Chaturpandit Bhatkhande
Towards the end of the last century, Hindustani music had run into "doldrums".
Music had become the monopoly of a small coterie of illiterate professionals
who jealously guarded their art. Living luxuriously under lavish courtly
patronage, these narrow minded custodians of music took care not
to create rivals out of their own pupils. Gradually, these professionals acquired
disrepute, and the Muse whom they served fell from her high pedestal
into the depths of public apathy and alien contempt. The
so
called "intellectuals" began to look down with "moral horror" on
this noble art. No other country in the world had placed music so contemptuously
low, and "nowhere were the natural instincts of the young, for
music and rhythm so completely repressed, censored, and
banned, as they happened to be in the country that Vishnu Narain was
born to serve". An utterly selfless and dedicated music-devotee
was needed to create order out of chaos, to restore harmony into disharmony, and to
salvage and re-install the fallen image of the Muse once again on a lofty
pedestal, for us to worship today.
Born on the auspicious Gokulashtami day of 1860, Vishnu Narain
Bhatkhande was destined to play a most significant role in the
renaissance of Hindustani classical music. In the words of a cultured royal
patron of music who was a contemporary and a great admirer of Panditji,
"When Bhatkhande resolved to translate his love for Hindustani
Music into a continued, unwearied day-to-day programme of service, he had to
confront social, intellectual, and finally, professional
prejudices. These took shape as positive obstacles, definite active resistance. He had
to face all this very early in life, even as a student
seeking no more than information and enlightenment, and later on, as a crusader in the
cause of classical music".
A lesser man, or a man inspired by a lesser passion for music
would have fled from the field defeated and crushed by the endless
obstacles in his path. But Bhatkhande's was really a dedicated life, inspired
by a single, undivided aim. In the words of the late D.P. Mukerji:- "If the
renaissance of classical music in the North is due to one man than to any other,
it was due to Bhatkhande."
Born into a cultured, though not well-to-do, Maharashtrian family in Balukeshwar, Bombay,
Gajanan (as he was called in his childhood) was gifted with rare
musical talent, intense love for the art, a remarkably shrewd brain, indefatigable powers
of industry, an impressive personality, and most winning manners.
Equipped with so many great qualities, it is no wonder that he
finally succeeded in the gigantic tasks of reawakening "the sense of history
and pride among people who had slept over this vital aspect of Indian culture",
of reconciling the theory and practice of music, and of collecting and putting
at the disposal of music lovers, thousands of
traditional compositions hitherto closely
locked up by the professionals.
Bhatkhande's life and work fall into four clear stages: The first stage consisted of his
own preparation period, his muscial training, and his important association with Gayan
Uttejak Mandal of Bombay. His earliest musical education was imparted to him
by his pious mother who could beautifully sing passages from the works of
great saints and devotees. He had inherited a sweet voice from his mother, and a keen
musical ear from his father who could play on the Qanoon. He learnt the
flute, Sitar and vocal music from some very eminent gurus like Jairajgir, Raojibua
Belbagkar, Ali Husain Khan, Vilayat Hussain Khan and others. Along with his
academic studies, he devoted nearly 15 years to the study of all the available
ancient music-treatises in Sanskrit, Telugu, Bengali, Gujarati, Urdu, German,
Greek and English with the help of scholars and interpreters. After taking his B.A.
and LL. B. degrees,
Vishnu Narain joined the Karachi High Court and became a very
successful lawyer. But his highly successful legal career was only a brief interlude in
the life of this Sangeet-Bhakta who was destined for work of a
nobler kind. With the death of his young wife and only daughter, he decided to give up
Law and dedicate his entire life to the cause of Music. He had
earned just enough to keep his body and soul together; and that was all that
this devotee needed for the simple life of ceaseless service for music that he had
chalked out for himself.
