   of style, I would suggest, is particularly suited to convey- ing the philosophy it does convey in this case, that is, Ad- váita Vedánta. is is so because, looked at closely, Adváita Vedánta contains a deep irony: knowledge, or pure con- sciousness, is itself the locus of ignorance, and yet igno- rance seeks to conceal just that which harbors and manifests it. Pure knowledge does not destroy, but rather manifests ignorance. Hence, in Krishna·mishra’s play, ignorance and knowledge are cousins, as are the Káuravas and the Pán- davas of the great epic. e infinite pure Self chooses to be ensnared by illusion, and then does not strive to free it- self. ose who act to free the Self are characters who are themselves the kin of illusion. In fine, they are all bound together, and our initial dichotomous, opposition thinking fails. What a wonderful portrayal of the inner history of the spirit. J.N. M Philadelphia  September,  xvi  INTRODUCTION T   long history of the Sanskrit literary tradition, few texts have enjoyed a success compara- ble to that of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” (Prabodhacan- drodaya), the sole extant work of the otherwise unknown playwright Krishna·mishra·yati, or Krishna·mishra “the as- cetic” (yati). Composed during the mid eleventh century in north-central India, it came to be translated numerous times over the centuries into both Indian and foreign lan- guages, and was the subject of as many as a dozen Sanskrit commentaries. What is more, “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” is generally credited with having given birth to a distinc- tive genre of Sanskrit drama, that of the allegorical play. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Krishna·mishra’s creation has earned high praise indeed. “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” entered the Western canon of Sanskrit studies early in the nineteenth century: an En- glish translation by J. T appeared in Bombay in  and has been intermittently reprinted ever since; and in  an edition of the Sanskrit text, prepared by H-  B, was published in Leipzig, Germany. By the end of that century, Krishna·mishra’s work was avail- able in German (, , ), Russian (), Dutch () and French () versions in addition to T’s pioneering effort. We will examine aspects of the historical background for the early success of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” in the West later in this introduction. At the outset, however, it will be useful to be familiar with the story told in the play itself. xvii   Plot Summary As the scene opens, following the required benedictions, the Stage-manager relates that he has received an order from Gopála, a lord allied with king Kirti·varman. Gopála, thanks to his valiant conduct in battle, has succeeded in restoring Kirti·varman to the throne after the latter had suf- fered defeat at the hands of his rival Karna, the ruler of the kingdom of Chedi. Following a period of boisterous celebration, Gopála feels that the time has come to extol the virtue of spiritual peace, and so commands that “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” a work composed by his own guru Krishna·mishra, be performed before the king. e Stage- manager, speaking to his actress wife of Gopála’s heroism, recites a verse comparing the downfall of Karna and rein- stallation of Kirti·varman to spiritual intuition’s overcom- ing of ignorance, and the birth of wisdom that thereby ensues. e frame of the allegory is thus introduced, to- gether with its protagonists Intuition, Magnus Nescience, and Wisdom Moon. At the recitation of this verse a commotion is heard back- stage: Kama, or Lord Lust in our translation, is indignant that his master Magnus Nescience should be disparaged by a mere actor, and he airs his complaint to his wife, Lady Passion. She, however, senses that Intuition and his party may be more formidable than her husband believes and raises a delicate question: is it true, as she has heard, that Lust—and by implication Magnus Nescience with his en- tire faction—in fact share common origins with their hated enemies, Intuition and his allies? Lust confirms her suspi- cions in revealing that Nescience and Intuition are pater- xviii   nal half-siblings, having been born to one or another of the two wives of ought, and that the latter, in turn, was the unique son of the Supreme Lord’s marriage with Maya, the cosmic illusion underlying all creation. Intuition and Mag- nus Nescience, therefore, are now the chiefs of two rival, but consanguine, clans. Lust also reveals to Passion a terrifying secret: he has heard a prophecy that a spell-wielding demoness, Scientia, will arise to put an end to both branches of the family at once. Her birth, like that of her brother Wisdom Moon, will follow from Intuition’s marriage to Lady Úpanishad. As Lust loudly condemns those who would thus seek to de- stroy their own clan, a new commotion is heard. But this time it is Intuition reacting in his turn to Lust’s depreca- tions of him. Intuition now discusses the family’s fate with his wife, Lady Intelligence, seeking to explain just how it is that the Supreme Lord—the highest principle that is the true and eternal Self, or Brahman—came to be entangled in the snares of Illusion, who has lulled the Lord into a profound, fitful sleep. When Intelligence inquires as to what might be done to rouse him so that he may be awakened once again, Intuition is embarrassed. Fearing his wife’s reaction, he hes- itates to reveal that she will have to accept Úpanishad as her co-wife. Intelligence, however, assures him that she is not one given to jealousy. As the first act concludes, they plot together to bring about Intuition’s union with Úpanishad so that Wisdom Moon may be born. e setting shifts to Varánasi, where the second act be- gins. e holy city, a place promising liberation on this xix   earth, is now in the clutches of one of Magnus Nescience’s main henchmen, Hypocrite, who has adopted the guise of a pious brahmin. A boastful stranger arrives, seeking to find lodging in Hypocrite’s household, but the two merely an- noy one another before realizing that they are in fact close relations; for the stranger is Egoismo, the “I-maker,” who is the source of our conviction that we are discrete selves, sep- arate from both the true and absolute self, as well as from one another. Hypocrite is none other than his grandson, the child of Lady Craving and Lord Greed. eir entire branch of the family, it emerges, has been ordered to Varánasi by Magnus Nescience, who soon arrives on stage with much fanfare. It is not long before he is joined by Hedonist, the representative of worldliness and materialism, and here em- bodying the deepest folly into which philosophical think- ing can fall. Although Hedonist reports the victory of Nescience’s forces in the world at large, he has also learned of a possible source of danger to their faction: there is a powerful female adept, Hail Vishnu, now active, who poses a threat that can- not be ignored. Nescience orders her elimination, but then discovers that he faces an additional problem. A messenger from Orissa, where the great temple of Jagan·natha is in the hands of Nescience’s minions, brings the unwelcome news that the ladies Peace and Faith are serving as go-betweens to arrange Intuition’s marriage with Úpanishad. Moreover, Lex, Dharma in Sanskrit, personifying the laws, duties and regulations of the world, was until recently allied with Lust, but now seems to have befriended Dispassion and is there- fore changing camps. Nescience, furious at this defection, xx   sends the order to Lust that Lex be brought under control. To ensure, too, that Peace, Faith and the other allies of Intu- ition are suitably neutralized, he sends for his leading parti- sans: Lord Anger and Sir Greed, Lady Craving and Mistress Harm. Despite their assurances, Nescience nonetheless re- mains concerned that Peace presents a graver risk than his followers can admit. As she is the daughter of Faith, and Faith, in turn, the constant companion of Úpanishad, he must devise a means to drive these last two apart. Peace, on learning of her mother’s disappearance, will then be left off-guard and vulnerable. In the final scene of the act, he hatches his plan: the seductive and devious Miss Concep- tion, the very incarnation of false ideas, is dispatched to work her wiles on hapless Faith. As the third act unfolds, Peace is found weeping in dis- tress at her mother’s absence. She goes so far as to contem- plate suicide, and is dissuaded only by the entreaties of her friend Mercy, who urges her not to abandon the search for her mother, even if it takes her among heretics and out- castes. e pair sets out, meeting in turn a Jain ascetic, a Buddhist monk, and a Skullman, who follows the transgres- sive path of tantric Shaivism. All three are found to be ac- companied by their respective versions of Faith, but Mercy and Peace discern that none is true Faith, Peace’s mother. ey are not imbued with the principle of truth and purity (sattva), but are, rather, the daughters of the dark and dull element (tamas), or of energy and excitation (rajas). e Skullman, moreover, is an adept of the black arts and so sets about to deploy a potent spell called the “Great Terrorress” (Mahābhairavī) to capture true Faith, together with Lex. xxi   Love meets Faith in the fourth act, after the latter has managed to escape from the Terrorress’s clutches following the Skullman’s conjurations. It