MusicalNirvana - Articles on Smt. Gangubai Hangal

Articles on Veena Dhanammal

Taken from A pen portrait by Sri R. Ranga Ramanuja Iyengar in History of Carnatic Music
Originally appeared in the now defunct Carnatic site by Radhika (www.imsc.ernet.in/~radhika)

Reproduced here for educational purposes only

Siddha Vidyadhari

Kamakshi, a talented member of the dancing community, was was a resident of Tanjore. She had learnt dancing from Ganapathi Sastri and music from Anayya and Baluswami Deekshitar, brother of Muthuswami Deekshitar. She was an accomplished lady and travelled widely on professional errands. Her daughter, Sundaram, learnt music from Subbaraya Sastri, Syama Sastri's son and Thyagaraja's disciple. So Kamakshi's family flourished in the Golden Age of Carnatic Music.'

Sundaram had a daughter named Dhanam. The child was precocious and attracted Kamakshi's notice. Veena was almost the family heirloom. Dhanam had a fine, sweet voice that blended with the Veena. But neither she nor her elders were enamoured of the Veena, though they were no strangers to great traditions imbibed through their contacts with eminent musicians and Vainikas. But all the Veena music that one heard round about raised doubts whether the Veena was an adequate vehicle for higher musical expression.

During her trips to Travancore, Kamakshi had listened to two distinguished Vainikas of the place, Ramachandra and Kalyanakrishna The latter gave two recitals in Madras some years after. Dhanam had heard about him from her grandmother. So she attended the two recitals of the maestro. To her it was a moment of supreme enlightenment and inspiration. She saw as in a trance the endless possibilities of an instrument which had its birth in the Vedas themselves, and which Hindu mythology had placed in the hands of its gods and goddesses several thousands of years ago. Emerging from the clouds of doubt and despair that had enmeshed her for a time she now took to the instrument with faith and zest. She compared the vocal apparatus with the Veena and evolved on the latter phrases and idioms to match the product of the one with that of the other. A marvellously varied repertoire of more than a thousand songs, in six languages and covering as many as seventy composers determined her entire perspective and aesthetic sensitiveness. Neelakantha Sastri, another rare prodigy of the time, gave finishing touches. While yet in her teens, Dhanam rose rapidly in fame. The Veena was her one interest in life.

Dharmapuri Subbarayar, the Robert Burns of Carnatic Music, was the greatest composer of Javalis. He was in raptures over Dhanam's soulful music. He placed at her disposal his family property worth more than a hundred thousand and kept her above want. He also used his influence to make her known in the world of culture. He was so enamoured of her voice and Veena that he composed two javalis to commemorate their mutual love and esteem. Smara Sundara ", in Pharaz, expressed his loyalty and attachment to Dhanam and her Veena. "Emandune",in Saindhavi, was an avowal of Dhanam's adoration of him.

Baldas Naidu of Wallajahpet was a repository of Kshetragna Padas that he had learnt from Gowri of Mylapore, a famous Veena player of old. Subbarayar introduced Dhanam to him. Baldas, who was born blind, gave freely of his musical bounty and Dhanam established herself as the greatest exponent of Kshetragna Padas. " It is a sight for the gods how she winds unerringly through the elusive labyrinths of a Padam, fashioning ever new patterns on old familiar fabrics, the Tala strings manipulating all the while the four major beats Of Tisra Jati Triputa with uncanny precision." Tirumalachariar of Saidapet, another luminary of those times, added to her classical repertoire.

Dhanam, born in 1867 was in the prime of her life in the harvest period of the Golden Age. She was always on the move like the bee that collects honey from flowers. Her boundless energy and dynamic mind helped her to make a synthesis of all that was worthwhile. An estimate of her career and distinction is best presented through a monograph written in 1936 by a votary who garnered a good part of her treasure during twelve years of close contact with her.

