Friday, May 26, 2017

Auditory pareidolia 6.1: The heralds of the monsoons

Unlike spring which is dominated by the koel's lilting notes, the advent of the monsoons in the Indian Subcontinent is accompanied by a wide variety of bird and animal calls – it is, after all, mating season for many species. Just like springtide, it is regarded as a highly romantic time of the year – people are often forced indoors by the torrential downpour, and the dark and cool ambience is also conducive to enjoyable indoor activities. And, just like spring again, the rainy season is also portrayed in literature as an insufferable ordeal for separated lovers – men whose work forces them to travel or stay away from home at this time, and their lonely wives pining away at home. Arguably, the most famous Sanskrit quote in this vein is the second half of the third verse from Kalidasa's Meghaduta: "मेघालोके भवति सुखिनोऽप्यन्यथावृत्ति चेतः| कण्ठाश्लेषप्रणयिनि जने किं पुनर्दूरसंस्थे||" ("At the view of a Cloud the condition of a happy one becomes changed to a strong emotion; how much more that of a banished man longing to embrace the neck?" – Colonel H. A. Ouvry). 

The following verses use onomatopoeia quite ingeniously to breathe new life into tired clichés about the monsoon blues.

(1) The bird most intimately associated with the monsoons is undoubtedly the male Indian peafowl (Pavo cristatus), which is said to break into its trademark courtship dance at the very sight of rain-bearing clouds. The Sanskrit word for the cry of a peacock is kekA (केका), which gives this bird such names as kekin (केकिन्), kekika (केकिक), and kekAvala (केकावल). Interestingly, two obscure words for "peacock" – mArjAraka (मार्जारक), which loosely translates to "cat-thing", and mArjArakaNTha (मार्जारकण्ठ), "cat-throated", – derive from the supposed similarity between a cat's caterwaul or yowl and a peacock's piercing call. Moreover, SaDja (षड्ज), the first of the seven primary notes recognized in Indic classical music, is said to be identical to the natural note of a peacock's vocalizations (I am illiterate in music theory, so please excuse any nonsense I might have spewed unwittingly). But what does the kekA sound like to a lovesick poet?

Prakrit text in the Devanagari script:

उच्चं उच्चावियकन्धरेण भणियं व पाउसे सिहिणा|
के के इमे पउत्था मोत्तूण घरेसु घरिणीओ||

Harvard-Kyoto transliteration:

uccaM uccAviyakandhareNa bhaNiyaM va pAuse sihiNA|
ke ke ime pa-utthA mottUNa gharesu ghariNIo||
– Anonymous

Loose translation: In the monsoon season, the peacock cranes its neck, and yells, as it were, "Who? Who are these (men) that are away from home, leaving their wives behind?"

Source: Vajjalaggam Verse 650: Verse 5 of pausavajjA (पाउसवज्जा) / prAvRtvajjA (प्रावृट्व्रज्या), "the chapter on the monsoon season".

Sanskrit translations: 
अत्यूर्ध्वीकृतकन्धरेण भणितमिव प्रावृट्काले शिखिना| के क इमे प्रोषिता मुक्त्वा गृहेषु गृहिणीः|| – Commentator Ratnadeva (रत्नदेव). Vishwanath Pathak replaces the first part with उच्चैरुच्चीकृतकन्धरेण.

Notes: के is "who" (masculine plural), and is sometimes reduplicated for emphasis. The poet hears the peacock's mating call as a harsh reminder of his separation from his ladylove, or as an accusation of being a bad husband.


(2) Another bird that gets extremely vocal during the rainy season is the white-breasted waterfowl (Amaurornis phoenicurus), called dAtyUha (दात्यूह) in Sanskrit and DAhuka (डाहुक) in many Northern and Eastern languages. 
[P.S. Monier-Williams translates दात्यूह as "gallinule" (see this, this, and this); Sanskrit lexicographers have applied this name to several bird species, but Shabdakalpadruma claims that the Bengali equivalent of दात्यूह is ডাউক (डाउक), hence I have concluded that the primary meaning of दात्यूह (or, at least, the intended meaning in the following verse which was popular, and perhaps composed, in Bengal) is "white-breasted waterfowl".]

