Māyurājā [460] has been less fortunate in that his Udāttarāghava is known only by reference. Rājaçekhara represents him as a Karaculi or Kulicuri, which suggests the possibility that he was a king of the Kalacuri dynasty, of which unhappily we know little during the period in which he is probably to be set. He seems to have known Bhavabhūti. Like him he eliminated treachery from the slaying of Vālin by Rāma, and he represents Lakṣmaṇa as first to follow the magic gazelle, and Rāma as going later in pursuit. He is cited more than once in Dhanika’s commentary on the Daçarūpa. No other dramatist of this period is known with any certainty; the Pārvatīpariṇaya once ascribed to Bāṇa is now allotted to Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa (c. A.D. 1400), and the Mallikāmāruta, wrongly thought to be Daṇḍin’s, is the work of one Uddaṇḍin of the seventeenth century. Of these dramatists Yaçovarman has had the honour of being considered worthy of quotation by the writers on theory who have preserved for us some interesting verses: [461] ākrandāḥ stanitair vilocanajalāny açrāntadhārāmbhubhis tvadvicchedabhuvaç ca çokaçikhinas tulyās taḍidvibhramaiḥ antar me dayitāmukhaṁ tava çaçī vṛttiḥ samāpy āvayoḥ tat kim mām aniçaṁ sakhe jaladhara dagdhum evodyataḥ. ‘My moans are like thy thunder, the floods of my tears thy ever-streaming showers, the flame of my sorrow at severance from my beloved thy flickering lightning, in my mind is her face reflected, in thee the moon; like is our condition; why then, O friend, O cloud, dost thou ever seek to consume me with the burning pangs of love?’ This is decidedly pretty, and there is elegance and beauty in another verse: [462] yat tvannetrasamānakānti salile magnaṁ tad indīvaram meghair antaritaḥ priye tava mukhacchāyānukāraḥ çaçī ye ’pi tvadgamanānukāragatayas te rājahaṅsā gatās tvatsādṛçyavinodamātram api me daivena na kṣamyate. ‘The blue lotus which rivalled thine eyes in beauty is now sunk in the lake; the moon which imitated the fairness of thy face, beloved, is hidden by the clouds; the royal swans which aped thy lovely gait are departed; cruel fate will not grant me even the consolation of thy similitude.’ This verse is appropriated by the Mahānāṭaka, and so is the following, [463] which deals elegantly enough with the commonplace contrast between the sad lover and the Açoka tree, whose name is interpreted as ‘sorrowless’, and which flowers, as the poets never weary in telling us, when touched by the foot of a fair lady, especially one young: raktas tvaṁ navapallavair aham api çlāghyaiḥ priyāyā guṇais tvām āyānti çilīmukhāḥ smaradhanurmuktāḥ sakhe mām api kāntapādatalāhatis tava mude tad api mamāvayoḥ sarvaṁ tulyam açoka kevalam ahaṁ dhātrā saçokaḥ kṛtaḥ.