Equanimity in five notes

“Nannu Palimpa”; composed by Thyagaraja, sung by Balamuralikrishna

This is a rendition of one of the more popular compositions in the raga Mohanam — Nannu Palimpa Nadachi Vacchitivo, composed by Thyagaraja and sung by Balamuralikrishna. He is accompanied by MS Gopalakrishnan on the violin and TV Gopalakrishnan on the mridangam.

Mohanam consists of five notes — sa, ri, ga, ga, pa, dha — both on the ascent and descent. It’s scale is the same as the Hindustani Bhoopali. The raga is so intuitive that it feels like you’ve been listening to these notes all your life, even when you hear them for the first time.

Mohanam had a major role in getting me hooked on to Carnatic music — the first time I had enjoyed an alapana (free improvisation of a raga) was when I heard Maharajapuram Santhanam’s rendition of another Thyagaraja composition in Mohanam (Rama Ninnu Nammina). I listened to it again and again and again, on a Walkman, before going to bed.

When you learn Carnatic music, one of the first compositions you learn is a varnam in Mohanam, called “Ninnukori”. All of Chinese classical music (and likely the “oriental spa music”in your local spa / salon / hotel lobby) use the same five notes that are in Mohanam — indicative perhaps that there is something natural rather than invented about this combination of notes. [Incidentally, Japanese Classical Music has the same scale as the Hindustani Gunkali].

There is a story behind this composition by Thyagaraja. It was the wedding day of his daughter. Thyagaraja was anxiously waiting for one of his main disciples Walajapet Venkataramana Bhagvatar to appear — there was a possibility of a no show. In the distance he saw figures approaching. One may have been Bhagvatar. But there were others as well. Rama, Lakshmana and Sita, looking majestic, the brothers carrying their magnificent bows. In reality, it was Bhagvathar carrying in front of him what one imagines was a fairly large painting of Rama as “Kothanda Rama”. This was his gift to the wedding party. Thyagaraja is then said to have burst out singing “Nannu palimpa nadachi vacchitivo, na prana natha?”

“Have you come walking, all this way, to take care of me (Rama)?” There is everything mixed into this moment — huge relief (perhaps in that Bhagvathar had shown up), delight, awe (at both the majesty and humility of Rama)and above all a sense of equanimity — in the end, all is right with the world. How could this day get any better?

Balamuralikrishna was a maverick in many ways, but he was the undisputed master of singing Thyagaraja’s composition. He paid particular attention to the Telugu lyrics, and splitting words in the right places. This is important, not so much in order to get across the meaning of the words, but adding tremendous musicality to the rendition itself.

[I do not understand most of the lyrics of the songs I listen to; many singers do not understand all that they sing. In any case many Carnatic lyrics, much like those of old Hindi film songs, sound unremittingly hyperbolic when translated. Knowing the meaning can sometimes detract from appreciating the music].

He begins with an alapana in Mohanam before rendering the krithi. He ends with solfa-syllable improvisation (kalpanaswaras). This is followed by an excellent mridangam solo by TV Gopalakrishnan.

I hope you enjoy this piece and whether there is anyone walking toward you or not, feel some of that enveloping equanimity of Mohanam.

Three final asides. First, do read this on-point obituary of Balamurali Krishna by TM Krishna, that captures the man, the musician and the somewhat unfathomable genius of a prodigy.

Second, for some reason, Balamuralikrishna does not seem to have sung much “neraval” in krithis — the form of improvisation in which you repeat a line with many different melodic variations, all keeping to the tala cycle. He preferred to go straight to kalpanaswaras. I find this a bit strange. He would certainly have been adept at neraval. And the aesthete in him would I think have seen merit in the exercise. My father guesses that he may have been averse to it because it requires a certain amount of “stretching” of lyrics, and he was a stickler for sahitya and diction. But this is just a guess. If you know, please let me know.

Third, much like Nannu Palimpa, many Thyagaraja songs have incidents in Thyagaraja’s life attached to them. He seems to have burst into song a lot. And there is some real, raw emotion in his compositions. What we have now though are the polished products handed down through the oral tradition. It is almost certain that what we hear today is not exactly they way he sang it — these are likely close approximations. But what is interesting is the creative process. How different were the versions that he sang impromptu, in the moment, vs. the ones that were recorded by his students. Was there a version 1.1 and 1.2? Did he really sing all parts of the composition, with their nuanced melodies, set impeccably to tala on the first try? Or is that part of the hagiography? That would be truly incredible — at least it is something that my small mind cannot fathom. Though it takes nothing away from the genius of the music he has left us.