Jan 15, raudone.infope: application/pdf raudone.info: English raudone.info: The Harshacharita Of Banabhatta () raudone.info: Print - Paper raudone.info Jan 20, raudone.infofication: Literature raudone.info: The Harshacharita Of Banabhatta raudone.info: ptiff raudone.info: pdf. Identifier: raudone.info The Harshacharita (Sanskrit: हर्षचरित, Harṣacarita) (The deeds of Harsha), is the biography Create a book · Download as PDF · Printable version.
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The Harsha-charita of Banabhatta. trans. by E. B. Cowell and F. W Thomas, *Chapter I* *Chapter II* *Chapter III* *Chapter IV* *Chapter V* *Chapter VI*. The Harsha Charita of Bana - Download as Word Doc .doc), PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online. Nov 20, Harsh Achar It A - Download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online. hrashacharita.
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Download preview PDF. Notes 1. Google Scholar 3. CrossRef Google Scholar 8. On December 6, , the Babri Mosque in the city of Ayodhya was de molished by Hindutva the Hindu Right activists, who claimed that a temple devoted to the god Rama was originally built on the very site of the mosque. The dispute has become politically charged, and both sides have involved archeologi-cal and historical expertise to bolster their rival claims.
The use of evidence employed by Hindutva forces mimics the disciplinary protocols of modern historiography. They have not eschewed the use of historical and archeo-logical evidence for legitimizing their version of history, namely, the claim that the site of the mosque was indeed the very site of the Ramjanmabhoomi temple—the purported birthplace of Rama the god-hero in the Sanskrit epic The Ramayana.
The reaction of the historical discipline in India has been to oppose vociferously the demolition of the Babri Mosque.
Historians and archeologists have mobilized their expert knowledge to dispute the historical claims of the Hindutva activists.
Armed with archeological evidence, the historians have challenged Hindutva historical claims in Ayodhya. The sorrows of such as you are a sorrow  to all people on earth; for no families of small worth are adorned by your like. You are the fruit of stainless deeds stored up in many another life. You bear marks declaring the sovereignty of the four oceans, one and all, to be almost in your grasp.
By your mere birth my end is attained, I am free from the wish to live. Only deference to the physicians makes me drink their medicines.
Furthermore, to such as you, who through the rnerits of a whole people are born for the protection of all the earth, fathers art a mere expedient to bring you into being. In their people, not in their kin, are kings rich in relatives. Rise therefore, and once more attend to all the needs of life. Not till you have eaten will I myself, take my diet. One short moment he paused, and then being again charged by his father to take food, he descended from the White House with these thoughts in his mind'This great crash has come without warning, like a bolt from a cloudless sky.
Even a common grief is a breathing death, a disease without antidote, a plunge into fire without being reduced to ashes, a living abode in hell, a shower of coals without light, a sawing in twain without cleavage, a lancet's stroke that leaves no sear.
What then of deeper afflictions?
What shall I do now? While rinsing his mouth, be ordered his chowrie-bearer to fetch tidings of his father's state.
Having gone and returned, the man reported that the king still remained as before: whereat the prince in distress of mind rejected the betel, and when the sun inclined to setting, summoned all the physicians In private, and with a despairing heart inquired what steps under such circumstances should be taken.
He had mastered the Ayur Veda in all its eight divisions, and, being naturally of an acute intellect, was perfectly familiar with the diagnosis of diseases.
He now stood silent and tearful with downcast looks. Being appealed to by the prince, 'Friend Rasayana, tell me the truth, if you see anything at all unpromising,' he replied 'To-morrow at dawn, your highness, I will state the facts of the case. The physicians gone, he lost all fortitude, and at nightfall went up again to his father's presence, where in anguish of heart he spent a sleepless night prolonged by grief, listening without cessation to his father's cries such as, 'The heat is terrible, bring pearl necklaces, Harini!
There in hot haste he despatched express couriers and swift camel riders one after another to procure his brother's coming. After washing his tear-soiled face be rejected the toilet appurtenances brought by the servants.
