The Last Miracle
Sitakant Laad
In Girgaum, near the Opera House, in a house in Bhatwadi, the walls of the living room were adorned with colourful paintings of women with charming faces and elaborate costumes. All the paintings gave the impression of depicting the same woman. Throughout the day, there was a frequent coming and going of handsome men in striking attire – wearing clean dhotis, short coats over white, slightly yellowish shirts with the collars neatly in place, their long hair mostly hidden under tall velvet caps. Conversations revolved around plays and music. Every so often, someone would exclaim, “Ho Deva, khara aahe Deva” (Oh God, it’s true, God), invoking the divine. His voice was as sweet as honey, and it seemed as if he was singing even when speaking, and one would hear him being greeted from the doorway with “Ya Deva” (Welcome, God).
The Curtain Rises And…
Dressed in carefully preserved clothes, as if going to a special function, I first went to a Gandharva’s play in my school days. To the left of the curtain was that picture in the house – of a beautiful woman standing with her arm diagonally across, as if to avoid someone’s aim. Below the stage, on the left stand, a neck-banded gentleman, and on the adjacent stand, someone holding a gleaming, tarnished pot from which he diffused the fragrance of incense. The bellows of the harmonium, the constant adjustments of the sarangis. One sarangi player even gauging the tempo of the tablas in between. With the third bell, the curtain rises, entering a spectacle that feasts the eyes. The voices of the characters begin to resonate through the scene. In that clamour, descending the steps of a palace and approaching over the colourful carpets spread below, appears a vision that looks exactly like the woman in the picture, and she begins to sing, – “Nath ha Majha” (My Lord is this). I feel, I should get acquainted with this woman, keep listening to her sweet talk, get a chance to speak to her a lot. There should be such a woman in the family who speaks like she sings. Everyone gathered must be feeling the same. For many days, the atmosphere in the house was delightful. Imitations of the songs, of the dialogues too. Everyone would sing with enthusiasm, with an open throat. After watching a Gandharva’s play, entire families would remain immersed in such joy for days on end. What a power of artistic talent this is!
In Homes And Even In Society
Kakasaheb Khadilkar, along with Balgandharva, would feature on the cover art of plays and books. Sometimes, N. R. Phatak, who lived next door, and large-sized paintings of Balgandharva in his grand roles would be seen on special issues of monthly and weekly magazines of that time, and on calendars of major trading companies. Decorating with Balgandharva’s paintings was commonly used to attract the public. One could say, he even surpassed feminine beauty. The sight of him had a charm that not only enhanced the beauty of the home but also kept a person’s spirits uplifted. Like in shops and hotels, these paintings seemed to have taken a place next to Lokmanya Tilak’s portraits in homes. Royal women would repeatedly watch plays like ‘Manapman’ and ‘Swayamvar’, abundant in costumes and jewellery, to imitate Balgandharva’s attire and makeup, while in common society, one would occasionally notice traces of Gandharva’s influence on mannerisms, movements, speech, and style. Near the Gandharva Company’s residence at Gowalia Tank, devotees visiting the temple would be seen waiting expectantly for a glimpse of this ‘God’ in simple clothes. Similarly, at the Royal Opera House, devotees and art lovers would be seen circling the spacious grounds of the theatre, eager to get a good look at the ‘God’ who arrived three hours early to get ready. No matter the occasion or who was on stage, if Balgandharva was present in the audience, the eyes and whispers of the audience would be fixed on his seat.
A Fad Among The New Generation
In Mumbai’s Girgaum and Pune, especially in the Sadashiv and Narayan Peth areas, one could hear devotional chants and songs at music schools. The lessons in singing and instrumental music at these schools would begin with Balgandharva’s compositions. After training Balgandharva in the original compositions and songs, Bhaskarbuwa, starting with ‘Swayamvara,’ stemmed the mixed stream of music on stage and ushered in an era of pure classical music, bestowing concert-like prestige upon these compositions. Music school lessons were the next step. In this wave, even renowned singer-actors couldn’t resist the temptation to imitate Balgandharva’s ‘alaaps’ and flourishes, and the feast of performances by accomplished vocalists wouldn’t be complete without a course of one or two of Balgandharva’s songs served to the audience. Through these songs, a sufficient understanding of ‘raag’ reached the common listener. As soon as the notes of classical singing fell upon their ears, the new generation developed a fad of calculating which of Balgandharva’s songs it resembled, guessing the ‘raag’, and keeping ‘taal’ by clapping hands while singing the first line of the song. Hardly anyone dared to get entangled in the web of the subsequent lines in the ‘antara’ of the song.
