Lotuses and Water Lilies

Brahma, springing out of a lotus which had all of a sudden grown out of Vishnu’s navel, promptly lost himself in the flower’s stalk and petals and spent two hundred years trying to find a way out. The lotus is a complicated thing and deserves the rigorous study of a scholarly monograph not a few hundred words in a blog post. Nevertheless, since any description of śarad, or indeed the whole cycle of seasons, would be incomplete without the lotus, queen of all Indian flowers, this article aims to convey something of the lotus and its close cousin the water lily.  It has been split into three parts to avoid blog-post overstretch:

–          Description in śarad and botanical names (this post)

–          Lotuses

–          Water lilies

Śarad is the season for lotuses and water lilies.  Lotuses and water lilies infuse the autumnal breeze with their fragrance – which is said to enthrall even the gods – and lend it its coolness.  During the rains, the plants sink under the waters of the lakes and ponds in which they live, avoiding the turmoil and muck.  In the Haṃsasandeśa, it is grief at the absence of her lover the swan that causes the lotus pond to withdraw into herself – swans holiday in Mount Kailāsa, avoiding the rain, for the duration of the monsoon.

The personified Śarad has eyes made of the blue petals of the nīlotpala (blue water lily), her face is the blooming kamala (pink lotus) and kumudas (white water lilies) form her smile. This is all standard fare.  Men and women have lotus-feet, lotus-hands and lotus-faces.  Lotus- or water-lily-eyed are such common epithets – with the blue water lily being the favourite – that with reference to women it comes to mean simply ‘pretty’.   Sita Sings the Blues, an amusing and beautifully drawn animated film by Nina Paley based on the Rāmāyaṇa, satirises this tendency by substituting lotuses for most of Sita’s limbs at one point.

दिवसकरमयूखैर्बोध्यमानं प्रभाते

वरयुवतिमुखाभं पङ्कजं जृम्भते ऽद्य।

कुमुदमपि गते ऽस्तं लीयते चन्द्रबिम्बे

हसितमिव वधूनां प्रोषितेषु प्रियेषु॥

divasa-kara-mayūkhair bodhyamānam prabhāte

vara-yuvati-mukh’-ābhaṃ paṅkajaṃ jṛmbhate ‘dya |

kumudam api gate ‘staṃ mlāyate candra-bimbe

hasitam iva vadhūnāṃ proṣiteṣu priyeṣu ||

 

In this season, the padma opened at dawn by the sun’s rays unfolds with the glow of a beautiful young woman’s face.  So too the kumuda withers as the orb of the moon sets, just as women’s smiles fade when their lovers are abroad.

 

3.23 Ṛtusaṃhāra – Kālidāsa

Thus the lotus blooms at dawn and the water lily at night. However much truth there is in this, and there is certainly some, it is universally accepted in literature to the extent that both the sun and the moon have many synonyms that mean ‘friend/relative/lord of the lotus/water lily’ respectively.

Botanical Names

The Amarakośa lists almost 40 names of lotuses and water lilies.  A quick page flip through Monier Williams’ and Apte’s dictionaries throws up at several more.  Most of these names have a wide variety of uses. Padma and its variants can also mean an army formation, a female elephant and the number one thousand billion. Very often, the same word can be used to mean the sārasa or Indian crane, which is understandable for the many names that mean ‘born/growing in water/mud’ (ambhoja, sarasija, paṅkaja etc and of course sārasa itself) but more puzzling for words such as rājīva and aravinda unless we assume that the words for lotus and crane became so interchangeable that almost every words that means lotus could also mean crane.  The names that are not connected to the idea of lotuses and water lilies growing in water or mud often have interesting etymologies.   A comprehensive study of all of these names, their synonyms, their many meanings and their derivations, would be very welcome.

Both Apte and Monier Williams identify some of the many lotuses and water lilies they list but confusion reigns especially because the term ‘lotus’ is often used as a catch-all phrase for lotuses and water lilies.  The Pharmacographia Indica lists under “lotus” a range of botanical names several of which are in fact water lilies, a fact seemingly recognised by the authors who identify the last, Nymphaea esculenta, as “the esculent white water-lily”.