Hearing from distracted young princes standing before him an indistinct murmur ' Rasayana, Rasayana,' he asked ' Well, friends, what of Rasayana? Being further pressed, however, they with sorrowful reluctance explained ' Your highness, he has entered fire. His generous nature, maintained in trying circumstances, has like unadulterated gold acquired a greater brilliance by entering fire. Was not my father his father, my mother his mother, we his brothers? In burning himself he has acted as the time demanded.
Nay, what does fire destroy of him who abides in glory steadfast to the world's end? He has but fallen in the flames; 'tis we who are burnt.
Blessed indeed is he, a chief among the fortunate: but hapless this royal house, deprived of such a noble youth. As for me, what exacting task, what relic of duty, what preoccupation prevents this unfeeling life from even now going its way?
What hindrance is there that my heart bursts not in a thousand parts? Such being the prince's state and the king's condition remaining the same, the hands of the people seemed rivetted to their checks, streams of tears modelled upon their eyes, their looks fastened on the ends of the noses, sounds of wailing graven in their ears, lamentations a natural growth upon their tongues, sighs budding on their mouths, syllables of woe painted upon their lips, sorrows stored up in their hearts.
Frighted, as it were, by the fire of scalding tears, sleep dwelt not in the hollows of their eyes: smiles vanished, as if dissipated by the wind of sighs: speech, as if consumed to nothingness by hot pain, went not forward.
Even in tales no jests were heard: none knew whither musical parties had gone. Dances were as much forgotten as if they belonged to the past of previous births; even in dreams no finery was used. There was not even a rumour of pleasure: the very name of food was unspoken. Groups in taverns were like flowers in the sky: troubadours' voices seemed conveyed to another world:  recreation appeared to belong to a different cycle of existence. Again, it seemed, was Kama scorched by a fire, that of sorrow: even by day none left their couches.
In slow succession too there appeared in the world portents many and great together on every side, betokening the fall of a lofty spirit and filling all creatures with apprehension of the king's death. Thusfirst the earth, heaving in all her circle of great hills, moved as though she would go with her lord.
NCERT History Class 6 – Notes of Chapter 11: New Empires and Kingdoms
Next the oceans, as though remembering Dhanvantari, rolled with waves noisily plashing upon each other. High in the heavenly spaces, apprehensive of the king's removal, appeared comets like braided locks with awful curls of far-extended flame.
Beneath a sky thus lowering with comets the world seemed grey, as with the smoke of a Long Life sacrifice commenced by the sky regents.
In the sun's circle, now shorn of its radiance and lurid as a bowl of heated iron, some power, studious of the king's life, had presented a human offering in the guise of a horrid headless trunk. The lord of white effulgence, gleaming 'mid the round rim of his flaming halo, seemed to have raised a rampart of fire in alarm at Rahu's greedily opening jaws.
The quarters, won by the king's valour, glowed red as though they had in anticipation entered fire. All crimsoned with flowing showers of bloody dew, the earth, his spouse, appeared to have shrouded herself in a gown of red cloth to die with him. The portals of the heavens were blocked with untimely masses of dark cloud, as though the regents, fearing the tumult of the monarch's death, had closed their iron door-panels.
Loud grew the awful, heart-riving bursts of thunder-storms, crashing like the patter of drums that are beaten at the out-goings of the king of the dead. The sun's brilliance was dimmed by dust-showers brown as camel-hair, which started up, as it were, beneath the hoofs of Yama's approaching buffalo. Rows of jackals lifted high their muzzles in a discordant howl, like firebrands catching fire from flames that fell from the sky. In the royal mansion the images of the family goddesses,  whose braided hair at its parting lines gave forth smoke in token of their distress, seemed to be manifesting their grief by dishevelled locks.
A swarm of bees, ranging feverishly about the Lion Throne, produced the illusion of Kalaratri's tossing plaits of curling hair. Never for an instant ceased the croak of crows hovering above the women's quarter. From the centre of the white umbrella's circle an old vulture, screaming on high, tore with nimble beak a bit of a gem--the kingdom's life as it were--red as a piece of juicy meat.
Distressed by these mighty signs, the prince could scarce live through that night. On the morrow a woman approached from the palace with such a tinkle of ornaments breaking in her hurried advance that she seemed a proclamation of the victory of dismay.