was, indeed, the yoginī Hail Vishnu who succeeded in counteracting the spell, and she, too, has been busy organizing Intuition’s forces in the strug- gle against Magnus Nescience. Intuition, for his part, weak- ened by the run-up to war, has retreated to Radha—the hometown of Egoismo—in Bengal, where, practicing aus- terities, he prepares himself for union with Úpanishad. He calls upon those among his forces who are most capable of defeating Nescience’s greatest warriors: Analyst is to vie with Lust, Patience with Anger, and Contentment with Greed. Each is called upon in turn to explain the means for victory at their disposal. e troops assembled, they set out for battle. Intuition mounts his chariot and flies off for an aerial view of the rout of Nescience’s armies in Varánasi. In the concluding portion of the act, he offers homage to Vishnu at the chief shrine in the holy city. Although Intuition and his forces are now victorious, the war, like that of the “Maha·bhárata,” has been waged among siblings. e joy of success, therefore, is dampened by grief at the fate of one’s closest relations, much as it is in the hero Árjuna’s laments in the first canto of the “Bhágavad·gita.” Faith articulates this in the first lines of act five, and hastens to meet Hail Vishnu, to whom she is to report the events of the battle. She finds the goddess in conversation with her daughter, Peace. Joining them, she describes what has taken place. After the armies had gathered, Intuition dispatched Rea- son as his messenger to Nescience, with the ultimatum that xxii   the latter and his party must quit Varánasi or face death in battle. Taking up the challenge, Nescience sends the here- sies into action as the first wave of his attack. e goddess Sarásvati appears at the head of Intuition’s army to rally his troops. She is soon joined by Lady Hermeneutics—the Mimánsaka philosophy—together with the other schools and traditions that affirm the authority of the Veda. ough they have often been discordant in the past, they are now united by a common purpose. As Faith explains it, all those that are founded in the Vedic revelation partake of the same inner light. In the heat of the ensuing combat, the materialist sys- tem soon perishes, quickly abandoned by both sides. e surviving heretics are driven to the frontiers. Lust, Anger and the remaining close allies of Nescience are slain in indi- vidual combat, while Nescience himself has fled and gone into hiding no-one-knows-where. ought, the father of both Intuition and Nescience, learning of the demise of so many of his progeny, now grows despondent and con- templates suicide. Once apprised of this, Hail Vishnu dis- patches Sarásvati to console him. e scene shifts: ought is bemoaning his losses to In- tention, when Sarásvati enters and, after instructing him on the means whereby he might regain his composure, encour- ages ought to be reconciled with Dispassion, a son he had abandoned at birth long ago. Father and son joyfully reunite, and Sarásvati, recognizing that ought cannot re- main alone following the loss of his first wife, Eva Lucienne, or active engagement in the world, now confirms his mar- riage with Diva Lucienne, the process of disengagement. xxiii   Having set ought’s household in its new and proper or- der, the goddess commands the performance of memorial offerings for their deceased kin. Faith and Peace are in dialogue, in the prologue to act six, revealing that, following ought’s reconciliation with Dispassion, the Inner Man, who is the Supreme Self, is now increasingly coming into his own. Owing to his new- found detachment even Lex has grown quiescent, as there is no longer reason to contemplate consequential actions, whether the goals be good or bad. Nevertheless, the old foe Magnus Nescience has been still able to stir up some trou- ble: he has managed to conjure up visions of the delectable state called the “Honeyed Realm,” so that the Inner Man was for a while tempted to return to samsāra, . until Reason entered the scene to snap him out of it. Faith and Peace con- clude their discussion, hastening to arrange for Intuition’s meeting at last with Úpanishad. e Inner Man now sings the praises of Hail Vishnu, when Peace enters with Úpanishad. e latter is hesitant to approach, for she recalls that she had been rejected once before and thereafter fell into grave difficulty. Peace ob- jects that the Inner Man was blameless and that it was Ne- science whose nefarious schemes had caused Úpanishad to be separated from Intuition. She had taken refuge with her daughter Gita, that is, the “Bhágavad·gita,” in order to es- cape from Reason, a state of affairs that Intuition finds puz- zling. All gather before the Inner Man, who honors Úpan- ishad and inquires as to what she had suffered during her prolonged exile. xxiv   Úpanishad relates that she first dwelt among foolish per- sons, who understood nothing of what she had to say. She encountered the traditions of Vedic ritual and thought that she might stay with them, but was able to find only a tem- porary accommodation based on the mistaken assumption that the Self of which she spoke was the ritual agent. Even- tually, these traditions, personified as Sacrificial Science, found her to be a bad influence and so asked her to leave. Meeting then Hermeneutics, the Mimánsaka school, her experience with Sacrificial Science was about to be repeated, when the famed Mimánsaka teacher Kumárila intervened to introduce the notion of the dual nature of the Self: the aspect of which Úpanishad spoke was, he thought, quite distinct from a second dimension, the agent invoked in the ritual traditions. Intuition interrupts her narrative at this point to praise Kumárila’s good sense. Úpanishad continues her story, recounting her experi- ences with the philosophical systems of Vaishéshika, Nyaya, and Sankhya, all of whom derided her teaching of the ab- solute Brahman in favor of cosmologies based on atoms or prime matter, and eventually condemned her as a nihilist. Fleeing, therefore, from philosophical arguments and spec- ulations, she wandered until she found a safe haven in the ashram of her daughter Gita. Her travails now exposed, the Inner Man engages both her and Intuition in dialogue to discover the true meaning of her teaching, whereby the great affirmations (mahāvākya) of the Úpanishads—such as the famous saying “thou art that”—are introduced. As their conversation advances, Contemplation joins them, carrying a message from Hail xxv   Vishnu revealing that Úpanishad is already pregnant with Scientia and Wisdom Moon. Úpanishad then departs to- gether with her husband Intuition. e Inner Man merges with Contemplation and, in his absorption, realizes that Scientia has taken birth and completed the conquest of Ne- science. Wisdom Moon joins him on stage, they embrace joyfully, and the Inner Man praises Hail Vishnu for his good fortune. e goddess arrives, confirming that all that was to be done is now concluded. e play ends with final benedictions. A Bit of History To appreciate “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” more fully, we must consider some salient points of its historical, liter- ary, and religious-philosophical background. e first was largely forgotten in India itself prior to the reconstruction of India’s pre-Islamic history as this emerged following the considerable archeological and epigraphical discoveries of the nineteenth century. Just how obscure the relevant his- tory was prior to these developments may be gleaned from the dedication of T’s  translation, where we read: Perhaps some conjecture may be formed concerning the age of the Play, from the mention which is made of the King Shri Kirti Varma, who is said to have at- tended its representation, along with his court. My Pandita, indeed, says, that he is a personification of the fame or glory of Gopala [the god Krishna]; but I am more inclined to think that he was a real person- age, and that the poet, out of compliment or flattery, xxvi   represents Gopala or Krishna as fighting his battles, and establishing him on the throne. If the Shri Kirti Varma was a real being, he probably reigned over Ma- gadha or Behar, the sovereigns of which also extended their empire to the provinces which lie northward of the Ganges; for Varma, or warrior, was a family name assumed by the Magadha kings, and Shri was prefixed as a title, intimating success or prosperity. If the con- jecture be correct, it would lead us to ascribe a consid- erable antiquity to the Play. He goes on to propose that it should be dated to the lat- ter half of the first millennium , though without finding evidence for a more precise estimation. at the pandit with whom T worked was inclined to regard the occurrence of the name Gopála as strictly re- ferring to god Krishna was perhaps a legacy of the popu- larity which the play came to enjoy in north Indian Váish- nava circles from about the fifteenth century on, leading him to interpret away its historical references in the light of this understanding. T, however, proved to be cor- rect in his guess that Kirti·varman was a real individual, though his attempt to place him in the kingdom of Má- gadha was in error. It was not, at any rate, until , when A C discovered an inscription of the Chandélla dynasty at Mahoba, situated in modern Uttar Pradesh to the north of Khajuraho, that the evi- dence needed to decide the issue at last became available. ough C was aware of the significance of his find, the results were for the