The next stage in Bbatkhande's life was a period of extensive
touring for the purpose of deep musical research, study, and discussions with the ustads
and pandits all over the country. He toured the entire
length and breadth of the country from Kashmir to Rameshwaram, and from Surat and Broach
to Calcutta and Puri. He visited all the important
music libraries, avidly going through ancient Granthas, and meeting
every living authority on music then. His bulky
private diary running into hundreds of pages gives us glimpses into the
pattern of frugal living and high thinking that he had
set for himself. For instance, it was one of his self imposed rules that he would devote
every day of
his tour entirely for study in music libraries, and never waste a single day for
amusements like sight seeing or social engagements. By his
infinite patience, presuasive ways, and utter sincerity of purpose, Bhatkhande was
gradually able to break down the opposition and suspicion of
some of the great ustads of the day. Those who scorned him for "looting the
great treasures of Ustads," stayed to become his associates,
teachers, and friends. Among the many who helped him immensely were great
Ustads like Mohammad Ali Khan, Asgar Ali Khan and Ahmed Ali Khan
of Jaipur; they gave him more than 300 precious compositions of the Manarang Gharana.
Then followed a period of prolific publications. After pondering deeply over the
voluminous materials he had collected during his exhaustive study-cum-research
tours, Panditji sifted the valuable materials and set about the magnanimous work of
publishing all this laboriously collected material in a large number of
volumes in Sanskrit, Marathi, Hindi and English such as: Abhinavaragamanjari,
Abhinavatalamanjari, Lakshya Sangeetam, the Hindustani
Sangeet Paddhati, the Kramik series in 6 volumes, the Swara-malika and Geet Malika
series, Grantha sangeetam, Bhavi Sangeetam, A Short Hiytorical Survey of Music, Philosophy
of Music, and so on. Thus be has unstintingly spread out before the music loving
public his entire musical wealth. As he himself wrote:- "My sole object has
been to place before my educated, music-loving brothers and sisters, the present condition
of the Art". The fact that he
published all his works under his pen-names "'Vishnu Sharma" or
"Chaturpandit" shows his utter indifference to fame. Besides hundreds
of traditional Dhrupads, Dhamars,
Khayals, Sadras,
Taraanas, Chaturangs, Thumris, etc. that he has published with notations
in his Kramik series, he has also composed and included in this series, scores of his own
compositions, mostly Khayals
and Lakshangeets (nearly 250 or so) under his pseudonym "Chatura".
He also published several ancient music-granthas whose
manuscripts he had salvaged during his country-wide tours.
Although Bhatkhande shunned fame, it came to him unsought. His fame
spread. The cultured rulers of various states like Baroda, Gwalior, Rampur,
Dharampur, Akbarpur etc. became his staunch sup-
porters and admirers. They sent students to study music at his feet.
Under his inspiration, and direction, music colleges sprang up in various places like
Baroda, Gwalior, Lucknow, Bombay, Nag-
pur and so on. Besides these institutions which Panditji used to visit and guide
till the end of his life, there were several others which uniformly
followed his system of teaching, syllabus, textbooks and notations. There are
critics galore who "pooh pooh" at the idea of learning music in
music colleges. But if you ask these critics how else interest in classical music can
be awakened widely, they have no alternative constructive suggestions to
offer. It is not possible for every music-student or music- lover
to go and stay with a guru for years and years trying to squeeze out some
"ilm" out of him by propitiating him with services. A
well-known music connoisseur who is no more with us today, wrote
: "Bhatkhande has done perhaps most for the reawakening of interest in Indian music
and its proper development through its organisation in educational institutions throughout
Northern India. In the provinces where he started music colleges, his efforts
have borne a rich harvest by training up batches of accomplished music teachers who
have spread far and wide the gospel of this great and noble heritage of our
country".
Rightly called the "Father of Music
Conferences", Pandit Bhatkhande was the
life and soul of five consecutive All India Music Conferences held in Baroda,
Delhi, Lucknow (twice) and Varanasi. These conferences were not
merely entertaining but were highly educative as well, since they provided a common
platform for musicians and musicologists from all over the North and South to
listen to one another, to discuss, and come to an agreement on disputed aspects
of music. These conferences achieved a lot for Hindustani classical music and paved
the way for the Chaturpandit's favourite dream. "The mighty
mansion of music," he wrote, "should become accessible to all - rich and poor,
high and low, girls and boys - irrespective of age, and social
status." TodayAll India Music Conferences are the order of the day not only in
big cities, but in smaller towns as well.
Bhatkhande's ceaseless efforts for music continued till he became helplessly bedridden in
1933 with a tragic attack of paralysis and thigh fracture.