The clash of her anklets, as they moved on her hurrying feet, set the craning hamsas of the palace cackling, as if from a respectful distance they were asking 'What? Her forehead having been cut in collisions with unnoticed doors, a mass of blood like a red shawl's fringe covered her weeping face. Her cane, which she was casting away, looked like a stream from her golden bracelet, melted apparently by the heat of grief.
Her fluttering shawl, waving in the wind of her breath, suggested a snake trailing its slough behind. Hanging over her sloping shoulders, tossed by the wind, and black as strips of Tamala bark, her hair covered her bosom in a dangling unbraided mass in keeping with her grief. As she incessantly waved her hand, which through the pain of beating her breasts was swollen and dark almost like copper in the palm, one might have thought it scorched through wiping away her hot tears.
The people near her, imaged in her cheek, she seemed to bathe in her eyes' broken cascade, as if they were soon to enter the fire of sorrow. Under the quivering rays that issued from her restless eyes the very day grew black, as if burnt by her grief. It was Vela, Yashovati's head attendant, inquiring of everyone where the prince was. With returning consciousness, 'Callous that I am,' he thought, 'the assault of grief, oft as it falls upon my heart, yet like a hammer's stroke upon hard flint, evokes fire indeed, but reduces not my frame to ashes.
What say you? I am taken away from you--May we meet again, Sharika, in dreams--Mother, to whom shall I entrust the tame peacock who clings in my path? I am in the hand of fate--Chamberlain, old friend, why pass respectfully round an unlucky woman like me? Still wet from her recent bath, she resembled the holy Sri just risen from the ocean. Like the sky with its double twilight tints, she wore two saffron-brown robes. Enveloping her form, like a silken shawl, she wore the tokens of her unwidowed death, reddened by a tissue of light from lips stained with the deep dye of betel.
Hanging between her breasts was a red neck cord, suggesting a stream of blood pouring from a broken heart. Her necklace, the thread of which was drawn aside by the hooked point of a crossbent earring, seemed a halter of white silk compressing her throat.
Her limbs being all aglow with moist saffron paste, she appeared to be swallowed in the pyre's devouring flames, while she filled the bosom of her robe with white tears like flower offerings to its blaze.
The Harshacharita (Sanskrit: हषर्चिरत, Harṣacarita) (The deeds of
At every step she scattered in dropping bracelets a kind of farewell present to the family goddesses. From her neck down to her instep hung wreaths of strung flowers, as if she were mounted on a death-swing with garlands for cords.
An ear-lotus resonant with bees humming within seemed to be saluting her lotus eyes. The domestic hamsas, lovers of her jewelled anklets, moved in a circle round her, as if to make the ceremonial circuit. Her hand carried a picture representing her husband, which she held as steadfast as her heart, where he dwelt, was fixed on death.
Lovingly, like a pennon of wifely love, she clasped her lord's spear-haft, reverently tied with waving strings of white flowers. Before the king's Umbrella, spotless as her life, she shed tears as to a kinsman.
She was giving instructions to her husband's ministers, who grasped them with difficulty, their eyes being stopped by torrents of tears that welled up as they fell at her feet. The roars of the caged lions took her heart captive, resembling, as they did, her husband's utterance. Her nurse and her conjugal love had combined to beautify her: an old woman and swooning, familiar both, supported her: a friend and agony, comrades in adversity, embraced her: servants and pain were about her, clasping every limb: great princes and sighs attended her: behind came aged chamberlains and heavy griefs.
Even upon her husband's favourite hounds she cast a tearful eye: she fell at the feet even of rival queens: to even the painted figures she offered greeting: before even the domestic birds she clasped her hands: to the very brutes she said farewell: she embraced the very trees about the palace.
Be merciful and turn back,' and so in the act of speaking fell at her feet till his crest was almost lovingly kissed by the light of her jewelled anklets. As he lay there with his head touching her feet, her youngest and dearest son in such distraction of mind, the queen Yashovati, propped up by a great frenzy of grief like a mountain, carried away into the Tartarean darkness of a swoon, overborne by the full tide of love rising in might like an outburst of accumulated tears long pent up, could not in spite of all her efforts check the torrent of her weeping.