first time set out clearly by E. xxvii   H, in a study of the Mahoba inscription published in . For here, in the th verse, we read that Kirti· varman “acquired fame by crushing with his strong arm the haughty Lakshmi·karna, whose armies had destroyed many princes.” (H : –). And in other sources the Chedi monarch Lakshmi·karna—Karna in our play—is mentioned as “death to the lord of Kalan·jara,” referring to his conquest of the Chandélla’s chief fortress. Given the chronological knowledge derived from the broader study of medieval Indian epigraphy, “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” could now be understood to celebrate a Chandélla restora- tion that occurred sometime not long after . e Chandélla dynasty had emerged from among feuda- tories of the Pratiháras who ruled in late first-millennium Western India, and they established themselves as the inde- pendent lords of much of what is today Madhya Pradesh by about the middle of the tenth century. Like many other royal families in India, their true beginnings, which were perhaps tribal, were disguised by a legend of divine origin, in this case stemming from the god of the moon, Chandra. is association was used to explain their name, Chandélla, and is mentioned early in the first act of our play, where we find a reference to Kirti·varman as belonging to the “lunar line” (.). e title of the play and the name of its char- acter Wisdom Moon further celebrate this connection. Kingship in India was always a rough and tumble busi- ness, and the Chandéllas, as was typical, were locked in shifting patterns of rivalries and alliances with their neigh- bors, including their former masters, the Pratiháras, as well as the Kala·churis who ruled in Chedi to the south, and xxviii   the Palas and Senas to the east, in Bihar and Bengal, to- gether with many less prominent players. e Chandéllas themselves were centered in the region that is today called Bundelkhand, in the northeast of Madhya Pradesh, where they commanded the fortress of Kalan·jara and had their cultural and religious capital at Khajuraho. eir territory at its greatest extent embraced much of present Madhya Pradesh, and to some degree reached beyond this as well. Chandélla dominance in this part of Central India endured for roughly three centuries. From the eleventh century on, they were among the north Indian dynasties that were reg- ularly harassed by Muslim Turkic raiders first from Central Asia and later the Delhi Sultanate. e fortress of Kalan· jara was itself taken by the conqueror Qutb-ud-din Aibak in , but appears to have been regained not more than two years later. e Chandéllas, though much weakened, continued to maintain a measure of sovereignty for another century, until they finally fade from the record with the reign of Hammíra·varman (c. –), the last of their rulers to have left surviving inscriptions. Among the Chandéllas, royal succession passed strictly from father to son, with only a small number of excep- tions. One of these was the king with whom we are con- cerned, Kirti·varman, who inherited the throne from his elder brother Deva·varman (c. –), apparently af- ter the latter passed away leaving no heir. It is possible, though we do not have sufficient information to be sure, that this was due to the conquest of the Chandéllas by their Kala·churi foe Lakshmi·karna (c. –), who had embarked upon a scheme of conquest so ambitious that xxix   he has sometimes been characterized as a “Napoléon” of medieval India (D : ). What both the Ma- hoba inscription and “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” make clear, however, is that Kirti·varman was installed (or rein- stalled) following Karna’s defeat by the resurgent Chandél- las. As we have seen above, this appears to have occurred during the s, a period during which Karna’s fortunes in general had begun to turn. As the play affirms, but without a confirming record be- ing found in the extant inscriptions, Kirti·varman’s success was due to the heroic action of his “natural ally” (sahajasu- h.rt) Gopála. Discounting Taylor’s suggestion that this was but a reference to the divine aid of Krishna, we must as- sume that the testimony of the play is in essence true, for it is hardly possible that a literary work ascribing a royal restoration to a subsidiary lord could have circulated—and indeed present itself as a work to be performed before the king—if the court was not substantially in accord with the account given there. e description of Gopála as Kirti· varman’s “natural ally” has sometimes been regarded as sup- plying a plausible explanation in this case, and, as some his- torians have noted, the term in fact had two precise sig- nifications in ancient Indian political theory, referring ei- ther to a king who was one’s enemy’s enemy, or to the lords and retainers belonging to one’s maternal clan. It seems therefore that Gopála must have been one of Kirti· varman’s maternal uncles or cousins. I think that we can go beyond this, however, and suggest as an hypothesis that, given the unusual succession from elder to younger brother, and the likelihood in the light of what else may be known xxx   of Chandélla genealogy, that Kirti·varman must have been rather young, perhaps even a child, when he succeeded to the throne. For his was a notably long reign, spanning roughly four decades, until the closing years of the eleventh century. e Kala·churi Karna, therefore, may have in- vaded at a time when the Chandélla line was particularly vulnerable—when Deva·varman had not yet produced an heir—and it was because of his rescue of the dynasty un- der such circumstances that Gopála’s deed could be pub- licly celebrated, not least at the court of the king he had succeeded in placing upon the throne. It is unfortunate that the spotty record of Chandélla his- tory provides us with few indications concerning the events of Kirti·varman’s rule following the defeat of Lakshmi·karna. e construction of three important reservoirs is attributed to him by local tradition, and two temples of Shiva, one at Mahoba and the other at Ajayagadh, in the immediate vicinity of Khajuraho, may have been built with his patron- age. An inscription accompanying a Jain image found in a village near Mahoba confirms that he extended his pro- tection to this religion and mentions two of his officers as Jain adherents. Other inscriptions laud his personal qual- ities, praising him as a righteous ruler whose good works purified the evil of the age of Kali (D : ). An important historical problem that remains, of course, is the identity of the author of our play, Krishna·mishra. Besides the addition to his name of the title yati, or “as- cetic,” and the statement in the first act that he was Gopála’s guru, nothing at all is known of him with certainty. Later tradition maintains that he was an ascetic of the hamsa . or- xxxi   der, which, in the light of his clear affiliation with the philo- sophical tradition of Adváita Vedánta, is not an impossibil- ity. However, because yati was sometimes adopted as a so- briquet by lay scholars, and because Krishna·mishra’s roles as a poet and counselor of a lord seem most often to have been occupied by lay specialists and not renunciates, skepti- cism about this tradition seems warranted. And a tale found in the Prakāśa commentary relates that he wrote “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” on behalf of a disciple who was attached to poetry but disliked philosophy, and so needed to swal- low the bitter dose of Vedánta mixed into the sugary syrup of the theater. is quaint story, however, must have come into circulation at some point after the real historical ori- gins of the play were largely forgotten (K  []: ). Despite the extreme poverty of our knowledge of Krishna· mishra the man, his work permits us to make some judg- ments regarding his character. He was the confidant and teacher of a leading lord of his time, and his qualifications for this role included a broad philosophical and literary cul- ture. His deep understanding of the spiritual tradition with which he was affiliated was leavened by an amused view of human weakness and folly. As we become more famil- iar with his work, we may imagine that we catch occasional glimpses within it of the workman as well. Literature or Philosophy? Allegory was never recognized as a distinct genre by San- skrit writers on literary criticism and poetics. It was not until recent times, after Western literary categories became xxxii   known, that writers in the modern Indian languages coined the Sanskrit neologisms pratīkanā.taka (“symbolic drama”) and rūpakanā.taka (“metaphorical drama”) in order to de- scribe “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” and works resembling it. Nevertheless, allegory had in fact been used by In- dian authors from the earliest times. e image of the two- headed bird, for instance, first found in the Rgveda . (.. ), was taken over in the Mun. daka . Upani sad . as an allegory of the dimorphism of the soul. By citing this famous pas- sage in act six (. []), Krishna·mishra in effect plants the roots of his inspiration deep in the most ancient strata of Sanskrit literature. Fragments of early Buddhist dramas, dating to the first centuries , also make use of allegory, and include char- acters with names like “Fame” and “Pride.” Nevertheless, these plays, so far as we can now know them, do not appear to have been sustained allegories, that is, they were primar- ily stories of Buddhist saints, in