It is a strange coincidence that this great "Sangeeta- Bbakta" who came into
this world on the auspicious day of Lord Krishna's birth, shook off his mortal coils
on an equally auspicious Ganesh Chaturthi day (1936). The wealth that he earned in
his life-time of service to music is the eternal gratitude of music-lovers. Year
after year, during Ganesh Chaturthi week, lovers of
Hindustani music get together in numerous places all over Maharashtra and
North India to pay grateful homage to this unforgettable architect and
great law giver of modern Hindustani
music.
From: Great Masters of Hindustani Music by Smt. Susheela Mishra
From: parrikar@ferrari.Colorado.EDU (Rajan P. Parrikar)
Newsgroups: rec.music.indian.classical
Subject: Great Masters 28: Vishnu Narayan Bhatkhande, the Chaturpandit
Date: 8 Jul 1998 07:17:43 GMT
The late Pandit Vishnu Narayan Bhatkhande had
numerous critics around 1921-22. After I had succeeded in learning the
elements of music I had frequent meetings with professional singers. On some
occasions there were mehfils in which both Muslim and
Hindu singers were going to take part. I was yet to develop a real insight into
music but owing to my deep interest in the art I would be all ears when professional
singers were engaged in conversation or controversial
discussions. I distinctly remember that prac- tising musicians of the type I
am describing had very little respect for Pandit Bhatkhande. Their principal
contention was that Pan- ditji was a lawyer and knew nothing about music.
Despite this, they argued, "He has now started teaching musicians
like us the rules and regulations of music. Who cares for what he says?"
Since I had, by then, heard only such hostile criticism concerning Panditji, I too
was prejudiced against him. Around 1924, I saw at a
friend's house a copy of Panditji's book Hindustani Sangeet Pad- dhati,
Part 1, and out of curiosity started reading it at random. I found the author
talking about microtones, ragastructure, tone- sentences relating to ragas etc., all
of which were concepts I had not come across. I was anxious
to read the book from beginning to end. So I borrowed it and read it
from cover to cover at one stretch. Panditji discussed Indian
ragas with an objectivity and thorough- ness very much like a Western
scientist writing on a serious subject. I had not seen anything like it
before. I became aware of my own imperfect knowledge of music and I had also
an desire to meet the author of that book.
Finally, one day taking courage in both hands, I called on him at his place at Walkeshwar.
I had seen him only once before - seated on a bench at Chowpatty
sands. I entered his room with great
trepidation, stood before him and folded my hands in greeting. On seeing me, he put his
hearing aid into one ear and asked, "Who are you and what has brought you here?"
I said, "I am a music teacher." "Where did
you learn music?" he asked. I told Panditji that I was a pupil of Pandit Vishnu
Digambar Paluskar, and had recently read his book, and
wanted to obtain information about some ragas. On hearing the name Vishnu Digambar, he
made a wry face and said, "I am a lawyer by profession -
neither a musician nor a music teacher. What information can I give you
concerning ragas!" I replied, "You have written such beautiful
books giving vast information about ragas. How can you say that you do
not know music?"
He told me that music was his hobby and that he had studied the science of
music. He said, "Whatever information I could collect has been
placed before the public in book form. You should read
these books and see if the information you are seeking is there. It is time
for my bath now so I cannot spend more time with you. Come some other time."
I was sorely disappointed by his answer and could not see why he gave me
the cold shoulder. Some fellow disciples later
explained that the relations between Panditji and our own guruji, Pandit
Vishnu Digambar, were not good. Bhatkhande's books revealed to me
an entirely new way of looking at ragas and he aroused
a deep thirst for knowledge in me. Apparently, my discipleship of Vishnu Digambar
was going to be an obstacle to my desire. I spent a couple of
months in this state of mind. Then I thought of a subterfuge.
One day, around 6 or 6.30 p.m., I saw Panditji seated by himself on a bench at
Chowpatty. On my greeting him he asked me to sit by his side. After some small talk I said
to him, "Panditji, I have
read Part III of your book on music system carefully. A couple of days ago I heard a
recital by Khansaheb so and so. He belongs to a very famous gharana. He sang
Puriya Dhanashri for over an hour most beautifully. But his treatment was quite different
from what you have described in your book. I am afraid the information given in your book
is not correct."
