Veena Dhanam

[A tragic interest attaches to the publication of this article. Ramamurty, who paid this glowing tribute to Dhanammal, passed away early in November, hardly a week after sending in the article to Triveni. He was Chief Reporter to the Madras Legislature, and an accomplished scholar and critic. He loved the fine arts. His contributions to Triveni, The Hindu and other journals were always read with interest. In him, South India has lost a great connoisseur of music.–K. R.]

In the bustle and hurry of modern life, with its many-sided activities and quick-changing values, we may not be able to fully realise the immensity of the loss sustained by the passing away of Srimati Dhanammal, the uncrowned queen of the Veena who for more than half a century received, enjoyed, assimilated and gave out to the discerning world nothing but the distilled essence of classical music, pure and undefiled. Her glamorous melodies exercised an irresistible fascination over two generations of the elite of music-lovers, professional and amateur, and she was the admired model of such popular stalwarts and pioneers as the late Tirukkodikkaval Krishna Ayyar and Trichy Govindaswami Pillai. She was an artist quite apart from even the superior type of musical expert, and stood supreme in the domain of interpretation and exposition of the highest forms of melodic art. In her skilful hands the Veena acquired a new spirit and power, range and charm, and it looked as if she was breathing life into the instrument; the magic of her enchanting music transported us to ethereal regions of ecstasy and dreamy repose yet unknown, unfelt and unperceived. She was at her best in the unrestrained freedom of her own room where the tonal subtleties of the Veena could be heard with greatest effect. On Fridays, her house was the place of pilgrimage for practising musicians, dilettantes and art enthusiasts, both men and women, from this and other Provinces of India and also at times from other continents, the last distinguished foreign visitor being Dr. Arnold Bake. Acknowledged master of music though she was, to her last days she was pursuing her attractive art with unabated zeal and earnestness, in a spirit of dedicated service. Her attitude of worshipful reverence to the Muse, the atmosphere of peace and serenity which she used first to create before she began to expound her marvellous music, and the perpetual freshness of the soothing melodies which she poured forth in all their abundance of Bhava and Raga, the richness and variety of grace and movement, cast a veritable spell on the listener and lifted him far above his mundane self, with its inescapable strife and worry, to the higher levels of what was felt to be life blissful and life eternal. What was the peculiar quality of this much-praised music, the secret of its charm, which attracted hundreds of highly cultured people who were ready and willing to face any amount of inconvenience for just an hour of her unequalled recitals? It is really very difficult to answer this question fully and satisfactorily, because art is that which conceals art and it is not possible even for recognised experts to unravel the mystery completely. An attempt will, however, be made to give the reader some idea of the general features of her music, her unique opportunities and the vast melodic material that helped to evolve her inimitable style.