Devanagari text:
प्रावृट्काले गृहं त्यक्त्वा सुखी को वा भवेत् क्व वा|
इतीरयति दात्यूहः को वा को वा क्व वा क्व वा||

Harvard-Kyoto transliteration:

prAvRTkAle gRhaM tyaktvA sukhI ko vA bhavet kva vA|
itIrayati dAtyuhaH ko vA ko vA kva vA kva vA||
– Anonymous

Loose translation: "In the monsoon season, who would be happy leaving their home? And where (would you find such a person)?" – this is what the white-breasted waterfowl proclaims as it cries ko vA ko vA kva vA kva vA ("Who? Who? Where? Where?").

Source: Udbhata Sagara Part II Verse 89.

Notes: The bird's question is, of course, rhetorical. You can find out for yourself what the dAtyUha's calls sound like, here. The 19th century Shabdakalpadruma, in its entry for dAtyUha, quotes the following variant of the above verse: प्रावृट्काले सुखी भूत्वा को वा कुत्र न गच्छति| इति वदति ...|| 

Friday, May 5, 2017

Piscatory paeans 2

The following verses were, beyond doubt, written by Bengalis and for Bengalis. Check this and this out for other poetic outpourings in Sanskrit of the love for cooked fish.

(1) The most important fish in the life of a Bengali (especially if they are from "East Bengal") is the ilish or the hilsa (Tenualosa ilisha). In addition to being the principal ingredient in a large number of Bengali recipes, it has come to occupy an important position in local religion and culture: In many "East Bengali" Hindu families, it is customary to ceremonially offer a pair of hilsa (জোড়া ইলিশ) to Saraswati, the goddess of learning, speech, and the arts, during her annual festival on Vasanta Panchami, and to Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, on the autumnal full moon day. I am also familiar with a tradition that prohibits the consumption of ilish from Ganga Dashahara (গঙ্গা-দশহরা; गङ्गादशहरा), the tenth day of the bright fortnight in the month of Jyaishtha (ज्यैष्ठ), until Vasanta Panchami. And finally, the Bangladeshis have, relatively recently, made the eating of panta ilish (fried ilish served over lightly fermented rice) for breakfast an integral part of the Bengali New Year celebrations.

But by no means am I claiming that Bengalis exercise a cultural monopoly on the hilsa in the Subcontinent. In Sindhi Hinduism, the fish, called palla or palo in the Sindhi language (I have found several variants of the name, and don't know which one is authentic), is intimately associated with the tutelary deity Jhulelal viewed as the deified river Indus and / or an incarnation of the water-god Varuna; the fish also features prominently in Sindhi cuisine!

Below, we have Kavichandra (possibly a pen-name), who had gained reputation as a humorist and extempore versifier in 19th century Bengal, paying tribute to the rich and exquisite taste of the ilish in the befittingly complex sragdharA (स्रग्धरा) meter.

Devanagari text:
 विश्वाधारो हि वायुस्तदुपरि कमठस्तत्र शेषस्ततो भू-
स्तस्यां कैलासशैलस्तदुपरि गिरिशो मस्तके तस्य गङ्गा|
स्निग्धः पीयूषतुल्यस्तदुदरकुहरे श्रील्लिशोऽकिल्बिषोऽस्ति
प्राधान्यं तस्य को वा प्रकथयितुमलं भक्षणाद् यस्य मुक्तिः||
– कविचन्द्र
Harvard-Kyoto transliteration:

vizvAdhAro hi vAyustadupari kamaThastatra zeSastato bhU-
stasyAM kailAsazailastadupari girizo mastake tasya gaGgA|
snigdhaH pIyUSatulyastadudarakuhare zrIllizo(a)kilbiSo(a)sti
prAdhAnyaM tasya ko vA prakathayitumalaM bhakSaNAd yasya muktiH||