All of the lotuses listed below, where identified, are identified by one of three names: Nelumbium speciosum, Nymphaea nelumbo or Nelumbo nucifera.  This last is in fact a modern replacement for the first two terms.  All three terms refer to the same plant, which we shall for convenience sake call Nelumbo nucifera.  Monier Williams himself warns that the padma is “often confounded with the water-lily or Nymphaea alba” but both he and Apte themselves at times succumb to the general confusion.  They classify several blue water lilies, such as the puṣkara, as blue lotuses.  As Nelumbo nucifera has no blue variety there can therefore be no blue lotuses, only blue water lilies, unless either the Nelumbo nucifera identification is wrong or the blue variety has now disappeared.  The Amarakośa lists puṣkara, along with several others generally thought to be blue water lilies, in the general list of lotus names but more importantly it does not note a blue variety of lotuses, only a red and white variety.  We can then assume that any reference to a ‘blue lotus’, in Monier Williams and Apte or elsewhere, should in fact be recognised as a blue water lily.  The Nelumbo nucifera is described in Pandanus as:

A large aquatic plant, large round leaves up to 90cm in diameter, solitary large fragrant flowers of pink or reddish colour, globose fruits, grows all over India in ponds up to 1800m elevation

Pandanus lists its names in other languages as follows:

–          Prakrit – padama, pauma, pamha, poma, pomma

–          Hindi – kamal, kaṃval

–          Bengali – padma, sveta padma, kamal

–          Tamil – tāmarai, centāmarai

–          Malayalam – tāmara, veṇtāmara, centāmara

–          English – Lotus, Sacred lotus, Indian lotus, Chinese water-lily

The water lilies are more diverse.  There are several plants in question and it is not clear which of the blue and white ones the Sanskrit names refer to – or whether they are referring to more than one of each colour.  The red variety, the Nymphaea rubra, though is unambiguous.

• Nymphaea alba: A white lotus, known as the European White Waterlily, White Lotus, or Nenuphar; according to Apte this is the kumuda but it doesn’t seem to be found in India.
• Nymphaea lotus: Another white lotus, known as the Tiger Lotus, White lotus or Egyptian White Water-lily.  Monier Williams says this is the kahlāra.
• Nymphaea esculenta: A white edible (hence ‘esculenta’) lotus; Monier Williams lists this as the kumuda.
• Nymphaea pubescens: Yet another white lily, this time native to India and South East Asia and known, fetchingly, as the Hairy water lily because of its hairy leaves and stems.  This may well be the same as the Nymphaea esculenta.
• Nymphaea stellata: According to Apte this is the aravinda.  Again this is native to India and South East India and seems to be the blue variety of water lily.
• Nymphyaea cyanea: Presumably, given the name, a blue variety again; Monier Williams says this is the nīlotpala.
• Nymphaea caerulea: Also known as the Blue Egyptian waterlily or sacred blue lily, it originated from Egypt but is now found in India.  It seems to have a pink form as well as the blue.
• Nymphaea rubra: According to MW, this is the raktakumuda.
• Nymphaea nouchali: According to Pandanus this is the kumuda or Indian water lily, known as kanvāl and kokka in Hindi; veḷḷāmpal and allittāmarai in Tamil; āmpal in Malayalam.  Pandanus describes it as: “A perennial aquatic herb with short, roundish tuberous rhizome, leaves floating, pelate, flowers large, floating, solitary, variable in colour from white to red, fruits spongy seeded berries.”