The well-known truth that the essence of all art is simplicity was nowhere more plainly discernible, even to the most superficial observer, than in the limpid flow of Dhanammal’s exposition. In fact the first thing which always struck the visitor was the apparent transparency and the gliding flexibility of her Alapanas and Kriti renderings. But the disillusionment of the audacious musician, who attempted to reproduce even the main outlines of these interpretations, would be as quick in coming as it was sure to be felt. For he would soon realise that he was pursuing a mirage or will-o’-the-wisp which always eluded his eager grasp, and that the seeming calm and easy smoothness of the surface of her music covered depths too profound to be plumbed by the keenest intellect. There were music practitioners who heard her for years and decades, but hopelessly failed to catch even the fringe of her musical panorama. The simplicity of her melodies was so grand and their easy-looking movement so subtle that they defied scientific analysis and baffled human powers of imitation. While she was thus the envy of the professional and the despair of the diletante, to the end of her life she continued to be the source of solace and the centre of admiration for the pick of classical connoisseurs, always few at any time in any country, but who undoubtedly represented the acme of artistic culture and appreciation. The inimitable charm of simplicity is not confined to the melodic art alone, but is to be seen in other fields of art also, such as literary, plastic or pictorial. Take for instance, Kalidasa, Shakespeare or Ravi Varma and observe the sublime grandeur of their themes and the patent simplicity of their methods of expression; but can any one dare to imitate these creative artists? Of course, Dhanammal’s pursuit was more in the line of interpretation than creative art, strictly so called, but yet this general truth holds good in her case equally well. This was possible for her, because, by her long experience and vast variety of musical assimilation, she was able to get at the core of each raga and visualise its numerous facets as crystallised in the compositions of the old masters, which she lost no opportunity of learning. That is why every one of her ‘alapanas’ presented a new feature of the same ‘raga’ and her exposition was always characterised by a perpetual freshness and individuality which was not known to have been possessed by any Vidwan within living memory. That is also the reason why her renderings were free from monotony and were not overweighted with uncouth excrescences which conceal rather than express the peculiar characteristics of every ‘raga.’ Essentially an instrumentalist though she was, she did not make a fetish of scientific tonal values of the various ‘Swaras’ as she believed that ‘ragabhava’ was a melodic form, artistic as well as emotional, which could be sensed, enjoyed and expressed as a whole, but was not capable of clear-cut intellectual or scientific analysis. As a challenge she once played ‘Saveri’ (a well-known ‘Oudava-Sampurna’) using all the notes in the gamut both in the ascent and descent, except ‘Prathi Madhyama,’ with suitable use of the deflect on each fret, and yet ‘Saveri’ was ringing true and unmistakable at every turn. She used to take particular delight in playing ‘Siva Siva Yanarada,’ asking musical mathematicians among her audience as to what exactly was the tonal value of the ‘Gandhara’ occurring therein. All high-class artists realise the limitations of the scientific ‘swara’ and look upon it as a sort of sound material to be deftly used, rather than allow it to get the better of their artistic sense.

Let us now try to estimate the nature and extent of the unique repertoire which comprised over 60 years of musical output in South India in addition to the numerous North Indian melody types which she mastered. She was a veritable melodic encyclopedia, a living record of musical progress for two or three generations in this Province. Nurtured in her childhood by the essence of classical melodies which then reached their highest level of exposition following the renaissance inaugurated by the inspired trinity, with her musical adolescence spent among the titans in the art like Patnam Subrahmania Ayyar, Maha Vaidyanatha Ayyar, Krishna Bhagavathar, Bikshandarkoil Subbarayar, imbibing their best, steeped throughout her life in the high traditions of Carnatic music, with an insatiable appetite for new melodies, it is little wonder she developed into a musical Colossus dwarfing everyone of her compeers, no less by her unapproachable exposition than by the illimitable extent and rich variety of her musical store-house. While the number of musical giants that contributed towards her early training was admittedly very large, the ‘Vaggeyakatas’ that enriched her stock, moulded her style and enlarged her artistic vision were innumerable in range, depth and quality. Devotional songs of Purandaradasa, Thyagaraja, Dikshitar, Sama Sastry, Subbaraya Sastry, Uma Dass, Subrahmania Ayyar, Pallavi Gopala Ayyar, Veena Kuppier, Doraiswami Ayyar, Narayana Thirtha, down to Singaracharlu, Telugu ‘padams’ of Kshetrayya and ‘Javalis’ of Dharmapuri Subbarayar, Ghanam Seenier, Karvetnagar and Garbhapuri composers, Tamil compositions of Subbaramier, Ghanam Krishnayyar, and Gopalakrishna Bharathi; all this astounding list which would terrify the most omniverous of our music Vidwans, represents but less than half of the countless gems held by this modest looking ‘Sangeeta Ratnagarbha’ (melodic ocean). We have not heard of any reputed expert that can lay claim to even one-hundredth of this immense repertoire. Some of them who have made a distinctive contribution to the music of South India, able vidwans like Konerirajapuram Vaidyanatha Ayyar or Trichy Govindaswami Pillai, did not have more than 50 songs to their credit; they were always perfecting what they had got and their practice was intensive rather than extensive, probably because they concentrated their attention on ‘raga’ and ‘pallavi’ elaborations. On the other hand, one is quite familiar with pseudo musicians who boast of knowing a thousand songs none of which they can sing correctly or well. But there seems to be no instance in the history of modern music, of a single person mastering such a huge number of songs and, what is more, being able to remember everyone of them to the end of his days. Dhanammal was a brilliant exception in this respect also.