– Kavichandra

Loose translation: The air[see notes] supports everything; on top of that floats the Great Turtle, and on his back rests the many-headed serpent Shesha; on Shesha('s expanded hood), rests the Earth, with the (sacred) Kailasa mountain standing upon her; atop this mountain, sits Shiva, and on his head dwells the river-goddess Ganga; and in her womb, resides the gracious hilsa – charming (or oily), ambrosial, and sinless (or flawless). No one can adequately describe the preeminence of this (fish) for liberation (from the cycle of rebirths) can be attained merely by its consumption.

Source: Udbhata Shloka Maalaa Appendix Verse 94. In Udbhata Sagara Part III Verse 178, गिरिशो is replaced with भगवान्, and प्राधान्यं with माहात्म्यं.

Notes: The first few words of this verse are quite surprising, and might contain a scribal error. In all the Indic cosmological traditions that I am aware of, the Great Turtle, who supports the stack of cosmic levels on his back, swims eternally in the infinite expanse of the causal waters (kAraNodaka (कारणोदक); kAranasalila (कारणसलिल), etc.), and does not fly in the air (in a literal or figurative sense). I think वायुः should be replaced with वारः (nominative plural of वार्, "water") or वारम् ("a large mass of water") here.


(2) Although Bengalis are notorious for their piscivorous lifestyle, there is at least one sub-group among them, the Gaudiya Vaishnavas, who have adhered to a strictly lacto-vegetarian diet for centuries, and have also been bandying words with their non-vegetarian Shakta compatriots over the propriety of ingesting animals in general and fish in particular. The irreverent piece that follows is presumably a product of this ideological conflict.

Devanagari text:
 इलिशः खलिशश्चैव भेट्किर्मद्गुर एव च|
रोहितो मत्स्यराजेन्द्रः पञ्च मत्स्या निरामिषाः||

Harvard-Kyoto transliteration:

ilizaH khalizaZcaiva bhetkirmadgura eva ca|
rohito matsyarAjendraH paJca matsyA nirAmiSAH||
– Anonymous 

Loose translation: The hilsa, the giant gourami (Trichogaster fasciata), the barramundi (Lates calcarifer), the catfish (Clarias magur), and the rohu (Labeo rohita), the emperor of all fish – these five fish species count as vegetarian food.

Source: Entry 737 of Bangla Prabad, "Bengali adages", Second Edition, edited by Sri Sushil Kumar De, and published by A. Mukherjee and Co. Ltd. in 1952.

Notes: The word इलिश above follows Bengali orthography, although Sanskrit lexicographers record the forms इलीश and इल्लिश only; these latter forms would also fit the meter (shloka). Another vernacularism used by the author is bhetki (भेट्कि), the Sanskrit equivalents of which are भेकट and वेकट (19th century Shabdakalpadruma).

A variant exists in which the second quarter of the verse is replaced with बाचा भाङ्ना तथैव च: bAcA (बाचा; বাচা) = वाच (Eutropiichthys vacha); bhAGnA (भाङ्ना; ভাঙনা) = भङ्गान / भेकनि / भेकलि (Labeo boga).

I cannot decide whether this snippet of sarcasm was produced by Shaktas to encourage their Vaishnava brethren (tongue in cheek, of course) to take up the consumption of these types of fish, or by Vaishnavas to mock the (perceived) inability of meat-eaters to tell what is vegetarian and what is not. The implication of the couplet is that Bengali non-vegetarians enjoy these fish species as regularly as vegetarian dishes (for, regardless of whether meat-eating is allowed in their belief system, a  traditional everyday meal in a Bengali home always includes a plethora of vegetables and dairy products).