Sharad

अपाम् उद्वृत्तानां निजम् उपदिशन्त्या स्थितिपदं

दधत्या शालीनाम् अवनतिम् उदारे सति फले।

मयूरानाम् उग्रं विषम् इव हरन्त्या मदम् अहो

कृतः कृत्स्नस्यायं विनय इव लोकस्य शरदा ||

Apām uddhṛtānāṃ nijam upadiśantyā sthitipadaṃ

Dadhatyā śālīnām avanatim udāre sati phale |

Mayūrānām ugraṃ viṣam iva harantyā madam aho

Kṛtaḥ kṛtsnasy’ āyaṃ vinaya iva lokasya śaradā ||

Guiding the swollen waters back within their normal bounds, bowing low the rice loaded with grain, drawing out the peacock’s drunken desire as if it were a terrible poison – see, autumn is taming the wide world.

3.8 Mudrārākṣāsa – Viśākhadatta

The tumult of the rains gradually gives way to the stillness of śarad or autumn.  The sky is free of clouds, water grows clear at the rise of the star of Agastya (not surprisingly says one poet – they heard he swallowed the ocean in one mouthful and are scared stiff) and the torrents of the monsoon become gently meandering rivers once again.  The sound and light special effects – flashes of lightning, drumbeats of thunder – are replaced by a finer beauty, characterised by the superfluity of white, in the bright moon, the swans, the lotuses and the tall kāśa grass.  The world is freshly washed and now sparkles in the sun:

अभिव्ऱ्ष्टा महामेघैर्निर्मलाश्चित्रसानवः।

अनुलिप्ता इव आभान्ति गिरयश्चन्द्ररश्मिभिः॥

abhivṛṣṭā mahāmeghair nirmalāś citra-sānavaḥ |

anuliptā iva ābhānti girayaś candra-raśmibhiḥ ||

The mountains have been washed spotless by great clouds and their glittering peaks now shine as if bathed in moonbeams.

4.29.27 Rāmāyaṇa, Vālmīki – translated by Rosalind Lefeber

Śarad is in every sense prasanna: clear, bright, pure and still.  Her beauty, though, is in some ways like that of Estella in Great Expectations: ethereal and more about aesthetics than passion.

The rivers are more inviting, especially by contrast with varṣā when these same rivers were “pregnant” and unapproachable.  Vālmīki talks of the rivers revealing their sandbanks like a newly wed bride slowly, nervously, reveals her thighs, and other poets pick up on this idea.  Bhāravi describes a river whose sandbanks white cows are gradually leaving as if her white silk robe was slipping down.  In the Haṃsasandeśa, the swan that Rāma sends to Sītā is invited to dive into the Kanakamukharā river and enjoy her, silently though and not for too long lest her would-be guardians, the tribes that live on her banks, catch him.

Śarad occupies the two months of Āśvina and Kārtika, roughly from mid September to mid November.  From the Rāmāyaṇa onwards, this has been the time to start a military campaign: the roads are free of the mud that hampers travel, and the rain that makes it miserable, and clear nights aid navigation.  Rājaśekhara in his Kāvymimāṃsa notes the rituals that a king ought to perform before setting out.   This is also the moment at which Vishnu rises from his bed, formed of Ṥeṣa (king of the serprents).  More importantly though, this is also the harvest season and the full moon festival – śarad pūrnima (‘autumnal full moon’) – which falls this year on 23^rd October. The festival seems to have various sources and is celebrated in various guises across the country: for some it is the day on which Krishna summoned the gopīs to Vrindavan to perform the mahārāsa dance; others worship Lakśmī and still others take it as the day of the birth of Kumāra, son of Shiva and Parvatī.  Two weeks later Diwali, the biggest festival of the north, celebrates Rāma’s triumphant return to Ayodhyā with thousands of diyas, candles and fairy lights plus a barrage of cheap Chinese fireworks and crackers. The poets too celebrate the bounty of this season, overflowing with milk and rice.  One poet superimposes the season’s fruitfulness upon its white beauty:

काशाः क्षीरनिकाशा दधिशरवर्णानि सप्तपर्णाणि।

नवनीतनिभश्चन्द्रः शरदि च तक्रप्रभा ज्योत्स्ना॥

Kāśāḥ kṣīra-nikāśā dadhiśara-varṇāni saptaparṇāni |

Navanīta-nibhaś candraḥ śaradi ca takra-prabhā jyotsnā ||

In śarad, the kāśa grass is like thick milk, the saptacchadas are the colour of whey, the moon looks like freshly churned butter and the moonlight resembles buttermilk.

