King of Dance
Chakaara Chanda Taandavam Tanotu Nah Sivah
Sivam.
In an age long gone by, in a clearing of a
dense forest of deodhar trees known as Daruka aranya- or Daruka Forest- resided
a group of learned brahmins. Their knowledge of Vedic rituals was so deep and
their adherence to the practice of those rituals so steadfast that they had acquired
tremendous spiritual power over the years. This power, however, both drew from
and imposed with greater force rite, routine, knowledge and brute intellect. It
engendered supreme arrogance and left no place for individuality, liberty or
imagination in their society.
Once, an unusual couple visited this
settlement of brahmin sages in the Daruka aranya- a handsome but stark naked
yogi carrying a begging bowl made of a human skull and, by the looks of it, his
comely wife. They called each other Hara and Mohini respectively. Upon the mere
sight of the yogi, all the women of the woods- the wives of the sages- were
instantly enchanted and seduced. They were utterly unabashed in admiring his
handsome face which bore an expression of reserved interest, his chiselled
physique and even his proud manhood, for the yogi Hara was verily the epitome
of masculinity. The yogi's companion, Mohini, had a similarly seducing effect
on the sages. However, owing to their spiritual prowess, they snapped out of
their reverie soon and were consumed by wrath at the yogi for the effect he had
had on their wives.
In their rage, they insulted him calling
him Bhikshaatana- the personification of mendicancy- and they kindled a great
yagna fire to punish this Bhikshaatana for his most unwanted intrusion.
Summoning their formidable knowledge of various Vedic rites, the brahmins
poured offerings into the fire asking Agni, the lord over all fires, for a
force that would destroy the mendicant. Out from the tongues of flame emerged a
huge stag and charged towards the foe of the sages. Little did those brahmins
know, however, that the one they called Bhikshaatana was also known as
Pashupati, the Lord of Animals, in the distant country he came from. Their stag
turned docile and playful, abandoning its violent intention towards him the
moment it approached him. With his right hand, he fed it grass and it pranced
about him like a tame deer.
It was not a dance of celebration, nor one
for entertainment. This Dance conveyed the state of being of the Universe
itself. This was Taandava and its dancer was Nataraja, the King of Dance. Gone
was his aspect as a mendicant with a begging bowl. In its place now was a form
with a pale crescent moon on its brow, long tresses undulating like the waves
of an ocean and six limbs, each bearing an implement or a message. The upper
right arm played a dumroo- a rattledrum- producing Sound to remind everyone of
the rhythm that pervades the endless cycle of creation and destruction. The
lower right hand stood in a gesture which has since come to be known as the
abhaya mudra. It was Nataraja's statement of reassurance. Fear not, He said,
for change is inevitable. That which had stagnated, that which was stifling,
that which engendered avidya in the form of the vanquished Apasmara, was
suppressed by the right foot of that great Dancer. His left foot was raised to
take a new step, poised to leap from a state of ignorance to a state of
imagination and enlightenment. His lower left hand gently pointed downward, in
the manner of an elephant's trunk, reminiscent of His son Ganesha, to convey
the grace that blessed new beginnings. His upper left hand vented out His own
great internal fire, the fire of tapa, that burned itself without fuel, like
His Dance, which needed neither occasion nor appreciation. His face was the
picture of calmness, in complete contrast with His body which moved with grace
and fierce vigor; a mind that had accepted change and was at complete ease with
the transience of matter. All around Him worlds came into being and burnt with
the energy of His Dance. He appeared wreathed in a circle of fire; eternity
itself paying its tribute to the Dance that encapsulated the Cosmos.
Not just the sages of Daruka aranya but the
denizens of all worlds watched His Dance with awe and rapture for never had
stillness and motion met and combined so perfectly. His friend Hari, Himself an
accomplished dancer famous as Natanaagara and Natwara, watched mesmerized,
having discarded His garb of the comely Mohini. In another age, He too had
immersed Himself in dance in a forest, set to the rhythm of the anklets of
milkmaids and the tune of His flute. That had been a celebratory dance,
celebrating love and life. Indra, the king of devas watched too. A connoisseur
of dance, he held regular dance shows by his apsaraas, in his court for his
personal entertainment. Nandi, the chief attendant of Nataraja, fashioned a
barrel drum he called the mridangam from wood and leather and produced
wonderful percussion music on it, inspired directly from the beats emanating
from his master's dumroo.
Thus did Hara- literally, One Who Destroys-
in His supremely artistic manner, herald a shift from an outlook of ritual and
dogmatism to one of change and enlightenment. His Cosmic Dance is a reflection
of the Universe itself with mind and matter coming together in a dance of
impermanence and transience. It is believed that the sage Bharata, the author
of Natya Sastra- a treatise on dance, drama and music- was among the sages of
Daruka and drew the inspiration for his work from the movements of Nataraja. It
is also believed that Bharatanatyam, the dance form that takes its name after
him, is an attempt at reproducing those graceful movements
No comments:
Post a Comment