Rukmini’s Adornment
‘Swayamvar’ is the first play of the Gandharva Company, written entirely by Khadilkar for Balgandharva. While Bhaskarbuwa rendered the compositions for the ‘cheeza’ set within the radiant prose framework embellished with poetic ornaments, and words were crafted to match the ‘cheeza’, some wrappings of Khadilkar’s verses around attractive ‘cheeza’ became so unattractive as to verge on incomprehensibility. Yet, the faces of the verses were so charming that they instantly captivated the audience. The harmony of prose and poetry was so seamless and elegant that the eager audience, relishing the majestic accompaniment of Ustad Tirakhwa, would spontaneously applaud, anticipating the ‘sabha’! The soliloquies in this romantic poetry yearned for a union with music. The dialogues sought to embrace the notes with effortless grace. Rukmini, eager for Krishna’s companionship, included the audience in her joy with such enthusiasm, gauging that ‘rasanishpatti’ (aesthetic experience) was occurring even with slightly off-key notes. She carefully modulated her voice, ensuring that connoisseurs wouldn’t perceive a flaw in the ‘raag’, and then released those notes! Precise calculations were made about how much to draw out certain lines or even individual words in the verses, accompanied by appropriate ‘swaraabhinaya’ (gestures and expressions according to the notes) suited to the context. There was no chance of any ‘mudraabhinaya’ (hand gestures) that was extraneous to the ‘rasa’ or the context. There was joy in listening to the verse, and joy in watching it. While playing with the sentiment of love, intoning words in a soft voice, Balgandharva would play with the fingers of powerful ‘tabaljis’ like Tirakhwa-Rajanna, who had mastered ‘Gandharva gayan’ (Gandharva style of singing), in such a way that one would wish the play would never end. While enacting ‘Narvar Krishnasaman’ (‘a line from a song’) he would toss and arrange the granular ‘taans’ (melodic phrases) with such flair that it would appear as if a radiant garland of pearls was blossoming and being strung on the stage, giving the illusion that Rukmini herself was arranging its adornment for her ‘swayamvar’!
‘How Sweet Is His ‘Nishad’!’
The ‘tabla’ maestro Ustad Ahmedjan Thirakwa, bowing before this deity of the musical field, said, “I acknowledge only two ‘Nawabs’: The Nawab of Rampur in singing, and the singing Nawab of Marathi theatre!” “If I feel like listening to music, I go and sit for a Gandharva play. Even the wrong notes from that sweet tongue are dear to me. How sweet is his *Nishad*, I can’t even produce it myself,” said the musical emperor Alladiya Khansaheb, a Mount Everest of Hindustani music who rarely attended singing concerts. These words of praise, coming from him, left the ‘Pandits’ frustrated and shook the very grammar of music.
“Let Me Repay My Own Debt.”
From the time of his stage debut, Balgandharva’s intense self-confidence, nurtured by all-around adaptability, gave rise to a persistent desire and, consequently, a stubbornness. He wouldn’t find peace until his wishes were fulfilled. With a passion to create and keep his patrons, the audience, happy, he took on debts of lakhs. Loving Balgandharva and rushing to his aid in times of crisis became the duty of Maharashtra’s discerning audience. And considering the faithful service of his audience as his duty, Balgandharva considered his personal sorrows insignificant compared to their happiness. The practice of Balgandharva, to kneel and bow his head to the stage in his costume immediately after the curtain fell, saying “Annadaate Maaybaap (Provider Parents)” as a salutation to the audience, never failed! When, under the leadership of Bharat Sevak Samaj, well-wishers offered a purse of two lakh rupees to repay his debt, Balgandharva refused, saying, “The debt incurred due to my mistakes should be repaid by me, through hard work, before my patrons!”
‘Sindhu’, Crafted With Utmost Dedication.