My audacity had the desired effect. He looked somewhat sharply at me and
started talking, "You are very young and without much experience. Have you any idea
of the momentous struggle I had to make before finalizing the nature of each of
these ragas? I shall tell you." During the subsequent hour and a half he
told me in detail from how many different musicians he had heard the
various ragas belonging to that particular division, from how many different
gharanas he had collected the cheejs from these ragas, with which
music experts he had held discussions on the structure of each raga and which
different cities he had to visit for the purpose. After he had had his say I quietly
observed, "Panditji,
this is the information I was seeking when I called on you three months ago; but I
had to go empty-handed - you showed me the door. But
today it was all different. You gave me so much infor-
mation about these evening ragas, told me so much about the different gharanas and
explained the entire method of your researches, so beautifully - I am most grateful. I
always had considerable respect for your scholarship but your
exposition today has convinced me that you are a great man par
excellence." What I said seemed to please him.
He then gave me a piece of advice. He said, "Try to avoid going to
recitals of mediocre people. That will misguide you. There are not many people
left who have received proper training from first-rate
gurus." I modestly intervened to say, "What I told you about Puriya
Dhanashri a while ago was a made-up story. When we met three months ago, I came
away empty-handed. But today when I said that what you had written was
wrong, you felt insulted and angry and in that excited state you happened to tell me
so many things that not only did I get what I was seeking
but I learnt precisely how any one who wants to do research in music
should proceed." He said, "Yes, it was a clever plot to
get your way.
But clearly you are also a music lover. Do come and see me whenever you can."
For nearly two years after this incident we did not meet. Panditji was
busy setting up the Marris College of Music at Lucknow. He had also to make
frequent trips to Gwalior, Baroda and other
places as an examiner.
Having come to know that Panditji had returned to Bombay,
I called at his residence one morning around 9 a.m. Panditji was
reading something in his room. By now I knew that the way to get Panditji to
talk about anything was to irritate him by praising someone he did not rate high.
Accordingly, I lavishly praised two Maharashtrian singers who had recently
come into the limelight. I asked Panditji what he thought of them. Panditji said,
"Unless you move out of Bombay and listen to first-rate musicians in other
cities you will not know what good music is. Which dhrupad singers
have you heard?" I said, "There are no good
dhrupad singers in Bombay. I have not heard any expert singer in
this field. But in any case, what has dhrupad singing got to do with
khayal singing?"
That did irritate him. He said, "Unless you know the
dhrupaddhamar in each raga you cannot understand the twists and
turns and the rules of that raga. Has your guru taught you any dhrupad- dhamars?"
I replied that Panditji (Vishnu Digambar) being frequently on tour,
those of us who had joined the school recently, had to learn music from
other teachers. None of us were greatly interested in the dhrupad-dhamar style but
we had perforce to learn fifty dhrupad-dhamars." Thereupon
Panditji asked me to sing a dhrupad, which I did. After I had finished, he levelled a
barrage of questions at me.
My method of rendering a dhrupad did not seem to be to his liking. He said,
"This is not the way to sing dhrupad. You are
reciting it monotonously like a poem. I fail to see any 'kanas' in the raga
you have chosen. Without these you cannot sing a dhrupad.
Now I shall show you what true dhrupad singing is like. Listen." And he began
to sing a dhrupad. Until that time I had only heard adverse
criticism of Panditji from every direction that he could not sing. But that
day, at his house, without even
the bare minimum of accompaniment of the tanpura and pakhavaj he gave a beautiful
demonstration of dhrupad singing. Panditji had a very loud voice without much natural
sweetness. But the method of
singing was very good. He obviously knew every word of the composition and
every important 'kana' without which you cannot do justice to any
Hindustani raga. Consequently, a true image of the raga stood before you when he sang.
Every glide and procession of short-rapid passages was clearly and powerfully presented. I
was reminded of our own guruji (Pandit Vishnu Digambar) who used to
sing dhrupad-dhamar if he chanced upon a good mridanga player. It also helped me to
understand why our guruji had included so many dhrupad-dhamars in our curriculum.