It was the year 1900. A house in Thambu Chetty Street, Madras, packed with veterans and connoisseurs in music, had just heard Ramanathapuram Poochi Iyengar. The brief interval that came in now was exploited with assiduity by not a few in the gathering to seize all vantage points in the hall. For the item to follow seemed to demand close and attentive audition. In the trail of the ebbing hum in the hall there issued a succession of sharp, shrill notes, executed on a very small Veena by a sprightly middle-aged lady, Veena Dhanam. Scarcely had the music commenced, when there was an interruption. Sarabha Sastrigal, the Nestor of his day, had been taking his ease, in an ante-room facing the platform. He had remained there through the previous performance. But the unique style of Sruti adjustment, the clear ringing notes, and the immaculate charm of the Veena music thrilled him to ecstasy. He therefore called out to Krishna Bhagavatar - another of the supermen of those glorious days - to conduct him to the platform."

It was a two hour recital. Sastrigal was thrilled. At the end, he said, "Sivanval once told me that your music was Trikarana Suddha, perfect in thought, word and deed. Verbum sap." Maha Vaidyanathier was referred to as Sivanval, a venerable Siva Bhakta.

A few years later, the Rajah of Kollengode, Malabar, celebrated the marriage of his daughter. The festivities went on for a number of days. Musicians of standing from all over South India entertained the wedding guests morning and evening. Anantarama Bhagavatar, a leading musician of those days, was in charge of the music. He said to the Raja, " Dhanam is a musician among musicians. Your Highness may send word to all the musician guests to be present at her recital tonight."

"It was a distinguished gathering," Dhanam told me in a reminiscent mood in 1934. "I began my recital with Veena Kuppier's Varnam in Begada. The music caught instantly. The Maharaja ordered Agra Tambulam for me." (honour of precedence.

I had a Veena recital in Bombay in 1948. I began with the same Varnam. Krishna Bhagavatar, a disciple of Anantarama Bhagavatar, was in ecstasy. "I am reminded," he said, "of an assembly of Vidwans in the Kollengode Palace years ago. The opening lines of this Begada Varnam electrified the large gathering. Dhanam was hailed as the greatest Veena player."

It was a full moon night in Vizianagaram. Ananda Gajapati, the Maharajah and Venkataramanadas his court musician, were on a hike in a Pleasure boat. Between them sat a lady guest of royal patron. Presently, she took up her Veena. The full moon, the cool breeze, the still night, the placid lake and the gliding boat whispered the music of the Spheres as the sweet strains of the Veena mingled with the calm of the night and the charm of the moonlight. "My distinction is the fruit of hard labour", said Venkataramanadas. " Dhanam's is a divine gift. Her Tanam is inspired. Her Raga embodies the spirit. It is all Poorva Janma Punya."

But all this was incidental to Dhanam. Doubtless she found herself famous. Full was her table with the world's good things. Her house was the resort of the elite among votaries of music, professional or otherwise. But even in the height of prosperity, she never lost sight of her ideal; To her the ebb and flow of fortune in a single span of physical existence was of no moment compared to the endless cycle of births and deaths. An ideal, conceived on such an exalted plane and pursued for more than half a century, made its impress on every feature of her music.

And now for a pen picture of the evening of her life spent in retirement, written by him.(~1934)

An old woman of 69, with languid, emaciated body, with eyes that still sparkle though sightless for 15 years past, and clad in cheap cotton this is what one sees today of old Veena Dhanam the solitary survivor of an age of Titans in Carnatic Music long since gone by.

The hoarse shouting and the deafening noise of heavy traffic, the stink and squalor of Chengam Bazar the heart of ever busy George Town, past all this and - more on a Friday evening, one picks one's way, and wistfully eyeing a small entrance in one of the by-lanes, skulks in, as it were, and quietly takes his seat beside the old woman, in a dimly lit, stuffy room. In a brief space of time a few more glide in.

The solemn silence is shortly broken as the old muse takes up the Veena. For a few minutes her fingers seem to toy with the strings. Here, as in everything else about her, one is struck, by her peculiar individual style of Sruti adjustment. Her puissant genius, reveals itself even at this preliminary setting of the strings. A magic spell is cast over the small attentive group. Not a whisper is heard. Why,even a cough is ruthlessly suppressed.