Her keen perception of the melodic individuality of different types of compositions and correct understanding of the peculiar merits of the different Vaggeyakaras and above all her right appreciation of the varying degrees of response of her instrument to the special characteristics of each class of composers were clearly noticeable in her expositions. It is well-known that the productions of Dikshitar and many of the songs of Sama Sastry come out best on the Veena; and it is no wonder that she exploited all the possibilities of the instrument to the fullest extent in rendering the grand sweeps of the former and the intriguing curves of the latter. It may even be said that no ‘Vainika’ has yet succeeded in interpreting these two inspired composers so well as Dhanammal; in the hands of less gifted artists they sometimes look like gambols and antics, but with her deft fingers and magic touch she invested them with a dignified poise and charming grace hitherto unperceived. Although it is difficult to pick and choose from the recitals of such a master hand, special mention may be made of ‘Meenakshi’ in ‘Purvi Kalyani,’ ‘Mamava Pattabhi’ in ‘Manirangu,’ ‘Chetha Sri’ in ‘Dwijawani,’ ‘Akshayalinga’ in ‘Sankarabharana,’ ‘Oh Jagadamba’ in ‘Ananda Bhairavi.’ Among other authors, she frequently played ‘Sankari Nee,’ ‘Ambanadu’ and a characteristic composition in ‘Begada.’ Her approach to Thyagaraja was one of worshipful reverence and she used to speak of him with bated breath. She made it a point to offer special ‘puja’ to the Saint-Composer on his anniversary day and played and sang his immortal ‘Kritis’ as one inspired; on one such occasion, her ‘Karaharapriya’ flowed like an unending ocean, and ‘Chakkani Raja’ with all its 30-40 ‘sangathis’ sounded like the voice of the Divine, which is still ringing in the grateful ears of the writer. Of the other songs of the Saint, those in ‘Harikambhoji’, ‘Pantuvarali’ and ‘Saveri’ and ‘Thanayuni Brova’ in ‘Bhairavi ‘ came in for frequent rendering while into ‘Dasarathe’ in ‘Thodi’ she used to pour forth her inner soul. During the last years of her life, she concentrated her attention more on Thyagaraja and was constantly contemplating the sublime truths and eternal verities couched in his musical masterpieces which afforded her mental peace and spiritual solace. Of the numerous stars and satellites that shone or glittered on the firmament of creative art in this Province, she left no one untouched and touched none that she did not adorn. She entered into the spirit of each composition and sang nothing the meaning of which she did not understand, a refreshing exception among, and a unique example for, the abstract musicians of South India. She was awed by Dikshitar, elevated by Purandaradasa, thrilled by Thyagaraja, stirred by Kshetragna, moved by Sama Sastry, impressed by Uma Dass, interested, tickled and amused by the limited attempts of minor composers. For the modern enquirer and research worker she was a shining mirror that revealed a true picture of past glory and was the correct medium to visualise and survey the melodic progress of over half a century.

The Veena is an ancient indigenous instrument with sacred associations and its greatest glamour consists in its vanishing tones and ‘anuswaras’; and it is only the least audible fringes of its majestic syllables that express and suggest the acme of melodic subtleties. It is pre-eminently adopted for ‘Thanam,’ and its self-contained composition gives it a special facility in rhythmic exposition. In the field of ‘raga alapana,’ however, it presents peculiar difficulties in regard to melodic continuity so essential for its effective interpretation. Abstract renderings of ‘ragas’ therefore require the greatest skill on the part of the performer in the use of what is called the deflect (the drawing of the string across the fret), and Dhanammal was able to produce a full gamut of notes on a single fret in this manner in any ‘raga.’ We have heard several ‘Vainikas’ for many years, some of them rhythmic giants, a few of them ‘thana’ titans, most of them experts in time-splitting with all varieties of numerical groupings and diminutions, but she alone could claim the enviable distinction of bringing out long stretches of unbroken melody-types, smooth, graceful and mellifluous, unspoiled by plectral interferences which generally mar the all-round effect of ‘alapanas’ on the Veena. Her mastery of the instrument was so complete that it responded to any kind of call from her deft fingers, which by long practice seemed to have acquired a melodic sensitiveness to the finest nuances of tone which give individuality to our ‘ragas’ particularly of the ‘chaya’ type.