After Pandit Bhatkhande had finished his dhrupad he began to explain the
finer points of music to me. Before taking up any new point he would sarcastically
ask me, "Has any one told you this?" He explained to me the importance of
kanas (i.e. the grace notes touched briefly by way of embellishment) in
every raga, then asked me, "Do you know the meaning of
the dhrupad you sang just now?" To my 'no', he promptly went on to recite the
entire dhrupad and explain to me the meaning of every word in it. He
also pointed out where I had used wrong words. He not only found fault with my
pronunciation of Hindi words but candidly expressed the view that he had not come
across any Maharashtrian singer who had the ability to employ the attractive
intonation of the original text. He advised me to take up the study of Hindi
seriously and told me not to sing any cheej unless I knew the
precise meaning of every word in it. He took out his files and showed me the
incorrect forms in which he had found cheejs and what stupendous
struggles he had to wage for restoring them to their correct
forms. He explained the methodology one had to use in removing
impurities from old compositions, what precautions to take and the order
in which must proceed.
Panditji said, "The first step is to record the cheej as you find it, then show it to
some scholar who has made a special study of Braj-bhasha. If the meaning is
clear, well and good. In case the meaning is not clear keep it as it is in a safe place
without any alteration whatsoever. A cheej with a respectable and long pedigree is
generally known to several musicians. When you have collected a number
of different versions from several expert musicians you can wade through the different
readings and unerringly
arrive at the original and correct version. We, in Maharashtra, do not have an
accurate knowledge of Hindi. Muslim singers have no Sanskrit
background. So they usually get words (which have originated in that
language) wrong. Generally speaking, the words of the sthayi (first part of
the bandish) are correct but there are numerous ver- sions of the antara (second
part)." He used a sarcastic tone through- out since he wanted
me to know the precise depth of my ignorance. But I did not mind it a
bit. His knowledge was truly encyclopaedic. By the time he
had finished his discourse, it was noon. So he got up to get ready for
his bath.
His whole approach seemed so novel to me at the time that I began to feel a complete
ignoramus despite the years I had spent in the study of music. Later when I
visited other centers of music and
heard the musicians Panditji had specially recommended, I made it a point to
listen to them carefully. And invariably, they all made a deep impression on
me.
I must have met Panditji another half a dozen times in, what I might
call, his abrasive period. He continued to be a most valuable mine of information
but every bit I received was prefaced by the usual "I do not
suppose anyone has cared to tell you that etc." But thereafter, a favourable
development changed the nature of our relationship.
One Prabhakar Bijur, who was at St. Xaviers College with me, having come to know
about my interest in classical music said to me, "I know a
very intimate friend of Panditji's, Shankarrao Karnad. Mr. Karnad is related to me and in
fact he is our landlord. I shall introduce you to him." Accordingly,
Bijur introduced me as a budding musicologist to Karnad who was
duly impressed with the interest I was taking in classical music. In due course, Karnad
put in a good word about me to Panditji. As a result of this recommendation
Panditji became much more friendly.
I think the year was 1928. I happened to pay a visit to Panditji and found him in a
happy mood. He had just received a letter from a well-known Bengali scholar. He gave it to
me to read. The writer showered praise on Panditji for his work in the field of music and
said that no one, since the time of Sharangadev's Sangeet
Ratnakar, had done so much work or written so many books on music. Panditji
said, "Do you see how my work is appreciated in other
parts of India? But in my own homeland, in Maharashtra, I hardly count."
I replied, "You probably do not mix enough with Marathi
speaking people. That may be the reason why Maharashtra has not realized your
worth." Thereupon he said, "I was deliberately misunderstood.
I acted with good inten- tions every time but instead of trying to understand
the motive behind my actions, the Maharashtrians were the first to
criticize me. No one can beat Maharashtrians when it comes to indulging
in battles of words on the scantiest of
information. They can only see the faults in anything, never any good. And
having pounced on the
faults they wax so eloquent that, gradually, others too are unable to spot
anything good in the work concerned. That is why I prefer to do
whatever my competence permits, unaided. I am sure that you are genuinely interested
in doing research in this field. There are
many things still to be done. I have made a list. But every kind
of research needs a certain methodology. If you are interested in my methods you might
like to see this diary in which I have given details of the travels undertaken for musi-
cal research. Read it." And he gave me a notebook of two or three hundred foolscap
pages.
The notebook contained details of his travels in south India on a day-to-day basis.
On the front page Panditji recorded a set of rules for self-guiclance out of
which I recall three:
1. Since I am undertaking this travel purely for research I must not waste time visiting
old buildings and places of historical interest.
2. No time is to be wasted in offering or receiving hospitality and on dinner parties.
3. If the names and addresses of talented musicians or learned musicologists are received
from someone I
shall visit the persons regardless of the distances involved and discuss musical matters
with them and collect information.
The next three or four pages contained lists of books Panditji collected
on South Indian music, the ideas and questions which occurred to
him after he had gone through the books, an enumeration of points which he failed to
understand and questions which troubled him; followed by a description of
persons he met in all the places he had visited - that was the rough order.
Whenever Panditji visited an outstanding scholar he would record the
entire dialogue that had taken place between them. Consequently the diary was also a
repository of several exceedingly charming character sketches.
The diary provided a clue to how Panditji came to write his Sanskrit book
"Lakshya Sangeet." During his visit to Hyderabad state he met a famous Sanskrit
Pandit and musicologist - Appa Tulsi. After an exchange
of preliminaries Pandit Bhatkhande asked the Hyderabad scholar, "Today's music
is a far cry from what is described in ancient books.
My question is whether there is any current standard work which
reflects the contemporary raga forms?" By way of reply
Pandit Tulsi recited a few Sanskrit verses which very ably enumerated the rules governing
some selected ragas. Pandit Bhatkhande was surprised that in his extended
studies of Sanskrit books he never came across the verses he had just heard. Naturally he
begged Appa Tulsi for a loan of the book from which the latter had quoted. Appa
Tulsi refused to part with the book. After a lapse of several days, when the
two Pandits became close friends, Appa Tulsi confessed that what he had recited did
not come from any ancient book - they were verses he himself had composed.
Pandit Bhatkhande's note of that day in his diary
records his conclusion - "The contemporary raga forms do not conform to what is
described in ancient books on music. People do not accept
anything unless it can be backed by Sanskrit quota-
tions. The raga forms I have decided on being the correct ones have been
taken from musicians of the highest reputation. But the only way the public can be
persuaded to accept them as standard forms is by producing a Sanskrit
book which gives the new rules. If I produce such a Sanskrit book it will serve a
dual purpose. People would be pleased to find that there is
substantial (i.e. Sanskrit) backing for the rules and it will also achieve my
central objective in understanding all this work which is to provide
a framework of rules for the existing raga forms and systematize the whole
thing." Pandit Bhatkhande's book "Lakshya Sangeet" is the result of
his foregoing thoughts.
I often wondered why my own guru Pandit Vishnu Digambar and Pandit Bhatkhande showed
no inclination to work together on a co-operative basis in the field of music.
Around 1928, when Pandit
Vishnu Digambar happened to be in Bombay, I raised this question with him. His reply
was as follows:
"I came to Bombay in 1908. Pandit Bhatkhande was in Bombay then and
invariably attended my recitals and I think he liked my music. I got to know
him socially later and we met two or three times. Around
1913 or 1914 he said to me, 'You run a big, well attended music school. You know
how deeply I am interested in this field. I have travelled all
over India, met and heard numerous musicians in an effort to find out precisely what is
pure in which should govern all the ragas. So why do we not do this? You do
the practical job of teaching music and I shall give talks on the science of
music.' Pandit Bhatkhande also prepared a scheme for providing
musical instruction through books and lectures."
From Pandit Vishnu Digambar's subsequent remarks I got the impression
that the two Pandits had serious differences of opinion in regard to the implementation of
Bhatkhande's scheme.
All the same, within a year of my conversation with Pandit Vishnu Digambar, I
got an opportunity. to bring the two great men together. It happened this
way. On January 6, 1929 my school (i.e. Deodhar's School of Indian
Music) was to celebrate its annual function in the main hall of Wilson College.
Pandit Vishnu Digambar was in Bombay then and he readily agreed to attend the
function when I told him about it. I told him that I had also invited Pandit
Bhatkhande to attend the function and he had agreed. I said,
"I fervently wish that you and Pandit Bhatkhande sit close together and
give us all the great pleasure of seeing two such eminent personages in the
field of music close to each other." My guruji said, "As you
wish. Pandit Bhatkhande has performed the magnificent task of providing a scientific
framework to music. I greatly value his pioneering effort and I
have the deepest respect for the man." Pandit Vishnu Digambar turned up a
comfortable ten minutes before the ceremony was to commence at the Wilson
College Hall. I showed him to his seat on the dais. In that very instant I saw
Pandit Bhatkhande entering the hall. I immediately rushed towards him to welcome him but
before I could reach the entrance he had already taken a seat at the rear of the hall. I
respectfully requested him to move to his proper seat on the stage
but all I succeeded in doing was that he moved a couple of rows forward. Sir
Chunilal Mehta, Barrister M.R. Jaykar and Sir C.P. Ramaswamy
Aiyyar were also among the invitees. Seeing Pandit Bhatkhande, they all
went up to him and, despite his protests,
succeeded in escorting him up to the stage and made him two Pandits to
the accompaniment of a tremendous applause from the audience. These two top figures
in the field of music sat next to each other
for over an hour and a half and I also saw them amiably engaged in conversation.
The members of the audience too sensed the unique nature of the occasion and there was a
general air of delight and gratification amongst them. In 1930, I happened to be
boarding a bus which would take me from
the Fort to Opera House when I found Pandit Bhatkhande doing the same. We took
adjoining seats. Seeing the conductor approach our seats Panditji said, "Deodhar, you
pay your own fare and so
shall. No one is to spend for the other's journey." After an exchange of
pleasantries, Panditji began to talk About my guruji. He said,
"Your guruji is one of the most outstanding figures in the field of music.
Music needs him and would need him for many more years. But it is
rumoured that your guru has taken up religion in a big way these days - that he has become
an ardent devotee of Rama. I understand that at Allahabad, in
mid-winter, he stands for hours in waist-deep water at the confluence of Ganga
and Yamuna repeating the name of Rama. At his age this is most unwise,
he will not be able to stand it; it will ruin his health. You and his other
disciples should immediately write to him and persuade him to give it up." Panditji's
concern and advice left no doubt in my mind that he had
considerable admiration for our guruji's achievements. Around the same time (i.e. in
1930 or thereabout), there was an English Collector
called Clement at Ahmedabad who used to preside over the Ahmedabad Philharmonic
Society. The society was to organize a music conference at Ahmedabad in order,
among other things, to pass a resolution to adopt the
Western staff nota- tion in Indian music. Pandit Bhatkhande had hardly the
backing of any powerful organization(s) behind him but he was completely
against letting anyone implant staff notation into our music by force. During that bus
journey, Panditji casually told me about the meddlesome Clement Saab's nefarious
plans and expressed the hope that I, and other disciples of Pandit
Vishnu Digambar, would write to our guru and draw his
attention to the development. "A highly placed British officer with
all the power of the British Raj behind him can do practically anything he
wants," Panditji said. "The only person in our country who is capable of
foiling Clement's aims is Pandit Vishnu Digambar!" he added. As a matter of fact, I
had already received intimation of this business from Pandit Narayanrao Khare.
Pandit Khare simultaneously wrote to Pandit Vishnu Digambar about what was
happening. The latter promptly instructed Khare to put up large
placards all over Ahmedabad announcing that Pandit Vishnu Digambar and
his students were to visit Ahmedabad shortly and hold a series of
concets there. Pandit Vishnu Digambar's expectation was that the
announcement would suffice to bury Clement's plans. And that is exactly what
happened. As soon as Clement heard about Panditji's
plans he cancelled the music conference. Pandit Bhatkhande was visibly relieved to hear
all these details from me.
Around 1932 or 1933 I found Panditji seated on a Chowpatty bench one evening with
another person. The stranger was apparently trying to persuade Panditji
to write on Indian Music in English. Panditji firmly ruled this out. He said,
"Do the British write their scientific books in Marathi so that
Marathi speaking people might understand them? Those who are sufficiently interested
in our music should learn Marathi and read what I have written." At this
the stranger pleaded that Panditji should at any write in Hindi or Urdu.