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Piscatory paeans 1

This is a sequel to one of my very early posts dedicated to what is, statistically, the favorite food type of the Bengali community worldwide – fish. In North America, where I currently live, fish is generally subsumed under the term "seafood", which I find a bit unsettling since most varieties of fish commonly eaten in the eastern part of the Indian Subcontinent, where I hail from, come from freshwater bodies.  Historically, the rest of South Asia has had mixed feelings towards the eating of fish as well as towards fish-eating peoples, as evident from scriptural (smriti (स्मृति)) sources and their interpretations. Nevertheless, the vast corpus of Sanskrit belles lettres does include a few snippets celebrating (or humorizing) the consumption of aquatic lifeforms by human beings. In this series, I will share the ones that I have collected thus far.

P.S. I apologize in advance if the glorification of non-vegetarian food offends you (and, if it does, please do not read any further); I promise that I will soon post material on vegetarian delights too!

(1) Whoever accuses Bengalis of being risk-averse has evidently never taken a close look at our meal plates. A regular item on our menu is the climbing perch[see this and this], Anabas testudineus. This tough, air-breathing, "walking" fish is chock-full of tiny sharp bones that would be enough to deter the most voracious predator.  Suffice it to say, a fancy name for this creature in Sanskrit is krakacapRSThI (क्रकचपृष्ठी), "saw-back"! Its more common appellations are kavayI (कवयी) and kavikA (कविका), both cognate with Bengali kai (কই) [which is not to be confused with the Japanese koi although pronounced the same way], Assamese kawoi (কাৱৈ), Oriya kau (କଉ), Hindustani kavai (कवई) – words that were Anglicized to kay and kavay by Monier-Williams. The Hindustani name sumbhaa (सुंभा) is also recorded in some lexicons. Obsolete scientific names include Cojus (/ Coius) cobojus, Perca scandens (/ vagabunda), and Lutjanus (/ Lutianus) scandens. 

The following couplet suggests that Bengal's love-affair (depending on the definition of "love", of course) with kai maachh goes back at least nine centuries.

Devanagari text:
 अजाजीजम्बाले रजसि मरिचानां च लुठिताः
कटुत्वादुष्णत्वाज्जनितरसनौष्ठव्यतिकराः|
अनिर्वाणोत्थेन प्रबलतरतैलाक्ततनवो 
मया सद्योभृष्टाः कतिपयकवय्यः कवलिताः||

Harvard-Kyoto transliteration:

ajAjIjambAle rajasi maricAnAM ca luThitAH
kaTutvAduSNatvAjjanitarasanauSThavyatikarAH|
anirvANotthena prabalataratailAktatanavo
mayA sadyobhRSTAH katipayakavayyaH kavalitAH||
– Anonymous

Loose translation: Tossed in a paste[see notes] of cumin and (then in) powdered pepper, and thoroughly doused in very strong (cooking) oil, they were spicy and hot enough to twist[see notes] the tongue and the lips – I wolfed these few kavay fish down as soon as they were fried, without even getting up to wash myself[see notes]!

Source: Vidyakara's Subhashita Ratnakosha Verse 1148. It is believed that this Vidyakara was a senior Buddhist monk at the Jagaddala Mahavihara in North Bengal in the 11th-12th centuries. Moreover, to the best of my knowledge, it is the inhabitants of the eastern part of the Subcontinent only (Bengalis, Oriyas, and perhaps the Assamese) who have traditionally had a taste for this species of fish. For these reasons, I conjecture that the verse was written somewhere in this region.

Notes: My interpretation above is influenced by D. H. H. Ingalls' (versified) translation: 
I rolled them in a cumin swamp
and in a heap of pepper dust
till they were spiced and hot enough
to twist your tongue and mouth.
When they were basted well with oil,
I didn't wait to wash or sit;
I gobbled that mess of koyi fish
as soon as they were fried.

जम्बाल → paste: The primary meaning of the word jambAla (जम्बाल), according to the authoritative lexicon Amarakosha, is paGka (पङ्क), "mud"; however, this latter word is often used in compounds to denote a paste, pulp, or mash, e.g. चन्दनपङ्क, "paste made by mixing sandalwood powder with water"; कुङ्कुमपङ्क, "paste made by mixing kumkum with water", etc. Hence, I have translated अजाजीजम्बाल as "cumin paste" rather than as "cumin swamp" (I think Ingalls presumed that the author was exaggerating here, but he probably just replaced पङ्क with a synonym).

