Dhanyasi — the gateway drug
Over nine years ago, when I first began blogging, the first raga I wrote about was Dhanyasi:
The story of Dhanyasi is subtle. Neither gifted nor ordinary, neither effortless nor laboured, neither royal nor of the slums. Not to be mistaken for middle of the road — definitely opinionated and emphatic, and with a natural intelligence and beauty.
A self-aware raga that works to accentuate its strengths and lives to please you. Dhanyasi lulls you into believing that you are in control and that she/he/it (depending on your mood)is playing to your whims — plaintive, courageous, encouraging, inspirational, soothing, soothsaying, aggressive, sombre or hopeful (though never overtly cheerful).
In fact, Dhanyasi has played you through and through like a master puppeteer. You notice the strings attached only in hindsight. She is the free spirit that pretends to be kept.
Being a sucker has never been more exquisite.
I was very likely a few drinks down when I wrote this, but I was also immersed in the raga Dhanyasi. Specifically, TM Krishna’s rendering of Shyama Shastri’s Meenalochana brova (from ‘December Season 2008’ concert album published by Charsur Digital works).
Dhanyasi has that kind of effect — a somewhat drug-induced trance-like immersive effect. I think of it as a gateway drug — once you have developed a taste for the wiles of Dhanyasi, you are much more likely to immerse yourself in the really ‘heavy’ ragas.
What make a raga ‘heavy’ is hard to define. Part of it is that extensive use of gamakas (oscillations around a note), especially kampita gamaka. But there are many ragas whose identities rely on gamakas that are not heavy. The second ingredient is the combination of notes and the emotional tenor it evokes. When you listen to a raga, you will know for yourself whether you find it ‘heavy’ or not.
The reason Dhanyasi worked so well as a gateway for me is that it shares some of the same notes as the king of heavy ragas (and for many, the king of all ragas) — Todi. While Todi has all seven notes in ascent and descent, Dhanyasi has five on the ascent — Sa, Ga, Ma, Pa and Ni and all seven on the descent. So once you get a taste for Dhanyasi (a sort of Todi-lite, if you will), it is easier to fully appreciate Todi. Once you start enjoying Todi, the other heavy ragas become a cake-walk, because you now have more of an open mind and confidence when you encounter one. In many ways therefore, Dhanyasi really helped me get much more out of a vast expanse of Carnatic music.
Soft start
I am perhaps lucky in that my first engagement with Dhanyasi was through a particularly accessible voice — that of K.V. Narayanaswamy (KVN). And a fairly accessible piece — Balakrishnan Padamalar composed by Papanasam Sivan. The line “Mazhai Thaduka Govardhana Malai Edutha Thintholan” which is rendered in a faster gait is particularly playful in both music and meaning. Young Krishna is described as the strong-shouldered one who lifted the Govardhana mountain (malai) to block the rain (mazhai).
Viscosity
There is a certain viscosity and stickiness that I associate with the raga. And perhaps the best suited voice and style for this viscosity are those of M.D. Ramanathan (MDR). Like the raga itself, his music can be a bit of an acquired taste with his deep, “sticky” voice, long pauses, and sometimes very slow speed of rendition. When KVN received the Sangita Kalanidhi award awarded by the Music Academy (widely considered the pinnacle of recognition in Carnatic Music), he lamented that his good friend MDR had not received it before his death in 1984. He is believed to have come very close, only to lose out to institutional politics.
Here is his rendition of Thyagaraja’s Shyama Sundaranga.
Pulling at Dhanyasi
For some odd reason, I haven’t come across many substantial instrumental renditions of Dhanyasi. But I did find this exception. The multifaceted ‘Veena’ Balachander playing Thyagaraja’s Dhyaname Varamaina. It is preceded by an alapana.
If the raga Dhanyasi and MDR’s music are acquired tastes for me, Balachander’s music is one that I have only partially acquired. There are five main styles / families of veena playing — Andhra, Karaikudi, Kerala, Mysore, and Thanjavur, but Balachander’s was pretty unique, characterized by heavy lateral “pulling” of strings. I have never quite gotten into his style of playing, but I found not just this rendition of Dhyaname, but the entire album (do listen, well worth the time) subdued, measured and pleasing without losing any of his characteristic heft. Maybe I ought to revisit his music.
To bhakti or not to bhakti?
One of the most popular compositions in Dhanyasi is Thyagaraja’s Sangeetha gnanamu bhakti vina. I suspect, no doubt cynically, that that a substantial portion of the song’s popularity is due to its potency as a signal of virtue. The gist of the song is that knowledge of music is pretty much useless in finding the “right path”, unless combined with bhakti (devotion).
There is this deeply and widely held conviction that one must be a true devotee of the deity that you are singing about to bring out the beauty of a composition or the raga in which it is composed. I think this does an immense disservice to Carnatic music. Yes, you must be able to render with conviction, and convey authentic emotion, but that is different from believing what you sing even when you are not singing it. Call it method singing if you will. If we apply the standard of “sing with bhakti or not at all” to the other arts there’d be little literature and no theater or film.
Here are Ranjani and Gayatri with Sangita Gnanamu:
And here is Balamuralikrishna’s version. His is a different imagining of the composition (from the standard), one that he insisted was more in line with Thyagaraja’s own.
This is as minimalist as Dhanyasi can get. I personally find his version — in its music, gait and minimalism more suited to the meditative nature of this song. Now, which of these artistes sang this song with true bhakti, and what effect that may have had on they way you or I received them is entirely moot!
Of fine lines and goat meat
First, a Bhadrachala Ramdas composition Rama Daya Judave (I am not sure it was actually set to music in Dhanyasi by him or someone else), sung by Vijay Siva. This is actually an excerpt. The full song, not much longer, is part of the album Madrasil Margazhi 2006 which is available on Google Play (and perhaps Apple as well)
There is a fine line between plaintive and whiny, and Vijay Siva does it just right in this piece.
The second is a padam — Ittanai tulambaramay, composed by Muthu Thandavar, and sung by T. Brinda. A padam is a genre of compositions which have romantic themes. In this one, the singer is embarrassed on behalf of a friend. She asks why she displays her infatuation for the Lord (Murugan) so publicly in the streets. There is a delicious analogy to meat-eating, according to this translation. The charanam beginning “Aadu tinraalum…” poses this question: “Even if one eats goat meat, does one make a garland from its bones and wander about?”. You can hear and feel the despair.
On Devi
I began with my reaction to TM Krishna’s rendition on Shyama Shastri’s Meena lochana brova. Here is a rendition by NJ Nandini. Th songs starts at about 30 seconds in. It is followed by extensive swaras and and tani-avartanam (percussion exposition).
And finally, a beautiful and extensive exposition by TM Krishna of Muthuswami Dikshitar’s Paradevata brihatkuchamba, again followed by a tani-avartanam.
Thanks for listening!
Other posts in this series:
