Nadopasana: A Story of Sound and Soul: Part 2 of 4

 Best Laid Plans

Ponnan lost his parents to the great disease when he was five. Fortunately for him, Manian, his older brother, took him under his wing. To be more precise, it was Manian’s wife, Gauri who did. Gauri, barely sixteen herself, cared for the five-year old as though he was her own child. She fed him, bathed him, sang him to sleep when his nightmares woke him, walked six miles each way during the hottest months to get exotic breeds of mangoes for him from santhai, the weekly farmers’ market.

Ponnan always called her by name. She transformed from an easygoing adolescent to a protective tigress when people chided Ponnan for not respectfully addressing her ‘anni’. She put the whole family on a diet when he fell sick and had to follow a bland food regimen. She glowed with pride when he returned from the temple and sang thevaram verses, imitating the priest. In due course, his nightmares disappeared.

The family owned agricultural land south of Thiruvaiyaru. As per local custom, Ponnan was expected to help Mainan in the farm. Gauri cited Ponnan's interest in music, and urged her husband to find a suitable teacher for him. Manian acceded to her wishes, and arranged for Ponnan to learn from a famous local nadawaram teacher, Aiyarappan Pillai. He would learn music full-time, instead of farming.

Aiyarappan Pillai taught him the basics, taught him the various scales, and impressed upon the need for devotion in music. Ponnan had a photographic memory for ragas and songs, but was somehow unable to make the connection between the carnatic music and its spiritual aspects.. He made progress, but remained detached from the devotion that his guru was advocating. This continued into his teens, with him staying with his teacher, and his brother continuing his farming.

Everything unravelled when the war broke. The English and the Sultan of Mysore were fighting each other, and the fight spilled into the Kaveri region. There had been a battle near Kumbakonam, in which the English were routed. The Sultan’s men chased the Englishmen all the way into Thiruvaiyaru. A few English soldiers hid in the haystack in Maniyan’s farm. When the Mysore soldiers found them, they got hold of Manian, who was working nearby, and killed him as a warning for anyone who might have dared shelter the enemy soldiers. Gauri was never seen again. Some said they saw a woman being carried off by the Mysore soldiers.

Ponnan’s world fell apart once more. Manian’s death was shocking, but Gauri’s disappearance was devastating. She was the only mother Ponnan had known and remembered. The couple left behind two children - Ramaiya, who was six and Kamakshi, who was two. Just as Gauri had assumed the role of a mother at sixteen, Ponnan had to assume the role of a father at fifteen.

With the help of Guruparan, the priest, he performed the final rites for Manian. He wanted to perform the final rites for Gauri too, but the priest forbade it. She might still be alive. Oddly, this made Ponnan sadder, as it didn’t provide him closure. It was as if he was neglecting his final duties to his adopted mother.

Ponnan went to Aiyarappan Pillai, touched his feet, and asked for permission to leave his training, so he could work on the farm and feed his family. Pillai consented with sadness. In parting, he remarked that he had great hopes for Ponnan, and had been holding out hopes that he would discover the devotional dimension of music.

To be continued.

Pic credit: Wikipedia and ChatGPT.

Nadopasana: A Story of Sound and Soul: Part 1 of 4

Year 1826, Thiruvaiyaru, India

Richard Baker wiped the sweat off his forehead with his shirt sleeves. He was breathless as he tried to keep pace with the younger man. He paused to take another swig from his water bottle - a gift from the military men who had cleared him for the visit. He offered Valavan a drink, who simply shook his head.

‘How much farther?’.

‘We’ll enter the town in ten minutes. The house is very close to the Aiyanaar temple at the entrance to the town’, replied Valavan, and started chuckling.

‘What is so funny?’

Valavan paused to translate the words in his head and then said in halting English. ‘You’re asking ‘how much farther’ every few minutes. Reminds me of the lines children chant in my village as a part of games - how much farther is the washerman’s house?!‘

Richard grinned. Valavan was obviously not the deferential sort. Most Indians froze with fear and awe as they talked to the colonizing race. Valavan, refreshingly, talked as an equal, and even teased Richard on his appearance as he seemed to wilt under the sun.

Richard took another look at the man walking ahead of him. Slim, dark-skinned, energetic. His eyes seem to always wear an amused look. A man of uncertain age. He had been working as a translator to the East India Company’s forces. Richard’s friend, John Morrison, had lent him as a local guide and translator when Richard arrived in Madras on his research mission. Valavan had suggested a bullock cart for the trip into town, but Richard had refused, not wanting to draw too much attention. He was interested in speaking with one man, arousing as little interest or suspicion from the locals as possible.

The house was a modest one - shingled, neatly painted in white with red decorations along the bottom. Two neem trees provided shade in front of the house. The ground was smooth, devoid of vegetation - perhaps treated with cow manure, as was the custom in those parts. There was decorative floor art in front of the house. Richard later learned that it was called kolam in Tamil. There was a granary painted in black, sheltered under the shingled front porch, the thinnai. The host had arranged a simple, but elegant mat to be spread on the spacious thinnai. 

An older man welcomed them with his palms together as a mark of respect for the visitors. He was dressed in all white, with a white towel on his right shoulder. His skin was wrinkled from exposure to the sun. The skin suggested that he would be about sixty, but his gait was upright, suggesting a younger age.

The man spoke a few words of welcome. Richard had trouble understanding him. He would normally understand most of the words, but this man’s accent seemed very different from that of the people in Madras who had taught him the little that he knew. Valavan performed the superfluous introductions, as both men had been told about each other. The man was introduced as Ponnan, respectfully known as Ponniah, the great nadaswaram artist. Richard had been in awe of nadaswaram, the wind instrument, and had been looking forward to meeting its most famous exponent.

Two young girls brought buttermilk, some fruit, and a tray with betel leaves and betel nuts to welcome the visitors. Richard took the buttermilk gratefully. Ponniah also told the visitors they would be served lunch in an hour or so. Valavan smiled, as if that was expected. Richard accepted, thanking his host profusely.

Seeing Richard struggle to sit on the mat, the host arranged two cots under the neem tree for them to sit on. They started talking. Two bare-chested young men, probably Ponniah’s students, stood at a respectful distance.

Richard thanked their host for agreeing to see him, and said, ‘I’ve come to India to learn about the various music forms and musicians. I come from a very different land, and am fascinated by your music culture, your tradition of learning by staying with your teacher, the gurukulam. I’d like to understand how you learned the instrument, how you teach and so on. I’d also like to listen to your music.’

The older man nodded, wiped the sweat with his towel and asked something that Richard was unable to understand. Valavan replied, ‘No, he is not related to the kumbini. He is a traveler and writer’. 

Ponniah’s face cleared. He seemed to relax. 

‘There are hundreds of good musicians around here. Why did you ask for me, specifically?’, he asked.

Richard replied via Valavan, ‘Sethurama Pillai from Madras called you the greatest living exponent of nadaswaram. He suggested that I meet you, and gave me a letter to give you.’

Ponniah asked one of the disciples to open the envelope and read it. ‘My eyesight is not what it used to be’, he added as an explanation. He seemed pleased to listen to the letter of introduction. He started his story.

Click here for part 2 of 4.

Pic credit: Wikipedia and ChatGPT.