व्यतिकर → twisting: The synonyms of the word व्यतिकर, given in Sanskrit thesauruses, translate roughly to either "destruction / calamity" or "mixing / confusion / entanglement"; I decided to go with Ingalls' "twist[ing]" because that, I think, is consistent with the poet's intent.

अनिर्वाणोत्थेन: This obscure word appears here as an adjective of the word मया, and hence describes the author. nirvAna (निर्वाण) literally refers to the act of extinguishing (whence its more popular philosophical sense is derived) but is also used to describe the traditional "bathing of an elephant" by a mahout (गजमज्जन), evidently because bathing lowers body temperature. The author (or perhaps an entire community in some part of South Asia at some point in time) could have generalized the meaning of the word to "bathing / washing", and applied it to human beings as well. In most Indic belief systems, special preprandial ablutions are customary, and eating while standing is frowned upon – this is perhaps why Ingalls ("I didn't wait to wash or sit") has interpreted the adjective under consideration as a combination of अनिर्वाण, "unbathed / unwashed", and उत्थ, "standing up". However, I have only ever seen उत्थ being used as a suffix in compounds, so I have interpreted अ-निर्वाणोत्थ as "not getting up for a wash" (न निर्वाणार्थम् उत्तिष्ठति): although the verse itself is unclear on the topic, I am guessing that the author himself fried his fish on a low traditional oven while sitting / squatting, so that he would need to get up to wash himself prior to the meal. But I am unsure of the grammatical validity of either reading. In any case, it is clear that the poet admits to throwing tradition and decorum to the wind just to convey his sheer eagerness for the deep-fried delicacy. 

(2) Devanagari text:
 अक्षोटशुण्ठिमरिचार्द्रकदाडिमत्व-
क्कुस्तुम्बुरूलवणतैलसंस्कृतान् यः|
मत्स्यान् सुशीतसितभक्ततले दधाति
स ब्रह्मलोकमधिगच्छति पुण्यकर्मा||

Harvard-Kyoto transliteration:

akSoTazuNThimaricArdrakadADimatva-
-kkustumburUlavaNatailasaMskRtAn yaH|
matsyAn suzItasitabhaktatale dadhAti
sa brahmalokamadhigacchati puNyakarmA||
– Anonymous

A. N. D. Haksar's translation: 


Fish prepared with oil and salt,
ginger, pepper, pomegranate peel,
with walnuts garnished, touched with saffron,
and served on a bed of cool, white rice:
the doer of this act of merit
is bound to go to paradise.

Source: 15th century Subhaashitaavali Verse 2357. 

Notes: The words शुण्ठि and आर्द्रक (lit. "moist"), appearing in the list of ingredients, denote the dried and undried varieties of ginger respectively – a nuance completely lost in translation. Evidently, Haksar interprets कुस्तुम्बुरू as "saffron", although all the reliable lexicons I was able to consult define this word (or rather its variants कुस्तुम्बुरु and कुस्तुम्बरी) as "coriander". I was also initially skeptical of his translation of दाडिमत्वक् as "pomegranate peel", but I was able to find at least one South Asian recipe which makes use of this plant part; I must, however, mention that the word दाडिम, which has "pomegranate" as its primary meaning, can also refer to the cardamom, a far more commonly used spice. Garnishing fish with walnut kernels might also seem interesting but, having tasted walnut shrimp myself, I am convinced that there are many palates that such a preparation would suit. 

Given the cultural importance of walnuts in the Kashmiri Pandit way of life (check this out), the prevalence of fish in traditional Kashmiri cuisine, and the fact that Vallabhadeva, the compiler of the above anthology (which, to my knowledge, is the oldest source of this couplet), was from Kashmir, I am comfortable attributing this verse to a Kashmiri epicure.

