Anthology of Humorous Sanskrit Verses

Anthology of Humorous Sanskrit Verses by A Haksar
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

The excerpts in this slim volume may be witty or satirical but not certainly not guffaw-inducing humorous. There are biting observations on caste peculiarities and social ills – not funny but painfully true. Fun is poked at ascetics, whores, bureaucrats, doctors and even the Gods. Warning: There is some explicit stuff.
Doctors

He cannot read what others write,/ his own script no one can read:/ the curious thing about him is/ that he himself cannot decipher/ that of which he is the writer.

These six live on the following six,/ no seventh one is there;/ thieves subsist on careless people,/ doctors on those who are ill, women on libidinous men,/ priests on folk who come for prayers,/ and on litigants do the rulers live,/ as learned pandits do on fools.

He looks at it with sympathy –/ the face of a girl from a good family/ who does sigh with trembling eyes./ He feels the plump and bristling limbs,/ shyly exposed by a whore/ and removes, with heated water,/ a eunuch’s wealth long gathered,/ Such are a doctor’s arts and learning/ that are the store of all his pleasure,/ and deserve to be saluted.

They see the sun in a lotus blossom,/ in a blooming lily, the golden moon,/ and peacock in a clouded sky;/ but rich doctors, like the hunters,/ mostly have no joy within.

They farm their lands in timely rains,/ but rain untimely pleases physicians –/ the first increases crops of grain,/ but the second spreads disease.

Bureaucrats

The clerk is like a serpent/ in the puddle which is the court; he kills folk with his fangs, the pen/ dipped in the poison of his ink.

Kayastha means ‘government official’ –/ who could have this word invented/ with first syllables of three others:/ kaka or a greedy crow,/ yama or the pitiless God of Death,/ and sthapaka or maker of things?

With no meat or liquor,/ nor robbery from others,/ or causing them injury,/ that official weeps all day.

The goddess of the state’s prosperity/ sadly weeps, tears darkened by/ ink drops trickling from the pen/ of that clerk who plundered her.

Flatulence and matters sexual and scatological are other favourite targets

My night was like a terrible death,/ in pretending to make love/ with a young and artless brahman,/ his body rough with constant labour, and for whom a girl is hard to get.

It’s a common saying, but quite untrue,/ that cracks or holes cause many problems:/ for sensual women they do not,/ but can rewards of pleasure.

When the dental consonants/ cannot be properly pronounced,/ always, when that person speaks,/ the only difference that there is/ between the mouth and his nether hole/ is that the second has no teeth.

Whores love a client praising them,/ or one for his cash and treasure,/ another for service or protection,/And yet another just for pleasure.

That guru had practiced breath control,/ also on scriptures commented,/ and at the time of his demise,/ his blessing did come out like a fart.

Her breasts stand out,/ the middle is sunken,/ the hips are very prominent:/ who indeed on such a body/ of that girl with fawn-like eyes,/ will not trip and slip?

You are soft, but they are hard,/ big and round, while you are slim;/ you are shy, but they look bold:/ such are the breasts outside your heart.

The humble folk who go to awaken/ one who sleeps like Kumbhakarna/ may get blown off by the wind/ discharged from his bottom.

The tinkle of her anklet bells/ is silent; what is now heard/ is that of the girdle on her hips/ as her husband seeks some rest/ and the girl now acts the man.

Her hair is white, like a horde of cotton,/ the breasts droop, touching Kama’s abode,/ and cheeks are marked with age-old wrinkles;/ but even then, the courtesan/ does not give up sex

Hypocrisy

My lips have been purified/ by singing a Vedic hymn;/ do not, dear girl, dirty them,/ but eager for some enjoyment,/ then do nibble my left ear!

Hairy body, piercing eyes,/ crooked eyebrows on the forehead,/ in huge gulps that hungry brahman,/ swallows large mouthfuls of rice.

It is not fit to carry weight/ or in the field to pull a plough,/ but this bull in the temple courtyard/ can still eat very well.

Having bathed in the sea,/ he sits on the shore before the people –/ that ascetic, his body draped/ in a saffron-coloured robe,/ thinking where to get alms/ some broth mixed with honey and butter,/ in the houses of young women/ whose husbands have gone away.

The royalty

Childhood spent getting educated,/ youth in hunting, wealth amassing,/ then the role of royal folk does turn/ just to enjoy the bums of beauties.

From the sublime to the ridiculous

The breasts are merely knots of flesh,/ but are compared to golden bowls;/ the mouth is just the abode of spit,/ but like the moon is seen to be;/ and thighs, made wet by urination,/ and compared to elephants’ trunks –/ thus do clever poets make them special/ things that are condemnable.

Even the Gods are not spared

Lakshmi sleeps on a lotus blossom,/ Shiva on a hill of snow,/ and Vishnu sleeps on a sea of milk./ I think this is because they are all worried/ about the bed bugs where they lie.

Here is a facet of Sanskrit I never knew about. The original Sanskrit should have been included along with some line drawings to add a bit of masala to the text.

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