Her bosom heaved convulsively, betraying the resistless will of grief: her throat was choked distressfully with sobs: her lip quivered with exceeding agony, and her tightened nostrils repeated the tremor: closing her eyes, she deluged her clear cheeks with flowing rills of tears: then raising her face a little, she covered it with the hem of her shawl, wherein her shining nails showed forth in a row, like a spring of lucid tears welling up through the thin interstices.
Then, as her thought recurred to home and kin, full oft she moaned, calling aloud upon her parents, 'Mother! Her own eyes also she wiped, as, again and again refillling, they were distressed by a trickling succession of tiny drops, while their whiteness, swallowed up by a deep red, departed, their corners were swoln with scalding tears, and their lashes bestarred with pearls of lucid dew.
Then she set behind her ear a curl, which, loosened by her distress, clave to her tear-moistened cheek: pushed aside a mass of tresses entangled with a disordered and fallen earornament: drew back with her hand a shawl which, being wet and filled with a torrent of tears, had somewhat slipped: bathed her lotus face, whose beauty, marked with thin red lines impressed by the shawl's hem, wore a rippled appearance, with water poured from a silver flamingo-mouthed vessel tilted by a hunchbacked girl: wiped her hands on a white cloth held by mutes: stood for some time with her eyes fixed immoveably upon her son's face, and then after many long sighs spoke.
With my very bosom's milk you drank up my heart.
If at this hour my regard is not towards you, 'tis that my lord's great condescension comes between us. Furthermore, dear son,  I am not, like glory or the earth, incompassionate, a requisite of sovereignty, ever craving for the sight of another lord. I am the lady of a great house, born of a stainless ancestry, one whose virtue is her dower.
Have you forgotten that I am the lioness mate of a great spirit, who like a lion had his delight in a hundred battles? Daughter, spouse, mother of heroes, how otherwise could such a woman as I, whose price was valour, act?
This hand has been clasped by even such a hero, thy father, a chief among princes, peer of Bharata, Bhagiratha, and Nabhaga. Upon this head have the subservient wives of countless feudatories poured coronation water from golden ewers. This forehead, in winning the honourable fillet of chiefqueen, has enjoyed a thing scarce accessible to desire.
These breasts have worn robes swayed by the wind of chowries waved by captive wives of foes; they have been sucked by sons like you. Upon the heads of rival wives have these feet been set; they have been adored with diamond-wreaths of diadems by the bending matrons of a whole capital. Thus every limb has fulfilled its mission: I have spent my store of good works, what more should I look to?
I would die while still unwidowed.
I cannot endure, like the widowed Rati, to make unavailing lamentations for a burnt husband. Going before, like the dust of your father's feet, to announce his coming to the heavens, I shall be high esteemed of the hero-loving spouses of the gods.
Nay, what will the smoke-bannered one burn of me, who am already on fire with the recent sight of his heart-rending pains? Not to die, but to live at such a time would be unfeeling.
Compared with the flame of wifely sorrow, whose fuel is imperishable love, fire itself is chilly cold. How suits it to be parsimonious of a life light as a bit of rotten straw, when that life's lord, majestic as Kailasa, is passing away? Even should I live, yet after the mortal sin of slighting the king's death the joys, my son, of my son's rule will touch me not. In those that are consumed by grief felicity is ominous, accursed, and unavailing.
Not in the body, dear son, but in the glory of loyal widows would I abide on earth. But the prince hastily drew them away, and bending down, held her in both his arms, and raised her prostrate form. Pondering the inevitableness of grief, deeming that act to be the better part befitting a lady of rank, recognizing her fixed resolution, he stood in silence with downcast looks.
True is it that, even when made timorous by affection, a noble nature resigns itself to what accords with place and time. Having embraced her son and kissed his head, the queen went forth on foot from the women's quarter, and, though the heavens, filled with the citizens' lamentations, seemed to block her path, proceeded to the Sarasvati's banks. Then, having worshipped the fire with the blooming red lotus posies of a woman's timorous glances, she plunged into it, as the moon's form enters the adorable sun.