What is most surprising to me is the glorification of boiled white rice served cold (सुशीतसितभक्त)! Perhaps, it was an early medieval Kashmiri quirk?

In some anthologies such as the Subhashita Ratna Bhandagara, the verse begins with धान्याकनागरनिशार्द्रकदाडिमत्वक्कुस्तुम्बुरीलवण-...: धन्याक = coriander; नागर = dry ginger / (=नागरङ्ग/नारङ्ग) orange (zest?); निशा = turmeric.

Brahmaloka, which Haksar translates as "paradise", is a word with different connotations in different religious / philosophical texts, but is generally seen as a physical realm or a "plane of existence" attainable only by some of the noblest and purest among us. In our poet's worldview, however, treating someone to fish curry over rice is enough to get you a ticket!

Each of the above snippets, in addition to being a work of art, is also (almost) a "real working recipe", much like this fellow non-resident Bengali's modern-day masterpiece.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Auditory pareidolia 5: The harbinger of Spring

All over the Indian Subcontinent, the lilting call of the male koel is one of the surest signs that spring is in the air. The bird's cry is usually rendered kuhu (कुहु) or kuhU (कुहू), and is considered one of the most romantic sounds of nature; and, for this very reason, the koel as well as the spring season is often depicted as a great tormentor of separated lovers. 

The clever use of onomatopoeia in each of the following stanzas is quite amusing, but I must warn you that they both deal with longing and heartache.

(1) In Sanskrit, the word kuhU (कुहू) also refers to the new moon, or the (lunar) day of the new moon – the only day of the month when the moon is completely overpowered by darkness, its natural enemy. This homonymy is used to great poetic effect in the following piece, composed in the melodious drutavilambita (द्रुतविलम्बित) meter . 

Devanagari text:
पिक विधुस्तव हन्ति समं तम-
स्त्वमपि चन्द्रविरोधिकुहूरवः|
तदुभयोरनिशं हि विरोधिता
कथमहो समता मम तापने||

Harvard-Kyoto transliteration:

pika vidhustava hanti samaM tama-
stvamapi candravirodhikuhUravaH|
tadubhayoranizaM hi virodhitA
kathamaho samatA mama tApane||
– Anonymous

Loose translation: O Koel! The Moon destroys darkness, which is comparable to you (in color); you, too, keep yelling "kuhU!", (as if) to defy the Moon. Hence, (it can be concluded that) you two are locked in eternal enmity. Ah! Why then are you two so similar when it comes to making me suffer?

Source
: 
Verse 58 of Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar's collection Shlokamanjari (published in 1890). I also vaguely remember seeing it as an example in some treatise on poetics, although I cannot recall which one it was.

Notes: It is fairly common for poets to speak of the pain that the moon (the full moon, in particular) inflicts on lovesick souls, but this is the only example known to me of the moon and the cuckoo being portrayed as enemies of each other in Indic literature.


(2) Not everyone hears the cuckoo say kuhU, as evidenced by the following specimen of the shikhariNI (शिखरिणी) meter.

Devanagari text:
वसन्तप्रारम्भे चिरविरहखिन्ना सहचरी
यदि प्राणान् मुञ्चेद्वद तदघभागी भवति कः|
वयो वा स्नेहो वा कुसुमविशिखो वेति विमृशंस्-
तुहीति प्रव्यक्तं पिकनिकरझङ्कारमशृणोत्||
– श्रीराजानकलौलक
Harvard-Kyoto transliteration:

vasantaprArambhe ciravirahakhinnA sahacarI
yadi prANAn muJcedvada tadaghabhAgI bhavati kaH|
vayo vA sneho vA kusumavizikho veti vimRzan
tuhIti pravyaktaM pikanikarajhaGkAramazRNot||
– Shri Rajanaka Laulaka

Loose translation: "If (my) ladylove[lit. female companion], depressed by (our) prolonged separation, were to give up her life at the advent of Spring, then, pray tell, who is it that incurs sin (for her death)? Is it her (tender) age? Or her feelings[lit. affection]? Or the shooter of flower-tipped arrows (i.e. Kamadeva) himself?" – as these thoughts were going through his mind, he heard the chorus of cuckoos ring out, loud and clear, "tuhi!" ("No one but you!").