Invariably a soloist, Dhanam plays and sings all alone with not even a Mridangam for accompaniment. Only a sort of drone is kept on by the marvellous dexterity of her frail little finger that rubs the Pakkasaranis, a feature that stands in marked contrast to the loud, regular, intruding ding-dong of all other Vainikas that resembles the chiming of Big-Ben in London. Again, the thin gauge of the side strings and the very light touch of the Plectrum on the little finger add in no small measure to the melody of her music. Barring this, she uses no aids for the two `Meetu ' fingers. This accounts for the meagre volume of her Veena which is a very small one. The outer fringes of a music hall audience often grow restive on this account. But she more than makes up for this by her wonderful singing, of which more anon.

Volume apart, the clear, flawless lines that her `Meetu' weaves on the finger board are singularly free from the bizarre metallic clang so common with others. What is more, her quick- time phrases, rendered in terms of `Meetu', cover an unusually large number of notes this way and that. She executes them all with an amount of rapidity, ease and grace that is hard to find else- where. And this in her age and with her handicap, viz., the loss of sight, is wonderful indeed.

Her Raga elaboration is very systematic, following, as it does, an exalted tradition. The brief survey of familiar Ragas like Todi and Kalyani are models of perfection, and may easily take rank with Lakshana Geetas. The profound conception that Ragam and Talam go together, based upon the vital principle of rhythm, has no greater exponent today than Veena Dhanam. The elegant poise and the measured cadence of her tuneful notes as she conjures them up from between the frets appear to vibrate in perfect unison with the slow majestic rocking movement of the Veena often noticed when she plays.

Her Raga alapana, always brief and yet very suggestive, is pitched to a sublime key. Free from dross of any kind, her Ragas shine with a glorious lustre, as she turns facet after facet, ordering each in its due place and proportion. Her extensive repertoire enables her to turn inside out sphinx-like Ragas like Athana Surati, Begada, Darbar and Kamaz. Their elusive idiosyncrasies are the more tickling when she alternates the wire with the voice, and vice versa.

With meticulous care she has scanned the Raga system and has a clear grasp of its essentials. How. she comprehends the genius of particular Ragas as they come out on the Veena and to what level she has developed her impressionism may be illustrated by a few examples.

1. Varieties of Gandhara in Todi Sahana, Sourashtra, and Saveri; of Dhaivata in Saveri, Todi, and Mukhari; of Nishada in Saveri, Todi and Athana. ( Note where she works them out on the Veena).

2. Sadharana Gandhara side by side with Antara Gandhara in Kamaz.

3. Panchama as an auxiliary note to Dhaivata in Sriranjani and Ravichandrika Ragas that are avowedly Panchama Rahita.

4. Tangible difference in treating Ragas with apparently similar Purvanga and Uttaranga like Sankarabharana, Harikambhoji, Kharaharapriya and Kalyani.

Her Raga Alapana, though always very brief, exhausts the salient features. Yet those who have heard her for years on end far from feeling bored or satiated, marvel at the ineffable charm, variety and freshness of her style. This secret of the supreme art of omission, this ability to blend brevity, freshness, beauty and comprehensiveness is a most noteworthy feature about her.

As I mentioned above even her Raga is set to a subtle system of Tala. And her songs, of course, are very carefully and correctly timed. True, she does not make a fetish of what is at best only a means to an end. It would be an interesting exercise for those acquainted with the instrument to try the following. I have always been struck by the supreme ease and placidity with which she executes several such feats. Her `Laya Gnanam' is the more wonderful in view of the slow time measure that she adopts as a rule. Syama Sastri's Swarajati in Bhairavi she plays in `Misra Chapu ', `Birana Brova' in Kalyani in `Tisra Eka ,' and `Ninuvinaka' in Poorvakalyani in ' Misra Eka ', while Thyagaraja's, Madyamavati piece 'Alagalella' she plays with two even strokes in, lieu of an Avarta of ' Roopaka'. Difficult as these are, not once does she falter or fumble; of such mettle is she made.

Again what is known as Neraval may not be apparent in her music. But Neraval she is performing all the while she plays. For she is a genius dowered with a prolific creative faculty. She always strikes new paths. Beyond mere framework she cares to retain nothing. One surely misses anything like a beaten track in her songs. They are always clothed anew, and come out in fresh and ever fresh hues. Trite old songs that have ceased to interest one acquire a new fascinating power in her hands. It is said that the late Govindasamy Pillal of violin fame called on her on the eve of his departure for good to Trichy from Madras. He asked for her blessings and expressed a wish to hear her play the familiar, old song of Thyagaraja, Sujana jeevana.