The other, distracted at his mother's death, departed 'mid a throng of kinsmen to his father's side, and found him with his vital forces nearly spent, revolving his eyeballs as the declining lord of stars the Moon revolves his stars. Overcome with excess of intolerable grief, robbed by affection of all self-control, he clasped those lotus feet which had been fondled by the assembled crests of all proud kings; and uttering a cry, burst like a common man into a long fit of weeping, raining from clouded eyes a most pellucid stream of tears.
It seemed as if an inner fire were melting his moonlike face, the light-texture of his teeth turning to water, the loveliness of his eyes oozing out, the ambrosia of his countenance trickling away. The king, whose eyes were closing, recovering consciousness as the sound of the prince's ceaseless weeping fell upon his ear, uttered in faint tones these words'You should not be so, my son.
Men of your mould are not infirm of heart. Strength of soul is the people's mainstay, and second to it is royal blood.
With you, the vanguard of the stouthearted, the abode of all preeminence, what has weakness to do? To call you a lion among heroes is like a reproach to one whose prowess is seconded by penetrating insight. To declare this earth yours is almost a vain repetition, when your bodily marks proclaim an universal emperor's dignity. To bid you take to yourself glory is almost contradictory, when glory has herself adopted you.
With these words on his lips the lion king closed his eyes never to open them more. In that hour the sun too was reft of the brilliance which was his life. Ashamed as it were of his own sinfulness involved in the taking of the king's life, he now bent low his face. As if scorched within by a fire of sorrow for the monarch's decease, he assumed a coppery hue.
Slowly, slowly he descended from the heavens, as if in compliance with earthly usage to pay a visit of condolence. As though to present an oblation of water to the king, he drew nigh to the western ocean. As soon as the water was presented, his thousand hands became red as if burnt in sorrow's flame. Cool grew his heat, as though moistened by the gathering storm of the people's tears.
The world assumed a lurid tinge, as if from the colour of all humanity's tear-flushed eyes. The day grew black, as if scorched by the heat of countless people's burning sighs.
From the day-lotuses their glory departed, as though it had started to follow the king. As the shadows passed on, the earth became dark as with grief for her lord. Like the heirs of noble houses, anguished cakravakas, abandoning their wives, resorted with piteous cries to the outskirts of the water. Alarmed as it were at their widowhood, the lotuses hid their treasure chambers. The red glow oozed away, like a bloody flow from the sky- queens' bursting hearts.
In due course the lord of splendour had gone to the other world, leaving only the afterglow behind. Like a banner of the dead, the twilight came all ruddy with a lurid expanse spreading far and wide over the heavens. Dusky streaks, like the lines of black chowrie ornaments upon a bier, were seen obstructing the view. A night black in all its quarters was mysteriously built up, like a pyre with black beams of aloe wood.
With smiling faces the beauteous night lotuses adorned themselves in ivory-petalled buds and formed for themselves white garlands of wreathed filaments, like wives in readiness to follow their lord to death. Like the tinkling bells of the gods' descending chariot were heard the voices of birds settling in their nests in the treetops. In the eastern quarter the moon appeared in sight, like the umbrella of Indra come forth to welcome the king on his journey along the heavens.
At that hour the feudatories and townsmen headed by the family priest, taking upon proffered shoulders  the bier of this Shivi-like king, bore him to the river Sarasvati, and there upon a pyre befitting an emperor solemnly consumed all but his glory in the flames.The domestic hamsas, lovers of her jewelled anklets, moved in a circle round her, as if to make the ceremonial circuit.
The couple proceed to Kandarpaketu's paternal kingdom and live there happily ever after. He maintained a magnificent court where philosophers, poets, dramatists and painters flourished. Never for an instant ceased the croak of crows hovering above the women's quarter. He had mastered the Ayur Veda in all its eight divisions, and, being naturally of an acute intellect, was perfectly familiar with the diagnosis of diseases.
A vast sentence rests on a single verb accompanied by a series of epithets, each composed of a long compound. Sati and dowry was prevalent during this period. The major part of the territory conquered by Harsha was ruled by such feudatories. What hindrance is there that my heart bursts not in a thousand parts?
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