The Emotive Raja

The South Indian gypsies known as Kuravas are a nomadic tribe. Their many occupations include selling salt, beads, household utensils made of iron such as knives and sickles. In Tamilakam (Southern India), literature speak of the Kuravawoman of the Kurinchi (mountainous) regions as a soothsayer, adept in song and dance of their clan. In the 18th and 19th centuries, the Kurathi and her soothsaying tale to a heroine, became part of the ritual traditions in temples through the Kuravanjinatakams where Karnatic music and Sadir were used as mediums of story narration.

In this painting, Ravi Varma captures several registers of all these histories; the legendary Kura clan as a nomadic tribe with their belongings, the Sangam connection of the Kuratias a singing, wandering woman and the classicalization of the Kuravanji in the early modern period through Karnatic music reflected in her singing to a Tanpura held in her hand. He captures all these transitions in the lives of the tribal and Adivasi communities of South India through the forlorn look of the singer (Kurava woman).

the little girl’s far away and fearful look

and a boy who is lost in his thoughts.

The pain of poverty is evoked not merely by these expressions, but by the unsung illustrious history of their tribe whose music now is perhaps drowned by the very tanpura she holds.

The Indian poetic and aesthetic tradition, enumerates Astha Nayikas, the eight states of mind of a woman in love. The Vasakasadjja is the one who is waiting for her lover to arrive.

In this painting, “Expectation”, Ravi Varma makes a strong case for a Vasakasadjja Nayika who is bedecked and waiting. But he has cleverly indicated through her body language; the hand resting on her forehead, grimly set lips and forlorn eyes, that perhaps she has been waiting for far too long. One can sense the glimmer of disappointment and despair in her eyes.

She may transition into a Virahotkandhita Nayika – one who is distressed in separation. If this painting was a moment in a movement, this Nayika would sigh next and allow her disappointment to be seen.

This famous painting is from a scene in 'AbhijanaShakuntalam' of poet Kalidasa. This scene is when Shakuntala under the pretext of removing the thorn on her feet, steals yet another loving glance at King Dhusyantha, whom she had met and fallen in love with, at the woods. Her life changed forever from this moment on, due to the play of memory – Abhijana.

Playwright Namita Gokhale toys with the idea of memory from Kalidasa’s Shakuntalam in one of her own plays and I use that trope to see this painting.

If Shakuntala was not glancing at Dhusyantha here, but was pausing for a moment to reflect on how life has changed forever from this moment forward what would her thoughts be?

“My life has changed; I feel that I cannot go back to where I have come from…

"…nothing has prepared me for this ecstasy. It defies my life and destiny…Two voices rise within me.

"...One guiding me to return home, away from this violation, the other buzzing about my ears like a lascivious bee.”

Bhoja famously proclaimed Shrungara (erotic emotion) to be the King of Rasas. He believed that when the self, experiences any emotion and when that emotion attains its zenith, that becomes passion – Shrungara. In this painting, baby Krishna is hugging Yasodha and is holding a cup in his tiny hand.

His cherubic face begging for some fresh milk while she is milking the cow and is taken aback by the pestering child.

In this moment, both the mother and the son are at their intimate best. Yasodha’s glance revealing her ecstatic joy of the nearness of her baby, whose demand she enjoys and fulfils grudgingly. As a sangam poem described, this is “tollaiinbattuirudi” or the zenith of motherly ecstasy due the pestering demand of her child. Bhoja called this zenith of Shrungara in motherly love, Vatsalya Bhava.

Conveying an entire narrative through a painting needs the great skill of saying more with less. In this painting, the hunter comes looking for the bird he has just shot.The wounded bird is perched on the lap of a woman who is visibly angry at the cruelty inflicted on the poor bleeding creature who is crying aloud in pain.

Ravi Varma uses the body language of the woman; she is leaning toward the side of the wounded bird, at the same time her other hand is planted on her hip, defiant straight glance at the hunter evoking disdain for his cruelty, from a position of authority. She is a woman of a high class and Ravi Varma distinguishes her by draping her in a white saree

..and a Veena placed by the side indicating her high taste in finer things of life.

On the other hand, the hunter painted as dark complexioned and standing. His eyes and stance give away his listlessness to argue with a woman of her stature over a hunt that is part of his routine livelihood – his Dharma.

The difference in social classes that lend two starkly contrasting perspectives to an incident- bird hunting, reveals through iconography and symbolsthe opposites in societal norms and roles. This painting reminds me of the narrative style of the later painter, the now globally famous Frida Kahlo.

Poets believe that in Vipralambha Shrungara, love in separation that a myriad shades of a character can be brought out. Here, we see women in various stages of self-contemplation, lost in thought.

A contemplative Swadeenabatruka. Will the pensive mood of the Swadeenabatruka break into a song while gazing at the moon? (Left)

The expectant Vasakasadjja (Right).

A repentant Kalahantarita. Or will the repentance of the Kalahantarita quickly turn into anger and righteous indignation? (Right)

A melancholic Virahotkhandita. Is the lamenting Virahotkhandita going to cry a little? (Left)

Each of their body language, expresses many fleeting emotions called vyabhicari bhavas. Ravi Varma captured not just different faces, but different facets from the palette of human emotions.