which some episodes took allegorical form. And there is no evidence of knowledge of these works among later Indian writers, much less of their exerting any influence upon the way they wrote. At the same time, regarding several of the devices he em- ploys in developing his allegory, Krishna·mishra’s debts to earlier dramatic writing can sometimes be discerned. One example is to be found in his satire of the three heterodox schools—Jainism, Buddhism and Kapálika Shaivism—in the third act. In this case, the inspiration of the seventh- century farce Mattavilāsa, the “Madman’s Play,” of Mahén- dra·varman seems unmistakeable. And in Krishna·mishra’s incorporation of elements of philosophical debate and di- xxxiii   alogue into the drama at several points, he may well have the model of Jayánta·bhatta’s Āgamadambara, . “Much Ado About Religion,” in mind. In sum, although Krishna· mishra’s contribution to Indian literature was not the in- vention of allegory as such, he may nonetheless be cred- ited with introducing its employment in order to structure an entire literary work from beginning to end. at the tradition itself recognized this to be an original contribu- tion may be gathered from the fact that several of the later Sanskrit allegories, and more than a dozen are known, ex- plicitly refer back to “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” often underscoring this fact by the use of clearly imitative titles (K  []: –). Allegory, however, is an unfortunate genre. It suffers from the constraint of its major premise, for it must tell a story that is in fact a second story, a double task restrict- ing the author’s free creation and often lending to allegor- ical works a rigid, contrived quality, as we know from Eu- ropean medieval mysteries like “Everyman,” or from Bun- yan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress.” at Krishna·mishra succeeded in his task better than most is demonstrated by his work’s enduring success. However, it is difficult in this case not to concur with the assessment of one of the path-breakers in the study of Sanskrit literary history, S.K. D: With … abstract and essentially scholastic subject- matter, it is difficult to produce a drama of real inter- est. But it is astonishing that, apart from the handi- caps inherent in the method and purpose, Kr. s. namiśra . succeeds, to a remarkable degree, in giving us an in- xxxiv   genious picture of the spiritual struggle of the human mind in the dramatic form of a vivid conflict, in which the erotic, comic and devotional interests are cleverly utilized. (D  D: : ) As D rightly stressed, the demands of Krishna·mishra’s subject-matter, the attainment of spiritual peace in the soul’s liberation as understood within the tradition of the nondu- alist school of Vedánta (advaita vedānta), both pose a chal- lenge to the author in relation to properly literary expres- sion and at the same time inhibit the reader’s properly lit- erary reading of the text. An unfortunate result has been that modern readers have sometimes taken the work merely to be an elementary primer of Adváita philosophy, almost entirely ignoring its literary qualities. In the present trans- lation, therefore, I have sought to lay stress on “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” as a clever and often quite funny play, quite apart from its message per se. e message, however, is essential for any understanding of the work, and in seeking to address it in dramatic form, rather than in a formal theological treatise, Krishna·mishra was accepting a considerable risk. For above and beyond the difficulties inherent in dramatizing spiritual growth, he was taking a forthright stand in regard to one of the keenest dis- putes in classical Indian literary theory. In essence, the crit- ics wished to establish whether, besides the aesthetic sen- timents with which we are generally familiar—erotic love, humor, horror, and the like—is there additionally a distinct sentiment of peace? Can the mystical realization of one- ness and the void be the subject-matter of great literature, or xxxv   does its awesome depths compel only a surpassing silence, from which no literary art can emerge? Krishna·mishra was among those who affirmed that a sentiment of peace can serve as an appropriate focus for literary creation, and he tells us this explicitly, affirming at the outset that he has written “a play conveying the sentiment of peace” (.). But how to convey such a sentiment? To elicit horror, one can show frightening things, for humor things that are funny, and so on. e attempt to display peace di- rectly—perhaps by depicting a group of persons in silent meditation—is guaranteed to be merely a bore. e only strategy that might work is to arrive at peace through con- trast. Peace becomes dramatically interesting only in rela- tion to its opposites: war, struggle, the erotic distractions, and so on. Krishna·mishra very well understood this and, using the contrastive categories underscored in Indian tra- ditions, sought to realize the sentiment of peace as the con- clusion of a journey through what peace is not. In order to achieve this end, Krishna·mishra’s work de- pends on one of the fundamental dichotomies informing classical Indian thought, that between prav.rtti and niv.rtti. e pair is often translated, misleadingly I think, as “ac- tivity” and “inactivity.” It is important, however, to gain a more nuanced sense of their meaning, as this provides an essential key to understanding the play as whole. To begin, we may cite a popular verse that states: “I know the dharma, but it is not what I engage in; I know non- dharma, too, but it is not what I desist from.” Here, I have translated prav.rtti as “what I engage in” and niv.rtti as “what I desist from.” e relevant contrast is not one xxxvi   between activity and inactivity, but between the forward, outgoing channeling of energies into a particular pattern of action, and, oppositely, the withdrawal or turning away from that course. ough the verse nicely introduces the terms as they apply to our individual, active undertakings, we must recognize further that the distinction in question may be invoked in some rather different contexts. In Bud- dhist idealist philosophy, for instance, it pertains to per- ceptual processes, prav.rtti referring to the proliferations of consciousness which constructs the world as we perceive it, and niv.rtti to the inversion of that process in meditation, where our constructions are dissolved as tranquility and in- sight develop. We should be aware, too, of the cosmolog- ical significance of these concepts in Brahmanical thought. In this case, prav.rtti indicates the emanation of the phe- nomenal world through the agency of māyā, creative illu- sion generating the world of appearance, while niv.rtti is the dissolution that occurs when māyā’s work is undone. Several of these strands of meaning are beautifully wo- ven together in the introduction to the commentary on the “Bhágavad·gita” attributed to the renowned Adváita Vedánta philosopher Shánkara (eighth century). While it is not certain the Krishna·mishra had precisely this text in mind when he composed “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” he was no doubt thinking of closely similar materials. e philosopher’s words, therefore, will help to clarify some es- sential elements in the structure of the play: e Lord, having created this world, desired to make it endure. Having first produced the lords of crea- xxxvii   tures—the sun and the others—he caused them to maintain the law (dharma) whose characteristic is en- gagement (prav.rtti), as taught in the Veda. en, hav- ing given rise to others—Sánaka, Sanándana, etc.—he caused them to maintain the law whose characteris- tic is disengagement (niv.rtti) and whose characteristic is knowledge and dispassion. For twofold is the law taught in the Veda—that having the characteristic of engagement and that having the characteristic of dis- engagement—and this is the cause for the world’s en- during. at which is the basis for the manifest well- being and beatitude of creatures, that law has been up- held for long ages by those who aspire for the good, brahmins and others, according to their caste (varna) . and life-station (āśrama). As they are described here, prav.rtti and niv.rtti are com- plementary processes, that together are necessary so that the world is upheld overall. Krishna·mishra underscores this point at the very beginning of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” in proclaiming the need to balance the festivities of the king’s reinstallation with a work devoted to the “senti- ment of peace,” and, more pointedly still, in writing that: e divine light is by nature pacific, so that, if for whatever reason it suffers modification, it abides as it is in its essence. [us Gopála] undertook to shore up on this earth the rule of the princes of the lunar line, when they were uprooted by the Chedis’ lord … [S]uch persons, ornaments of manliness, who are of a piece with Lord Naráyana [Vishnu], descend to earth xxxviii   for the sake of beings and when they have completed their tasks attain peace once again. (.