Panditji glanced at me and said, "Firstly, Hindus have virtually lost this art
- it is entirely in Muslim hands. Although at one time it was a
purely Hindu inheritance, no Hindu can aspire to acquire it unless he is prepared to
demean himself before his Muslim masters and to do everything he is asked to do. All
that remains with us today is the science. I have written my books in
Marathi in the hope that the science at least remains with us, if not the
art. Hindus, at any rate, should be able to
quote what is written to the Muslim performers - the one thing that will
hold them in check. Hindus will be honoured at least as Pandits, if not as great
performing artists! I have so far written only one book in English. In fact it was
not meant to be a book at all - it was an essay written on the
existing literature
on music for the music conference in Baroda." Panditji looked at me and
added, "Remember what I just told you. Whatever you want to say on music - say
it in your mothertongue as far as possible."
Pandit Vishnu Narayan Bhatkhande was extremely studious. He visited most of the
libraries in India and read every book on music they had to offer. He studied
Urdu and Persian literature on music with the assistance of munshis specially
employed for the purpose. He reprinted and published a number of rare
books on music. He arrannged for many singers of long standing and
erudition, from different gharanas, to visit Bombay in order to collect
cheejs. If any great Muslim singer seemed unwilling to part
with the music of his gharana he was not above agreeing to become his shagird in order to
acquire the store of learning. Temperamentally, he was somewhat shy but
at the same time outspoken. He was somewhat of a lone wolf; he did not believe in spending
money on others and neither did he let others spend money on him. He had
few friends - one always saw virtually the same small group of people
around him. Shankarrao Karnad of Bandra seemed to be an especially favoured
and trusted friend.
Panditji and Karnad used to meet often and discuss anything Panditji had
recently written or any recent additions to Panditji's stock of cheejs. He seemed to value
karnad's judgement. Whenever
Panditji came across a particularly rare cheej he invariable made three copies of it: one
for himself, another for his closest disciple Principal Ratanjankar and the third
for Shankarrao Karnad. Not only was he averse to pushing himself forward, he was
almost allergic to publicity. he never craved for riches. People used to say that
the late Maharaja Sayajirao Gaikwad of Baroda had great regard for Panditji and had
given subtantial financial assistance to Panditji for his researches in music.
Pandit Bhatkhande was deeply religious. After his daily bath and
prayers he used to do a set number of repetitions of rudra. He was meticulously regular in
his habits and, as a rule, avoided late nights. he enjoyed good
health virtually till the end.
In 1935, Pandit Bhatkhande fell ill and was confined to bed for almost a
year. He would seem to recover a little at times - only to fall deeper in the throes of
the disease, once again. The end finally came on the morning of September 19,
1936. According to the Hindu calendar it was Ganesh Chaturthi, the first day of
the Ganapati festival. Bhalchandra Sukhtankar promptly conveyed the
news to Vamanrao Deshpande and me though a messenger. We both went
over to Panditji's residence to Walkeshwar. It was decided that Vamanrao
should remain at Panditji's residence to attend to the visitors who
would come to offer condolences. I engaged a taxi to go round to the place of
every musician friend, singers and instrument players, to convey the sad news.
My first halt was near Chowpatty Bandstand where Khansaheb Alladiya Khan
used to live. After informing Khansaheb about what had happened
I contacted various other singers in the city and
then returned to Walkeshwar. There were not more than half a
dozen people assembled there, including the Thakur of Dharampur,
Prabhat Devji, Dr. Bhajekar, Barrister Jaykar, Dr. Gharpure and a few others. With
the exception of two or three music teachers in Municipal Schools no other musicians
turned up there. The funeral procession started at 10 a.m.
The bier was carried by persons who had already assembled to Walkeshwar crematorium where
Panditji's body was consigned to fire.
Pandit Bhatkhande formulated the scientific laws of music. The entire
world of music owes a permanent debt of gratitude to Panditji for his unique
contribution.
From: "Pillars of Hindustani Music" by B.R. Deodhar
Translated by Ram Deshmukh
Bombay Popular Prakashan (1993)
Pandit Vishnu Narayan Bhatkhande
by B.R. Deodhar
Posted on RMIC by Rajan Parrikar as part of the Great Masters series
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