1797 Subhāṣitāvali – attributed to Gaṇḍagopāla

The crops that crowds farmers’ fields are bent and golden, groaning with ripened goodness – just like the McVitie’s biscuit packets.  Poets imagine the rice plants bowing their heads either to better take in the sweet scent of the lotuses that grow among them, or perhaps in sympathy with the water that brought them to fruition and is now gradually disappearing.  Cows too represent śarad’s overflowing offerings; their udders so full they trickle milk.

Passionate couples are less on display here as compared to other seasons, and instead we have the rice-girls and the cow-girls (and to a lesser extent their male counterparts).  The girls who guard the rice sit in the shade of sugarcane plants and sing songs so beautiful that the deer who they would normally have to beat away from the crop forget their hunger. The cow girls are more complex and not dissimilar from the gopīs (‘cow-protector’) that play with Krishna.  Many poets celebrate the wholesome goodness of the cow herders.  Bhaṭṭi describes men innocent of the sadness separation brings, upright tax-paying subjects of the king and guileless; their women cast glances lovely but free of the wiles that accompany those of city girls.  Arjuna, in the Kirātārjunīya, sees cowherders who are almost like brothers to their herds and villages that resemble ashrams.

Both the Bhaṭṭikāvya and the Kirātārjunīya though describe the dance of the cow girls, which captivates their heroes – Rāma and Arjuna respectively – and which, whether intentionally or not, certainly reveals their best features.

To view a full list of all posts on the seasons and their flowers, click here.

Indragopas and Khadyotas

Insects don’t often make appearances in poetry, so the indragopa and khadyota merit special mention.  Both appear in varṣā and capture the imagination of many poets; the indragopa for its vivid red and the khadyota or firefly for the solitary light it provides in nights blackened by the season.

The indragopa, literally ‘he who has Indra for his protector’, is often the subject of comparison with blood – usually that of travellers or their wives, so cruelly separated in the season when love is to be enjoyed – or jewels.  In Kālidāsa’s Vikramorvaśīya, King Purūravas mistakes indrogopas upon a dark green stretch of grass for his lost beloved’s shawl, stained with red-tinged tears.

इन्द्रगोपैर्बभौ भूमिर्निचितेव प्रवासिनाम्।

अनङ्गबाणैर्हृद्भेदस्रुतलोहितबिन्दुभिः॥

Indragopair babhau bhūmir nicit’ eva pravāsinām |

anaṅga-bāṇair hṛd-bheda-sruta-lohita-bindubhiḥ ||

The earth glistened with indragopas as if covered with Love’s arrows, dripping blood from ripping apart travellers’ hearts.

1719 Subhāśitāvali, attributed to Vararuci

Khadyotas – ‘lights of the sky’ – are sometimes also involved in tormenting the separated lover but more often they are welcomed and wondered at for the bright light they shed in the absence of the moon and stars.  Magnificent when night falls, their glory vanishes at the rising of the sun, just like the white-rayed moon whose place they have taken.

Names

The indragopa or indragopaka is also known as the surendragopa or jiṣṇugopa; both surendra (king of the gods) and jiṣṇu (the victorious one) are alternative names for Indra.  Monier Williams calls it a cochineal, a red insect that seems to be native to the Americas, and tells us that it can also be used to mean a firefly.  Apte says it can be either red or white – although the poets don’t seem to talk about the white variety – but doesn’t otherwise identify it.  It seems to have been used as a red dye, as the cochineal is today.

The kha-dyota or kha-jyotis (‘jyotis’ also means ‘light’) also goes by the name jyotir-iṅgana – ‘moving light’, and is identified as a firefly.