Source: 15th century Subhaashitaavali Verse 1688. 
Shlokamanjari Verse 31 has a slightly altered first half:
वसन्ताग्नौ मग्ना चिरविरहरुग्णा प्रियसखी यदि प्राणान् मुञ्चेत्तदिह वधभागी भवतु कः|
"If (my) ladylove, (already) pining away from (our) prolonged separation and (now) plunged into the vernal flames (of passion and pain), were to give up her life, then who must take the blame for her death?"

Notes: Presumably, tuhi (तुहि) is a vernacularism along the lines of Hindustani tU hI (तू ही); tuha (তুহ) and tuhi (তুহি), "you", used in medieval Bengali poetry, etc. This word occurs here only in the compound तुहीति, so that the form tuhI (तुही) would also perhaps be acceptable; however, Monier-Williams includes the form तुहि in his dictionary, where he defines it as "a cuckoo's cry", citing Subhaashitaavali as his source.

I also found out that तुहि is a second-person singular imperative form of the (rather obscure, I think) verbal root √tu (√तु); many meanings of this verb are recorded in lexicons, none of which seems applicable here.

About the author of this verse, the editors Peter Peterson and Pandit Durgaprasada of the 1896 critical edition of Subhaashitaavali mention that, "A Laulaka is referred to at the end of the commentary on the Srikanthacharita as the grandfather of Jonaraja."

Friday, March 3, 2017

The lion and the boar

Historically, both the lion and the boar have been used across South Asia as symbols of power and greatness. However, when the two are juxtaposed in allegorical writings, (needless to say) the former is always portrayed as superior. Here is an amusing execution of this trope.

The context of this two-verse piece titled siMhazUkarasaMvAda (सिंहशूकरसंवाद), "a conversation between a lion and a boar", is the following: A boar, roaming about in the wilderness, encounters a lion and, although fully aware of what the majestic feline is capable of doing to him, tries to bluff his way out. And he does manage to leave the scene unscathed, but not by dint of his wits.

Devanagari text:
शूकर उवाच
दश व्याघ्रा जिताः पूर्वं सप्त सिंहास्त्रयो गजाः|
पश्यन्तु देवताः सर्वा अद्य युद्धं त्वया मया*||
variant: *मम

सिंह उवाच
गच्छ शूकर भद्रं ते ब्रूहि सिंहो मया जितः|
पण्डिता एव जानन्ति सिंहशूकरयोर्बलम्||

Harvard-Kyoto transliteration:
zUkara uvAca
daza vyAghrA jitAH pUrvaM sapta siMhAstrayo gajAH|
pazyantu devatAH sarvA adya yuddhaM tvayA mayA||


siMha uvAca
gaccha zUkara bhadraM te brUhi siMho mayA jitaH|
paNDitA eva jAnanti siMhazUkarayorbalam||


Loose translation: 
Boar: "I have already beaten ten tigers, seven lions, and three elephants! Let all the gods witness[see notes] the fight between you and me today!"

Lion: "You may leave, Boar! I wish you all the best! And feel free to announce that you have defeated the Lion. For the wise are already aware of the relative strengths of a lion and a boar!"

Source: Verses 11-12 of a small collection of epigrams, entitled Nitisara (नीतिसार), "the best of moral precepts", and attributed to the enigmatic Ghatakarpara (घटकर्पर); published by both Jibananda Vidyasagara and Purnachandra De Udbhatasagara.

Notes: A device often employed by Indic authors to glorify an earthly battle is to devote a few lines to celestials crowding the air above the field (invisible to mere mortals, of course) for a ringside view of great acts of heroism, occasionally felicitating select warriors with floral showers and peals of heavenly kettle-drums.