Kamban is reckoned by literary scholars, Indian and international, as one of the greatest poets that composed metrical stanzas in any language. Some may think that is not be appropriate to compare one genius with another, but as one who has read the works mentioned here I can well understand why one who has read Kamban’s masterpiece would be inspired to speak in such comparative superlatives. As with other epics the beauty and brilliance in Kamban’s stanzas are lost even in the best translations
In the glorious night-sky with the stellar brilliance of many verses, Kamban’s work shines like the full moon. The theme of Kamban’s Rāmāyaṇam is the sage of Rāma , but the book is strewn with metaphors, similes, descriptions, imageries, word plays and charming constructions, all chiseled to the measure and meter of pleasing Tamil prosody.
The poet opens his magnum opus with a dedication to God Almighty:
Unto Him Who has this Universe made, Who sustains it and makes it fade,
Who this game ceaselessly plays, That Lord I salute humbly always.
Here is part of Kamban’s description of the city of Ayodhya where the Divine Rāma n was born: “That land was so beautiful that one could see everywhere pearls, conches, gold dust, corals, red lotuses, swans, sugar canes, bees and sweet honey. Sounds of streams, of working peasants, conches, clashing bulls, and of happy buffaloes pervaded the air. There were dancers and their admirers. Graceful peacocks, slender creepers, thundering clouds, gigantic waves, water lilies attuned to the melodious hum of bees: all this could be seen in the capital Kosala. The Goddess of Prosperity resided in the lotuses. Voluptuous women and the God of Love provoked men, while truth and letters found their way to people’s tongues.”
Kamban describes nature as well as people, heroes as well as miscreants. Here are some of Kamban’s comments on the women of Kosala:
“Women’s waists were narrow, and not their minds,.… Their features put peacocks to shame. The jewelry they wore on their breasts outshone the sun. Their eyes excelled in charm the most beautiful fish. Red water-lilies were like women’s lips. When the slender women bent over to bathe, it looked as if their hips would break… Their graceful walk seemed to mock the walk of elephants; their wholesome breasts seemed to mock lotus buds, and their faces seemed to mock the full moon.”
Kamba Rāmāyaṇam is a literary creation more than religious epic, to be admired for its poetic richness, and analyzed for its structure and exuberance; rather than to be bowed to and worshiped for its reverential panegyric of Rāma recited in temples like Tulsi Das’s Ramcharitmanas. Kamban’s work is critiqued and commented upon by scholars, and studied as a text in schools and colleges. It is more like the Aeneid and the Iliad than a hymn to the God of a religion. Scholars have drawn attention to its subtle comparisons of the tradition of the Tamils with that of Sanskrit peoples.
Consider how he describes the gloom all around when Rāma went in exile:
Parrots wept with Maina-birds too. In lighted palaces, cats wept too.
Formless bodies (embryos) wept that way. Of grown up ones, what to say?
Because into woods the generous one will fade, in accord with a promise he’d made
Cows wept and their calves wept. The flowers that blossomed that day wept.
Sea-gulls wept, honey-dripping gardens wept. Male elephants and powerful horses wept, To honor that prince, they all wept.
Original in similes, profuse in descriptions, rich in hyperboles, insightful in observations, masterful in command of words, passionate in narration, moving in pathos, reverential to the hero, Kamban’s epic is unsurpassed in majesty and poetic grandeur. The mere awareness of the existence of a work of such caliber should add to one’s appreciation of Indic culture.
When he was commissioned to translate Valmiki, Kamban agreed but kept postponing. The job was entrusted to Ottakkúttar: a poet of much talent , but in no measure a genius: a sort of Salieri compared to Mozart. Then Kamban started to compose, writing 700 stanzas a day, so say some admiring but unrealistic enthusiasts. Assuming he took five minutes per verse, this amounts to more than fifty-one hours for 700 verses. That means he must have taken some two minutes per verse, non-stop for twenty four hours. We are not diminishing our respect for the great poet by saying he could not have written that many verses a day. Even at ten stanzas a day, his work would be just as glorious. However, to some people, the greatness of a great one is enhanced by the attribution of physically impossible feats to them.
As to the biodata of this foremost of Tamil poets, we have the choice between fantasy and uncertainty. We remember him by the words and books he has left behind. What little we know about him is largely lore and legend. There are at least five versions of who this extraordinary genius was. The stories that posterity has spun around the names of India’s ancient heroes sometimes rival the creativity of the nation’s sages and poets.
Spurts of Thought 