Her repertoire is a rich storehouse of also Canarese, Marathi, and Hindi songs. Raja Nawab Ali Khan Chowdry, a member of the Indian Central Committee attached to the Simon Commission and a reputed connoisseur of art heard her some years ago when the Commission was in Madras. He spoke in glowing terms of her `Darbari', `Sohni', `Multani' and 'Malkaus'. On another occasion I had the privilege of acting as her escort and interpreter when the Rajah of Tehri was in Madras. She played before the Rajah and his family and they were all in raptures over her proficiency in Northern music.

By far the most noteworthy feature of Dhanam's Veena is ' Tanam '. It is here that her genius is seen in all its sublime grandeur. Human evolution, they say, is a long, unbroken progress through several births. The gods alone may know through what a long cycle Dhanam has kindled incense at the shrine of the Muse. As in Ragam, so also in Tanam, her Pakkasaranis keep on gently vibrating like a faint drone, and do not beat regularly as if to keep time. Syllable glides into syllable, and numberless curves and jerks follow one another in a deliberate, well-ordered plan, with perfect resonance and freedom from jarring, metallic clang ( a common drawback with most Vainikas, known as 'Panjadi' or `cotton-cleaning ' in professional slang. )'. Her imagination, her supreme mastery over the instrument, her steady `Kalapramanam' or time-sense, and her refined taste and admirable sense of proportion shine to the greatest advantage in this most interesting part of Veena music. Often, this haunts one long after the performance is over. A very sensitive ear can feel the correct relationship of notes in a scale only upto a point. There is an area of perfect agreement beyond the range of the human ear. Such an agreement can quicken or slow down the action of every cell in the human body. Dhanam's Tanam has this esoteric power, the essence of Nada Yoga. This is the basis of musical therapy that prevailed in ancient India. But such experiences are never expressed adequately through the medium of dull, cold print.

True to the age and tradition in which she was born and brought up, Dhanam possesses rare traits as a vocalist. Her voice is sweet clear and powerful. It accomplishes untold varieties of Gamakas and Ravais. It is uniform in the three octaves, a feature absent in most of the well known vocalists of today. It superbly blends with Sruti. It can well be taken as the model of a voice that is Sruti Suddha. So admirably does it merge with the Veena that even an attentive auditor often mistakes the instrument for the voice and vice versa. Lastly, her pronunciation - her songs run in six Languages - is absolutely flawless. She has carefully studied the purport of her songs. This enables her to render them with so much feeling and also accounts for the high level of her general culture. She draws profusely on Sanskrit and Tamil literature for her Ragamalikas. Her manner of blending words with music may well be copied by vocalists. She does not recite a line or two mechanically and then embark on a display of Raga singing. To her, music is no vehicle for sordid, sensuous enjoyment, but a medium of communion with the soul.

In creating an atmosphere that might elevate the art and emphasise the vital literary and philosophic import of her pieces, verses etc., she succeeds wonderfully. Her short arresting Madhyamavati announcing the close of her two hour performance often brings a feeling of regret to many who would fain stay on and have more of this celestial music.

To sum up, Dhanam is a unique figure in the world of Carnatic music. Hers is no music that merely tickles the ear for the nonce. It haunts one like a pleasant dream long after the performance is over. It has an apparent simplicity that on closer scrutiny proves a luring mirage that play hide and seek with the caravan. The Begada Varnam she has recorded oh the gramophone will bear me out. It looks so charmingly simple. But it is enough to tax the most painstaking student and humble his vanity in the dust, once he sets his mind on mastering its subtle intricacies. However, it is sad that she languishes in poverty and oblivion today - a reflection on our own sense of values. I have often wondered at the paucity of enlightened professionals at her Friday performances in her residence all these years whereas every item in her music - the rich repertoire, the ease and grace, the absence of uncouth mannerism, the tense atmosphere, etc. may well be studied for a length of time by votaries of the art. As I said at the opening of this article, she is sixty-nine years old now. God grant this Sarasvati of our times many, many a year more of health and vigour.