Balgandharva never used to talk about himself, let alone about his achievements. He acknowledged criticism but avoided unnecessary chatter. Ganpatrao Bodas used to speak with pride, repeatedly mentioning how his friend, Gadkari, had given more prominence to the character of Sudhakar. The realization that the Vasundhara-Vrindavan match in ‘Punyaprabhav’ was missed due to Gadkari’s conditions remained constantly in his mind. Accepting challenges with conditions that were usually unacceptable, Balgandharva acquired the manuscript of ‘Ekach Pyala’ and created ‘Sindhu’ with all his dedication. To further enhance Bodas’s fame, he even suggested using a photograph of Sudhakar, who stood tall in ‘Ekach Pyala’, in the advertisements if needed. And – from Sindhu entering with mock anger towards Sudhakar, saying, “What is this nonsense, just calling out my name?” to Sindhu saying, “What greater fortune could I have than to die on your lap with my hands full of haldi-kumkum?” before breathing her last, ‘Ekach Pyala’ is brimming with the sublime tragic sentiment created by Balgandharva. Balgandharva was so intertwined with the rapidly changing life that other characters appeared lackluster in front of the divine Sindhu, and the audience’s sympathy was focused on Sindhu. Sindhu’s lines like “Chandra chavadhicha, Ramachya ga bagemadhye chapha navaticha” (The moon is full, and the champak in Rama’s garden is fresh) and “Swastha kasa tu? Utha gadya, utha gadya, zhani tak udya” (Why are you idle? Get up, man, get up, and jump quickly) bathe the audience in maternal affection, while Balgandharva fills the single word ‘Rajsabala’ (noble damsel) in the line “Baghu nako majakade kevilvana rajsabala” (Don’t look at me with such pity, noble damsel) with so many different emotional tones that tears flow freely from the audience’s eyes! Gadkari did not live to see the victory of simple clothes over royal garments. Undoubtedly, Sudhakar was portrayed with extraordinary power by his exceptional talent, and Bodas brought him to life with equal strength, but for days after watching the play, the minds of the returning audience were occupied only by the tragic figure of Sindhu, leaving no room for any other subject.
She Turned My Tunes Into Gold !
‘Ekach Pyala’ was, more than Sudhakar speaking the language of diamonds and rubies even in a state of destruction, the play of Balgandharva’s Sindhu, singing a language overflowing with affection! Sundarabai’s timely musical arrangements lent a fitting lift to Gurjar’s beautiful verses. Balgandharva gave her a place among the musicians in his court, adding a Ghazal-Qawwali style to the treasury. Along with elevating Sundarabai’s status in society, the Lavani of a Bai (woman) who served the people standing up, also got a seat on a prestigious platform. While presenting the original compositions of the songs in a mehfil (musical gathering), she would say, “Only they should sing these tunes. Even I cannot sing with such beauty. They have turned my tunes into gold!”
A Challenging Time
Bhaskarbuwa, imparting the essence of classical ‘gayaki’ to Khadilkar’s ‘Draupadi’, gave Balgandharva his final rehearsals. After Buwa, his dedicated disciple, ‘Sangeetkalanidhi’ Master Krishnarao, carried on the tradition of the ‘Gayanacharya’ so competently that whether the plays were successful or not, the stylish ‘gayaki’ pieces within them attained the status of a ‘baithak’ performance. After Balgandharva turned forty, from 1930 onwards, shorter three-hour plays started gaining popularity, and winds of change began to blow. Even in this challenging period, Balgandharva brought N. V. Kulkarni, Khadilkar and Vasant Shantaram Desai’s new plays – KanhoPatra, Savitri, and Amrutsiddhi – to the stage with their characteristic opulent grandeur.
A Bhajan In The Gayaki Style
With his all-encompassing collector’s mentality, Balgandharva effortlessly presented musical forms on stage that appealed to all popular tastes, all musical schools of thought, and all temperaments and inclinations. As if to leave no stone unturned, starting with the play ‘KanhoPatra,’ he transformed the traditional ‘bhajan’ style of devotional music by adding a classical touch, and established ‘bhajani’ groups in the ‘gayaki’ style, both on and off the stage. When Govindrao Tembe publicly criticised, “By singing excessive ‘bhajans’, Balgandharva is turning the delicate silken threads of his throat into ropes,” Balgandharva, who was waiting for the right opportunity, invited him to a ‘Swayamvar’ performance in Pune. From the very first ‘Yaman’, he showered such a torrent of notes at him that an unsettled Govindrao, as Rukmini exited into the wings completing the ‘Mam Sukhachi’ song in the second act, grabbed both of Balgandharva’s hands tightly and said, “Narayanrao, please don’t hold anything I’ve written or said against me, I was wrong. May you continue to sing for a lifetime, and may God give you the rest of my life for it!”
A Historic Agreement
Acharya Atre’s ‘Gharabaher’, which he had entrusted to Balgandharva, was awaiting its turn on stage. Kakasaheb Ashtaputra was contemplating on the storyline of Devaki. Damuanna Joshi’s ‘Sashtang Namaskar’ on Balmohan Rangbhoomi, written by Atre, brought child actors like Bapu Mane-Soudagar-Nagesh Joshi, Dhumal, Apte, etc., into the limelight overnight, initiating an unparalleled joy of laughter riots. Meanwhile, Natyam Manvantara’s ‘Andhalyanchi Shala’ (School for the Blind), with women included, began to guide audiences towards a new direction on stage. The older generation lacked the energy to endure the rigours of producing new plays. Balgandharva’s third loan had reached a figure of seventy-five thousand rupees! In such circumstances, to provide for Balgandharva’s happy and contented retired life, under an ambitious plan to produce some talkies featuring him in his famous female roles, the renowned filmmaker-director V. Shantaram, with the mediation of Vasant Shantaram Desai, a playwright for Gandharva Company and a celebrated theatre critic, spearheaded an agreement between Balgandharva and Prabhat Productions for the initial two talkies, bringing considerable relief to Balgandharva. K. Narayan Kale wrote the first talkie, titled ‘Mahatma’! Without investing a single paisa, Prabhat’s five owners on one side and Balgandharva alone on the other, this agreement, promising a fifty-fifty percent profit share, was the only one of its kind in the film industry and of historic importance. The greatness of Balgandharva’s art was his capital.
Manaapmaan: Naatha, I won’t speak now – Bhamini (Balgandharva) and Kusum (Sadubhau Ranade)
‘Mahatma’ Becomes ‘Dharmatma’
For thirty continuous years, Balgandharva, who presented female characters in captivating attire before the Marathi society, appeared on the silver screen for the first time in the form of a dhoti-barabandi clad figure with a prominent shendi (tuft of hair) and well-groomed moustache, encircled by chaman gota (decorative border). The question was whether a three-minute song by this ‘Mahatma,’ freely performing his musical art on stage, would appeal to the audience and satisfy them, or even himself. Moreover, Mahatma Gandhi’s movement against the British Raj was gaining momentum, and the movement for the upliftment of Harijans (Dalits) was intensifying. Accused of taking “unnecessary and distorted stances regarding the prevailing political situation and religious issues,” the British censor banned the release of the talkie, and it was even published in the Bombay Government Gazette! After herculean efforts, the censor was convinced, and objectionable scenes were re-shot according to their suggestions, transforming ‘Mahatma’ into ‘Dharmatma.’ The talkie was released and began to generate revenue. However, in the midst of all this, Balgandharva’s interest in that world waned. Due to the whims of the machinery, limitations on movement, speech, and song, etc., Balgandharva opted out of the initial two-film contract and returned to the stage, and the tanpura (lute) of Sant Tukaram went into the hands of Vishnupant Pagnis! Balgandharva used the share from ‘Dharmatma’ to repay most of his third loan.
Atre Melted Away !
The silver screen began to capture theatre houses, and the singing-dancing-talking entertainment on the screen started attracting even the theatre’s audience. The days of men playing female roles were fading, and the dawn of women singing and entering the stage began to rise on the theatre scene. Some performers who had joined the Gandharva Company for short-term roles began recommending singers for the lead female role, and without anyone in the company or their acquaintances even dreaming or imagining it, Balgandharva suddenly announced his revolutionary decision of having a woman play the female character! He was consumed by the passion to revive his theatre. While presenting his new plan in a detailed article, in the discussion of the Gandharva Company’s culture and the reasons for women not being able to come ‘outside’ onto the stage, a couple of sentences in the article slightly hurt Acharya Atre. Atre got agitated and unleashed his guns on Balgandharva through his ‘Atre Uvach’ column in his ‘Navyug’ weekly. A war began, and the Atre-Gandharva controversy continued to resonate for a long time, festering and worsening. As Atre’s pen, which wrote with sugar when pleased and lashed with spice when hurt, and the pens of the opponents, started taking unpleasant turns, the need for a ceasefire became apparent. Balgandharva said, “Baburao will calm down as soon as we meet.” During the reconciliation, as soon as they met, Acharya hugged Balgandharva, lifted him up and said, “Narayanrao, seeing you melts away the bitterness. From today, the argument is over!”
Swayamvar Play – Bal Gandharva
The Marvel Of The Centenary Celebration !