–) e oscillation between active engagement in the main- tenance of the world and withdrawal from it is thus char- acteristic both of the divinity and of kings. For Krishna·mishra, in sum, the dichotomy of prav.rtti and niv.rtti functions on three basic levels: macrocosmically, it defines the order governing the universe as whole, and microcosmically, it describes individuals’ patterned engage- ment in and disengagement from mundane activity. But it also operates mesocosmically, in relation to the order of the monarchal state, wherein the righteous king must achieve that delicate balance whereby martial force is neither op- pressive nor overextended, and peace is not confounded with pusillanimity. e equilibrium that must be achieved here is further accentuated by Krishna·mishra in the general structure of his work. For the first three acts, in which Mag- nus Nescience and his gang enjoy the upper hand, concern engagement in mundane activity in the life of the individ- ual who is bound to samsāra, . while the final three acts are dedicated to niv.rtti, here the soteriologically valued with- drawal from worldliness through which enlightenment may be won. Much has been made of the apparent synthesis of Ad- váita Vedánta philosophy with Váishnava devotionalism, or bhakti, that characterizes “e Rise of Wisdom Moon.” My own belief is that this has been somewhat overblown, the result of reading the play through the lens of the later sectar- ian devotional movements that sometimes appropriated it. xxxix   One author has even gone so far as to characterize Krishna· mishra’s religious attitude as a “fanatic zeal for Vaisnavism” (B : ), but this is surely misleading. For several reasons, Krishna·mishra’s sectarian inclinations appear to me to be weaker than is generally assumed, and the Vaish- navism of his work, while by no means to be denied, may be explained without reference to strong sectarian bias. e Váishnava current in “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” is underscored principally by these features: the heroine of the drama is the character Vishnu·bhakti, Hail Vishnu in our translation; at the conclusion of act four, Intuition undertakes a pilgrimage to the shrine of Vishnu in Vará- nasi (.); in act five, ought is instructed in medita- tion upon Vishnu as an alternative to absorption in the ab- solute Brahman (. []); and references to a number of Vishnu’s incarnations are found throughout the work. Taken together with arguments that have been most clearly presented by Paul Hacker, to the effect that early Adváita Vedánta, as represented above all by Shánkara, was mildly Váishnava in its leanings, it is undeniable that Krishna· mishra clearly expresses a similar partiality here, though “fa- natic” is no doubt too strong a characterization of his lean- ings (H ). e Váishnava reading of the text is mitigated by a num- ber of positive gestures to Shaivism, and indeed to other sectarian traditions, at various points in the play. is de- spite the wholesale rejection, in act three, of the transgres- sive Kapálika current of Shaivism as altogether heretical. Nevertheless, the second of the opening verses of benedic- tion is dedicated to Shiva, with distinct allusions to systems xl   of yoga that were often placed under that divinity’s patron- age. (e first of the benedictions concerns the nondual Brahman, and therefore has no distinct sectarian orienta- tion, apart from its affirmation of Adváita Vedánta.) In act five (.), as Intuition’s armies advance, the Shaiva tradi- tions, on an equal footing with the Váishnava, are arrayed within the victorious ranks. And the ultimate equivalence of the three great Hindu divinities—Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva—is unambiguously asserted some lines later: e Light, at peace and limitless, without duality, unborn, By the admixture of qualities varies, and is praised as “Brahma,” “Vishnu,” or “Uma’s Lord.” (. []) Moreover, the play’s many references to Vishnu’s incar- nations—including boar, dwarf, man-lion, Axman Rama, and Rama—all follow well-established conventions whereby these avatars were analogized to the figure of the King. For Vishnu as the preserver of the world is the member of the trinity who provides the best template for righteous king- ship, upholding the order of the cosmos and granting peace and security to its creatures. ese last observations allow us, I believe, to put Krishna· mishra’s Vaishnavism into its proper perspective. e rulers of the Chandélla dynasty generally seem to have favored the worship of Shiva, but they were tolerant monarchs, who extended their patronage to the several major Brah- manical and Hindu traditions and to Jainism, and even countenanced a Buddhist presence within their domains as xli   well. Vaishnavism was, however, a strong current within Chandélla religion, and several of the monarchs appear to have regarded Vishnu as their personal tutelary divinity. One of these was Kirti·varman (M  []: ). It becomes possible to imagine, therefore, that “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” in its leanings towards Vaishnavism, is primarily expressing an allegiance to the ruler in whose honor the play was written and produced. We may press this point somewhat further. To mention our play and the famed temples of Khajuraho in a single breath may appear to be an incongruent pairing, for the great north Indian temple-complex, after all, is widely as- sociated with the celebration of the erotic, while Krishna· mishra’s drama represents orthodox Vedánta, a philosophy that values detachment from worldly delights in favor of the inner realization of an immutable, transcendent self. But Khajuraho’s marvels and “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” both issued from the court of the Chandélla monarchs, and the period during which our play was composed was not far removed from the height of development at Khajuraho. It is not difficult, in fact, to imagine that the play might have been performed among the temples and palaces there. While sexual frankness characterizes many of the scenes adorning the outer walls of Khajuraho’s temples, in the in- terior they are almost all dedicated to the great gods of the Hindu pantheon, in forms that arouse not the slightest hint of tantric transgressions. By the same token, “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” though surely ridiculizing our erotic pro- clivities, also sees a place for them in the order of things xlii   and can hardly be considered as prudish in its treatment of sexual desire: She slithers hither: slowed by the big burden of her booty, and revealing by a little trick of her flowing garland’s pose, pressed by playful arms, breasts marked with lovers’ scratches; With glances as long as strings of blue lotuses she drinks up your mind while jingling her bangles with the languid movements of her wrists. (. []) To focus upon sex, however, is to miss the chief con- cerns of both the temples and the play. Just as the deity Vishnu, as honored by Intuition at the conclusion of act four, is clearly exempt from the fun and folly of the pre- ceding acts, so too the great image of Vishnu as Vaikúntha, in Khajuraho’s Lákshmana Temple, a temple with which Krishna·mishra may well have been familiar, transcends the swirling activity, erotic and otherwise, depicted on the shrine’s outer walls. e imperial order is silent at its cen- ter, but nonetheless this imperturbable calm forms the ba- sis for both the love and the war whereby the kingdom thrives. Taken together, Khajuraho’s temples and Krishna· mishra’s play are perhaps best regarded as diverse itera- tions of the Chandélla royal religion, for which divinity and sovereignty, cosmos and realm, were never quite two. Our play’s Vaishnavism, therefore, unmistakeable though xliii   it may be, was not yet distinguished from kingly cult and must not be assimilated to the devotional movements that would soon emerge as predominant throughout much of the North Indian religious scene. Krishna·mishra’s Legacy e reception history of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” in India has been studied in depth so far only with respect to one regional language, Hindi (including Braj). It is clear, however, that, starting with its impact within Sanskrit lit- erary culture itself, the play became established as a touch- stone for the form of the allegorical drama, and more specif- ically a model for literary instruction in philosophical mat- ters. e evidence available to us demonstrates both unusu- ally broad diffusion and enduring popularity. e interest that its philosophical content generated is indicated by its widespread use as a source for knowledge of the “heretical” doctrine of the Charvákas (or Lokáyatas), the skeptical he- donists and materialists who had been among the bugbears of early Indian thought. Indeed, the fourteenth-century “Compendium of All Viewpoints” (Sarvadarśanasamgraha), . among the best known of all Indian philosophical sum- mations, bases its record of the Charvákas to a large ex- tent upon their representation in “e Rise of Wisdom Moon.” M. K ( []: ), in his his- tory of classical Sanskrit literature, mentions no fewer than ten commentaries on our play. is fact alone confirms the high regard with which it was held among Sanskrit scholars, and suggests, too, that it was frequently a subject of instruc- xliv   tion. Not all learned readers of Sanskrit, however, followed Krishna·mishra in his adherence to Adváita Vedánta. is was surely one of the reasons for which imitations of his play proliferated, tailoring his model to the needs of differ- ing philosophical or sectarian affiliations. ese works often declare the source of their inspiration by the inclusion of the word udaya, “rise, ascent” in the title. More than a dozen such plays, some