We are accustomed to hear from the common artists insipid musical recitations of Sanskrit ‘slokas’ and Tamil ‘viruttas’ in which a bundle of words is first blurted out followed by an elongated ‘raga’ appendage, without any attempt at adjusting or balancing the two, the whole thing being somehow dragged to the finish, with the result that they present pictures of musical camels or literary giraffes. It was inspiring to listen to the impressive recitations of Dhanammal whose pronunciation, whether it be of the stately Sanskrit, graceful Telugu, or homely Tamil, was clear, free, natural and resonant, and the whole performance was by itself a liberal education on assonance and the balance of ‘bhava’ and ‘raga.’

A neglected domain of art in which she felt completely at home and revelled at ease with apparent relish and gusto was the fairy-land of Kshetrayya, ‘Abhinava Jaidev,’ the master of melodic perfection set in the slowest of time-measures. She rendered all kinds of composition extraordinarily well, but there is no doubt that ‘padams’ were her ‘forte’ and she over-reached and forgot herself in singing and playing these sublimated love themes steeped in the quintessence of ‘ragabhava.’ They were really haunting melodies and while listening to them one felt that the ‘ragas’ took human shape and danced before one’s mental vision. The ‘padams’ in ‘Nadanamakriya,’ ‘Varali,’ ‘Punnagavarali,’ ‘Goulipantu,’ and ‘Saveri’ were frequently heard from her during recent years. Most of these are now lost to us and it is a pity that no gramophone records were taken of any of them during her life time.

She was the only authentic exponent of many original Tamil ‘padams’ of Subbarama Ayyar, Ghanam Krishna Ayyar and others, and it is really surprising that the great demand for Tamil songs had not stimulated music-lovers to tap this genuine source, but on the other hand tasteless or counterfeit stuff is allowed to flood the music market.

Although Dhanammal represented the highest classical tradition in Carnatic music, she did not, unlike many an old-type Vidwan, develop a hide-bound conservative mentality or circumscribed outlook. She was singularly free from that artistic obscurantism which has been the bane of classical atmosphere everywhere. Her interpretation of North Indian melodies like ‘Behag’ ‘Kapi’ and ‘Kanada’ was an eye-opener even to Hindustani ‘Gavais,’ because it represented a high-class style which is now disappearing even in its country of origin; evidently she learnt it from reputed ‘ustads’ while quite young or in her prime and retained it intact. She was a great admirer of the late Abdul Karim Khan, Nazir Udin Khan and other experts of the highest type, many of whom visited her and exchanged notes.

She had no opportunity of learning Western music, but she was able to appreciate its extensive harmony and tonal reaches; and she was particularly impressed by string concerts and solos which she occasionally heard through the gramophone. She generally showed no disposition to discuss music, for she said that it is a thing of beauty to be felt and enjoyed and is not a subject for discussion. But she was stressing the fundamental unity of all music and used to say that there is a place where the music of all countries and races meets, and if one’s cultural stature is high enough to reach that level, then one is sure to appreciate what is good in any music. North, South, East, or West. This is a grand truth known to some, but felt by few, which she seems to have realised through years and decades of musical assimilation instead of by text-book theories.

She dedicated herself heart and soul to the melodic Muse and gave us of her best, and with her death classical music has lost its best representative, the Veena its ablest exponent, and South India its greatest artistic asset. No memorial, whether in bronze, plaster or oil, can keep alive her glorious art which is now lost to us; the gramophone which perpetuates peurilities is not destined to record her superb sweeps and wonderful flights. May the Almighty God give us our invaluable ‘Dhanam’ in a fresh incarnation!