written as late as the nineteenth century, are known, of which several have enjoyed relative success. Among them, we may note in particular “e Sunrise of Comprehension” (Sa˙nkalpasūryodaya) by the famed teacher of the “qualified non-dualist” (viśi.stādvaita) Vedánta tra- dition, Vénkata·natha (fourteenth century, also known as Vedánta·déshika); the medical allegory entitled “e Rise of Ambrosia” (Am.rtodaya) of Gókula·natha (ca. early seven- teenth century); and “e Rise of the Moon of Chaitánya” (Caitanyacandrodaya) of Karna·pura (early sixteenth cen- tury). e latter is distinguished by its combining of al- legory with historical elements drawn from the lives of Chaitánya (–), the renowned apostle of devotion to Krishna, and his contemporaries. A Jain play, “e Con- quest of King Confusion” (Moharājaparājaya), composed by Yashah·pala in the thirteenth century similarly combines allegory with history in recounting the conversion to Jain- ism of King Kumára·pala of Gujarat. “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” written early in the sec- ond millennium, entered into circulation just as the re- gional languages of the subcontinent began gradually to supplant the dominance of Sanskrit in Indian literary cul- tures. is process of vernacularization, however, offered xlv   new avenues for the diffusion of Krishna·mishra’s play, and from the fifteenth century onward, we find it being trans- lated or transfigured throughout a wide range of north and south Indian tongues, including Hindi, Braj, Bengali, Gu- jarati, Urdu, Tamil, Telegu, Malayalam, and no doubt oth- ers as well. In Hindi and Braj, in particular, numerous versions are known. Most of these seem to have stemmed from the Váishnava bhakti movements that proliferated in late medieval North India, whose devotees were attracted to the play owing to its generalized Váishnava orientation, as we have discussed above. One such version, by G  S (), versifies the entire text in Braj, following prosodic conventions dear to the Braj bhakti poets. Perhaps the most remarkable of the Indian translations of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” however, was one that carried it beyond the Hindu fold. is was the Persian version that emerged from the circle of Prince Dara Shikoh (–), the Emperor Akbar’s ill-fated grandson, who, developing the implications of his forefather’s syncretic imperial reli- gion, sought a reconciliation between Hinduism and Islam. e translation was achieved by the prince’s secretary and protégé Banwalidas Wali, also known as Baba Wali Ram, by origin a kāyastha—a member of the scribal and cleri- cal caste—from Varánasi. Wali would become a renunci- ate in later life, closely associated with some of the leading Sufi masters of the age, and in the years before his death, in /, emerged as a revered mystic in his own right. Be- sides his Persian rendition of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” as the Gulzar-i-Hal (“e Rose Garden of Absorption”), a number of other treatises and translations are attributed to xlvi   him (C  A ca. ). Although, unlike the Per- sian translation of the Upanishads, that had been achieved by Dara Shikoh himself, “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” was not to reach the West in its Persian incarnation, its preser- vation in a number of manuscripts suggests that it never- theless enjoyed some favor in Mughal literary culture. Given the exceptional diffusion of “e Rise of Wis- dom Moon” within India, it should come as no surprise that European scholars became aware of it relatively early in the history of Sanskrit studies. e first to have referred to it appears to have been H T C (–), whose study “On Sanskrit and Prakrit Po- etry” () includes a brief notice of the play. It is likely that J T became aware of the work independ- ently, however, and his account of how he first took in- terest in it may be cited in order to explain the interest that it aroused in European Indological circles generally during the nineteenth century: For some months I was occupied in the perusal of books which treat [the Indian philosophical systems] in a dry didactic manner, and which, by announcing the doctrines dogmatically, instead of unfolding them in a connected series of reasoning and illustration, pre- serve, in many places, a degree of obscurity which it is almost impossible to remove. e experience of these difficulties naturally induced me to enquire if there was any book which explained the [Vedānta] system by a more easy method; and having heard from sev- eral Pandits that the Nâtak (Play), called the Prabôdha xlvii   Chandrôdaya, or the Rise of the Moon of Intellect, was held in high estimation among them, and was written to establish the Vêdânta doctrines, I deter- mined to read it, in hopes that the popular view it took of the subject would lead to a general understanding of its doctrines, and of the principal technical terms. (T  []: iii–iv) Although T’s treatment of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” as a primer of Vedánta philosophy had much to rec- ommend it in  when it was first published (it remains essential reading for serious students of early nineteenth- century Indology and still serves as an excellent example of Georgian Sanskrit translation), the play has perhaps suf- fered by having been consigned to this pigeon-hole in the Western study of Indian literatures. S L, in his Le éatre Indien, clearly situated “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” in the context of dramatic and poetic art, but in- terest in the play has continued to be focused primarily upon its doctrinal content (L  []: –). e more recent translation by Dr S K. N, based on her  dissertation completed under the direction of the great Vedánta scholar P H, still exemplifies this, though it may be recommended for its overall accuracy and its close attention to the philosophical and theological aspects of the allegory. Recent translations in French, Ital- ian and especially Spanish have gone further in the way of exposing to the contemporary reader something of the text’s pleasures as literature; among them, the work of L R’s student A P should be noted in xlviii   particular as the most thorough study of Krishna·mishra’s play to date. Nevertheless, perhaps owing to the mustiness that now hangs over the allegorical form in general, “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” has not for some time seen the prominence among classical Indian works studied in the West that it enjoyed more than a century ago. e Play’s Languages and the Present Translation As is the norm in Sanskrit drama, “e Rise of Wis- dom Moon” includes characters who speak not in fact San- skrit, but dialects of Prakrit, the literary languages that were inspired by the colloquial tongues of North India during the last centuries  and for some time thereafter. e use of these languages in the theater was typically subject to strict codification: men of status spoke Sanskrit, while the women spoke the Shauraséni Prakrit that was associ- ated with north-central India, but sung their verses in Ma- haráshtri, the language of the southwest that was renowned for poetic beauty. Lower class characters and some others, such as adherents of the Jain religion, however, used Má- gadhi, derived from the speech of the northeastern regions around modern Bihar. “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” was clearly composed with these standards in mind, but it departs from them in a num- ber of ways. As is the case in many other plays, the “Má- gadhi” we find here is not really Mágadhi Prakrit at all, but rather Shauraséni modified by the introduction of a small number of Magadhisms. e r-s, for instance, are usually converted to l-s, in imitation of the Mágadhi accent. e effect is perhaps a bit like that made by the character of a xlix   Parisian waiter in an English sit-com, who speaks “French” by saying such things as, “Mais, Madame, zer eez no fly in zee soup!” And just as our use of stereotyped accents in this way is a device for suggesting foreign speech to audiences who may not be familiar with the actual languages the char- acters are supposed to employ, so the Sanskrit dramatist’s “magadhized” Shauraséni doubtlessly reflects a situation in which the genuine Mágadhi Prakrit had become obscure. Poetic composition in the difficult Maharáshtri dialect, too, has been dropped by the author of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon.” In fact, the entire play contains only two Prakrit verses recited by female characters (. [], . []) and these are in Shauraséni. In all, then, composition in Prakrit appears here to be restrained and simplified. e play’s most striking departure from the linguistic standards, however, is in its use of Sanskrit itself. For an unusual number of the female characters speak Sanskrit, and after the fourth act the use of Prakrit drops out en- tirely. Krishna·mishra’s general principle seems to have been to use Sanskrit both where ordinary dramatic convention would require it, as well as for those characters who are most clearly aligned with the victory that brings about the birth of Wisdom Moon. Prakrit is thus coded here as a product of mundane confusion. at this is so is clearly suggested early in act four, where Love, who has so far been speaking in Prakrit, shifts to Sanskrit, with a specific stage-direction to this effect, when reciting a verse directly referring to In- tuition’s success (.– []). I have made no effort to imitate the play’s multilingual- ism in the translation. Although one can imagine using di- l   alect variations of British and American English to indicate differences of social class and background, such distinctions within our culture are not gendered as they are in the San- skrit theater. Best then to leave them to one side for the purpose of translation. In attempting here to create a new version of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” for the contempo- rary anglophone reader, I have in general laid less empha- sis upon philosophical purity than have previous translators and instead have sought to create a work that, like Krishna· mishra’s original, is pleasant and amusing to read. How well or poorly I have succeeded in this I leave for my readers to judge. One of the major obstacles that I may note, how- ever, stems from the allegorical form itself. Reading a work packed with characters with names like Ignorance, Dis- crimination, and Investigation-of-things can be a tedious exercise. How many of us recall reading Bunyan in school with much relish? I have therefore tried to mitigate some- what the ponderousness of the form by finding, wherever possible, lighter ways to name the main characters, even at the expense of departing in some respects from literal precision. us, Big Ignorance is here Magnus Nescience and False Views (often misleadingly named as “Heresy”) is Miss Conception. For similar reasons, I have added the oc- casional “lord” or “lady,” even where there are no equiva- lents in Sanskrit: “Lady Craving” sounds like it might be a name, where “Craving” alone might not. Evidently, this approach could not be applied throughout without much contrivance, and so I have introduced it only occasionally, where it seems most useful in order to add some color to li   the translated text. e complete list of characters explains the usage that I have adopted in full. I have also sought, so far as is possible, to translate whole thoughts and not just strings of words. Because we express our ideas in English quite differently than we do in San- skrit, it will therefore be apparent to the reader who knows both languages that I have not always insisted upon the sort of philologically exact translation that is encouraged in uni- versity Sanskrit courses. To those who find my practice ob- jectionable, I can only protest that my goal has been to pro- duce a translation and not a crib. Because Krishna·mishra’s wit reflects much insight into human character, it is often possible to imagine transpos- ing parts of his work into settings completely alien to it, to give it a thoroughly modern veneer. is, of course, would not be appropriate in a translation, even one that accepts as much freedom as sometimes I do here, but should anyone ever think to stage “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” or extracts from it, then I heartily recommend taking whatever liber- ties seem fit. us, act two, for instance, focusing on the dysfunctional family of Magnus Nescience, might be recast as an episode in the popular American mafia comedy, “e Sopranos,” or transported to colonial India to be played out, as in the Hindi film Lagaan, among a suitably degen- erate group of British cantonment residents. In act three, the Skullman can readily be imagined to be a member of the Hell’s Angels motorcycle gang, with the racy Skullgirl as his biker babe. And, in the same context, the Jain ascetic might be replaced by a televangelist she seduces. It is per- haps more difficult to find the right template for the later lii   acts—spiritual tranquility and enlightenment seem not to be the dominant tropes in popular culture just now—but we might go back just a few decades, to set the scene at the height of the Aquarian Age. For there, at the least, charac- ters with names like Peace, Love, Mercy, Patience and Faith would surely find themselves right at home. e Sanskrit Text “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” has never been adequately critically edited. e still useful editio princeps of B-  () was based primarily on six manuscripts that had become available in London early in the nineteenth century, thanks especially to the donations of C and T. (ere is no evidence, so far as I am aware, to support P’s assertion that there may have existed an early xylographic edition which was used by T.) e later nineteenth-century editions published in India appear mostly to be (semi-)diplomatic transcriptions— B. ’s .  Kolkata edition is a case in point— though V. P’s .  Nirnaya . Sāgara Press edition, with its later reprintings, was based upon a selection of manuscripts. Since it was first published V. P’s . has been widely adopted as the “standard” text, by both editors of subsequent editions and translators. e  Trivandrum text (Tr), edited by S Ś, has been generally ignored but comes closest in some respects to laying the groundwork for a critical edi- tion. It represents exclusively manuscripts from Kerala ac- companied by the sixteenth-century Nā.takābharana . com- mentary and thus, unlike any of the earlier editions, aspires liii   to clarify a particular local recension. Although its readings seem, on semantic and aesthetic (that is to say, not neces- sarily text critical) grounds to be sometimes preferable to those found in the other available versions, this is by no means always so. Owing to its overall excellence, however, as well as to the fact that it has remained unknown to most modern readers of the play, I have adopted it as the basis for the text given here. Nevertheless, I have departed from it in certain particulars, of which those that seem to me to be the most important are mentioned in the accompany- ing notes. e key principles of which the reader should be aware are these: • Where Tr and the other versions consulted differ, but the variants are closely synonymous, I have usually fol- lowed Tr with no comment. • Where Tr and other versions differ, and the variants are not closely synonymous, I have preferred Tr unless it appears clearly inferior. • In those cases in which Tr does not include verses or passages attested in the other versions consulted, I have nevertheless often included these in the text, but with their omission from Tr recorded here. • Where Tr suspends normal external sandhi between words, as it does on some occasions, I have followed it where the word-break in question corresponds to a pause that may be indicated with appropriate punc- tuation. In other cases, I have followed the standard sandhi. • Where a doubtful reading in Tr seems likely to be an un- corrected typographical error, this is corrected without liv   further mention. Such apparent errors in Tr are quite rare, however. • Small variations in the wording of stage directions are generally not commented upon here. Unsurprisingly, Sanskrit verse passages are the most sta- ble among the various editions consulted, followed by San- skrit prose. Variations in these portions of the work are rel- atively few and seldom of great significance for our under- standing of the text overall. More problematic is the Prakrit text, whose variations among the versions I have used are often considerable. It has gradually come to be recognized that the notable discrepancies found in the treatment of the dramatic Prakrits in general reflect in some measure differ- ences among regional traditions, so that, in the present case, I have generally preferred to follow the Trivandrum text, much as I have in regard to the Sanskrit. However, some features of the Prakrit we find here seemed to warrant global emendation: • Tr nowhere uses the semivowel l in Prakrit and instead has the intervocalic “flapped” .l (as found in Vedic, Pali, and Marathi, and not to be confused with the Sanskrit vowel .l, for instance in the root k.lp). I have replaced this with the semivowel l throughout. • e aspirate nasals of Prakrit nh, . mh, and the like, are given in Tr as hn, . hm, etc. I have preferred the more typical forms. • Tr on some occasions introduces tatsama forms—words given in Sanskrit instead of Prakrit—where they do not seem warranted. is most probably reflects the copy- lv   ing of the chāyā (the Sanskrit gloss of the Prakrit) into the Prakrit text itself. With one exception, the name of the “spell” Mahābhairavī in acts three and four, and the similar use of the hybrid form Mahābhailava at ., where I have retained the Sanskrit diphthong ai, I have restored the Prakrit in such cases. On the other hand, I have not attempted to bring per- fect consistency to the Prakrit text, and some irregularities, such as will be readily recognized by the intermediate or ad- vanced student reading the Prakrit in comparison with the chāyā, have been allowed to stand. Acknowledgements My first and foremost debt of gratitude is to John and Jennifer Clay, whose vision created and sustained the Clay Sanskrit Library. I thank, too, Richard Gombrich, who during his tenure as General Editor of the CSL commis- sioned me to undertake the present translation. Sheldon Pollock and Isabelle Onians, the present General Editor and Editor of this remarkable collection, have graciously shep- herded my work through to its conclusion. In this, the CSL editorial team, including Chris Gibbons, Stuart Brown, Es- zter Somogyi and Dániel Balogh, have done the yeoman’s work to ensure the accuracy of both text and translation. In the course of reading and thinking about “e Rise of Wisdom Moon,” I have benefitted from conversations with many colleagues in the fields of Sanskrit and Indian Studies. In particular, I am grateful in this regard for the remarks of Yigal Bronner, Gary Tubb, and Alexis Sander- son. David Lorenzen did me the favor of sending me a copy lvi   of the fine Spanish version of the play that he co-translated with Mariela Álvarez, from which I have been happy to steal “Egoísmo” as my name for the character Ahan·kara. At the University of Chicago Divinity School, two grad- uate research assistants have contributed to this work: Megan Doherty by tracking down and copying rare edi- tions of the text and its commentaries, and Sonam Kachru by meticulously word-processing the Sanskrit texts of chap- ters three through six. Special thanks are due to the noted contemporary philos- opher Jitendranath Mohanty, Professor Emeritus at Temple University, for contributing the Foreword to this book. Although in the past I have published translations of San- skrit philosophical writings and several genres of Tibetan, this book is my first venture into Sanskrit dramatic litera- ture. In the course of my efforts, assuredly insufficient, to find an appropriate style and tone, I was reminded time and again of the considerable impact two esteemed colleagues at the University of Chicago made upon my thinking on the whole risky business of translating South Asian literatures into contemporary English. It seems fitting, therefore, that I dedicate this work to the memory of Edward Dimock and A.K. Ramanujan. Notes  For the bibliographical details of the nineteenth-century editions and translations, in both India and Europe, see S (: –).  T , p.v. lvii    H (: ), referring to Bílhana’s Vikramā˙nkadeva- carita, xviii..  S (), the first and still influential attempt to provide a general synthesis of the data bearing on Chandélla history, pro- posed  as a plausible date for Kirti·varman’s restoration to the throne. B (: ) suggests the period –; M ( []: ) favors “about ;” while D (: ) regards the period – as marking the reverse of Karna’s fortunes in general. My remarks on Chandélla history in the para- graphs that follow are based upon the works mentioned here, to- gether with M ().  See in particular the discussion of this point in M ( []: –).  Of course, the mention at the opening of the play of the inten- tion that it be performed for Kirti·varman should not be taken to entail that it was in fact staged for the king, a nuance that has not been sufficiently appreciated. Despite this, the play’s literary success and broad distribution suggest that the Chandélla rulers largely accepted its account of events.  A (), for instance, uses the latter term, and B () the former.  K (: –) provides a still-useful summary of the Cen- tral Asian fragments of the early Buddhist plays. K-  ( []: ) implausibly seeks to link these works di- rectly with the historical-cum-allegorical sixteenth-century play Caitanyacandrodaya, on which see below.  For an entertaining English translation, see L ().  For a text and translation, refer to D ().  is question has been very widely discussed in work on classical Indian aesthetics since the first edition of R () was published in  (and before that in a series of articles in the “Journal of Oriental Research,” –). Refer in particular to lviii   M  P (, ). A useful summary will be found in D ( []: vol. , –). e eight aesthetic sentiments that were universally recognized, before peace was proposed as the ninth, were: the erotic (ś.r˙ngāra), heroic (vīra), fe- rocious (raudra), disgusting (bībhatsa), comic (hāsya), wondrous (adbhuta), pitiful (karuna), . and terrible (bhayānaka).  As D ( []: , n. ) remarks, “is sentiment is also closely related to the sentiment of disgust; for it arises from an aversion to worldly things.”  B () provides an excellent overview of the early use of these terms, though I disagree with his characterization of them as “ideologies.” I believe, by contrast, that even in their early oc- currences, they represent complementary facets of a common ide- ology.  jānāmi dharmam . na ca me prav.rttih; . jānāmy adharmam. na ca . I am grateful to Dr C D for identifying me niv.rttih. these lines, of which I had forgotten the source, as occurring in Vidyāranya, . Pañcadaśī, ., and Gopālabhat.ta, . Haribhak- tivilāsa, ..  us, for instance, Sthira·mati, in his commentary on Vasu·ban- dhu’s Trimśikā, . verse , writes, “If that afflicted thought engages (pravartate) indifferently in virtuous, afflicted, and indeterminate states, then there is no disengagement (niv.rtti) of it.”  e authenticity of the attribution of this text to Shánkara has been contested. For a summary of the debate, refer to P (). Of course, the possibility that this work may be pseude- pigraphical in no way diminishes the evident parallel of its out- look with that of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon.”   Ś, Bhagavadgītābhā.syam,  []: –.  M  [], chapter .  For a comprehensive survey of the Khajuraho temple complex, refer to D (). lix    A fine survey of the history of the interpretation of erotic imagery at Khajuraho may be found in G-T (, ch. ).  e temple is assigned to the reign of Yasho·varman during the early tenth century, so that it had been in existence for over a century during the period with which we are concerned.  R () provides a compelling analysis of the erotic elements of the iconography of Khajuraho that also turns on centrality of royal power. He concludes that the “metaphoric relationship be- tween king and kingdom as that between lover and beloved(s) is certainly not unique to the Candella court, and perhaps the seemingly greater fixation on the theme at Khajuraho is unduly exaggerated by the comparatively greater devastation suffered by many of their contemporaries’ monuments.”  A (). However, even this does not cover the full ex- tent of the legacy of “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” in Hindi and Braj. See MG ().  S . (): Cārvākadarśanam, translated in C-   G ().  On the Samkalpasūryodaya . in relation to Sanskrit allegory in gen- eral, see especially B (). L ( []: –) summarizes the Caitanyacandrodaya.  K (: –) offers a useful synopsis.  Refer to P () and () on the process of vernac- ularization throughout the subcontinent during the second mil- lennium.  Refer to A () and MG () above con- cerning Hindi and Braj renditions. S (: ) men- tions a number of Bengali and Hindustani (i.e. Urdu) versions. Reference to a Gujarati translation will be found in P (: ). Other examples include: Pirapota cantirotayam: mey- ññana vilakkam (in Tamil), by Kilmattur Tiruvenkatanatar ( lx   –); Prabodha candrodayamu (Telugu), by Nandi Mallaya (fif- teenth century); Prabodhacandrodayam : bhasanatakam : tippani- sahitam (Malayalam), by Kumaran Asan.  On Dara Shikoh’s efforts to find a meeting point between Hin- duism and mystical Islam, see S (). e Persian translation of the Upanishads became well known in Europe through the – Latin translation of Antequil-Duperron un- der the title Oupnek’hat, wherein the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer found a marked resonance with his own thought.  Reprinted in C (). He mentions “e Rise of Wisdom Moon” briefly on p. , noting that, “Among the per- sons of this drama are the passions and vices (pride, anger, avarice, etc.) with the virtues (as pity and patience), and other abstract notions, some of which constitute very strange personifications.”  T’s career and contributions to Indology have not been so far studied at length. L (: ) relates that he was “a mem- ber of the Asiatic Society of Bombay and of the Literary Society of Bombay, who was born in Edinburgh and obtained the degree of M.D. from the university in . He entered the Bombay service, was appointed assistant-surgeon on  March , and was promoted to the rank of surgeon in . He was the author of several translations from the Sanscrit. He died on  Dec.  at Shiraz in Persia, leaving a son John, born in , who be- came a member of the Royal College of Physicians in Edinburgh, and died in that city on  July .” Besides his translation of the Prabodhacandrodaya, T also published a work on Indian mathematics: “Lilawati: or a treatise on Arithmetic and Geome- try by Bhascara Acharya” (Bombay: Courier Press, ).  N (). e author’s  dissertation at the University of Bonn was completed under her maiden name, S B.  P (), Á  L (), and P-  ().  W () may be recommended as a handy introduction to the Prakrit languages and the various contexts of their use. lxi   Bibliography  B. , . J V (Ed.) . Prabodhacandroda- yanā.takam. Kalikātā [Kolkata]: Kāvyaprakāśa. B, H (Ed.) . Prabodha Chandrodaya. Krishna Misri Comoedia. Leipzig: F.A. Brockhaus. Reprt. Hildesheim/ New York: Georg Olms, . M, R (Ed. and trans. [in Hindī]) . Prabodhacan- drodayam. Vidyābhavan Samsk . rt. Granthamālā . Vārānasī: . Caukhambā. P, . V (Ed.) . Prabodhacandrodayam. Mum- bai: Nirnaya . Sāgara. S Ś, K. (Ed.) . e Prabodhacandrodaya of K.r.snami- . śrayati with the Commentary Nā.takābharana . by Śrī-Govindām.r- tabhagavān. Anantaśayanasamsk. rtagranthāvali . h. . Trivan- drum: Government Press. T . Ś, R (Ed. and trans. [in Hindī]) . Prabo- dhacandrodayam. Caukhambā Amarabhāratī Granthamālā . Vārānasī: . Caukhambā.  Candrikā by Nān. dillagopa-Mantriśekhara. . Ed. in P . . . by Śrī-Govindāmrtabhagavān. Nā.takābharana . Ed. in S Ś . Prakāśa by Rāmadāsa-Dīksita. . Ed. in B  and P . . Ṭīkā by Bhat.tottarācārya-Maheśvara, . also known as Maheśacandra- nyāyāla˙nkāra. 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