The centenary celebration of Marathi theatre, held with immense enthusiasm in April 1944 at the grounds near Charni Road station, by the sea in Bombay, was historically significant and a testing time for Balgandharva’s good fortune. This event commenced against the backdrop of terrible explosions that shook the entire city of Bombay. N. Chintaman Kelkar, B. V. Varerkar, and N. S. Rajhans (Balgandharva) were chosen by majority vote to preside over the function. Under Balgandharva’s leadership and in his presence, the theatre, which had reached glorious heights, seemed unfazed by the calamities. The open-air theatre, auditorium, residential tents, etc., constructed after days of relentless hard work, stood in all their original splendour, undeterred by the disaster. This grand festival, scheduled to begin on April 14th, commenced on April 15th and continued with the same pomp and show for twelve days. The enthusiastic presence and harmonious coordination of the President, Balgandharva, and the Chairman of the Reception Committee, Acharya Atre, during the auspicious proceedings of the festival, was a pleasant topic of discussion among the seven to eight thousand spectators!
“Keep Singing, Son!”
At the festival, during the performance of the play ‘Swayamvar,’ barely had Rukmini made her appearance when the attention of eight thousand spectators was drawn to an elderly man with a white beard and mustache, dressed in a pink shawl, who was literally being supported by volunteers through the main entrance. Ustad Alladiya Khan Saheb, who had arrived despite his ill health, was seated on a special seat in front of Rukmini. After quickly finishing her affectionate conversation with her brother, Rukmini stepped forward and, bowing her head before Khan Saheb for a moment, began, – “Nath, haa Majha” (He is my Lord).
In the second act, Balgandharva, with hands folded in prayer to Jagdamba, turned those very hands towards Khan Saheb and began to sing, “Mame Sukhachi Thev, Deva, Tumhanpashi Theva” (Keep with you, O Lord, the treasure of my happiness).
The ninety-year-old Khan Saheb, with his raised, trembling hands, was appreciating Rukmini’s verses. After the third act, he was taken inside upon request. Khan Saheb gave his final blessings to Balgandharva, who bowed and touched his feet, saying, “Bahut sunaya, gaate hi rehna beta.” (You sang beautifully, keep singing, son.) And he left. That was the last play of Balgandharva that Khan Saheb heard. He was never seen again after that, in person or in motion. An incident from a year before the grand festival was troubling Balgandharva. A criminal complaint had been filed against him in the then princely state court by Sardar Madhavdas Munshi, an officer in the service of the Baroda State. This was due to Balgandharva’s failure to repay a loan of twelve thousand rupees he had once taken from the Sardar within the agreed time. To resolve the case, it was decided to hold a special performance of the play ‘Ekach Pyala’ (which was not included in the festival lineup).
Since including it in the festival would affect the festival’s daily revenue, it was planned to announce it on the last day and conduct the performance a day later. Sardar Saheb had also agreed to settle for eight thousand rupees.
On the day of the performance, the revenue from ‘Ekach Pyala’ had reached around fifteen thousand rupees, and ticket sales were still ongoing. The play reached its peak intensity and concluded at six in the morning.
After the accounts were settled and eight thousand rupees were handed over to Sardar Munshi, the remaining amount from the specially held performance was offered to Balgandharva by Dr. Bhalerao. Upon this, Balgandharva said, “Doctor, isn’t a fund being raised for those left destitute in that explosion? Please consider this my donation to that cause!
People from all castes, religions, and political affiliations, displaying a spirit of unity and equality, gathered at Balgandharva’s theatre hall for his performances until the end of his career. Balgandharva portrayed the virtues of ideal women like Sukanya, Supriya, Sumata, who were raised in the Indian culture and traditions, with such compelling visual and auditory aspects that he became the unparalleled architect of the wondrous era of the 20th century, where handsome men played female roles. To get intoxicated with the memories of the past, forgetting all sins and accidents, the audience rushed with devotion to watch his performances in his later years as well and worshipped this radiant lamp of theatre and culture that had been burning before them for fifty continuous years.
This singing swan from a family learned in Vedas and Shastras, honoured by Lokmanya Tilak and who had won the favour of Chhatrapati Shahu Maharaj, went to Miraj Sansthan, by the order and patronage of Chhatrapati for the treatment of his ears which were weakened by a dog bite, and unexpectedly got entangled in the captivating web woven around him by the skilled artisans of the Kirloskar Company, which had shut down due to the lack of a female lead – this was the first miracle in the life of the sixteen-year-old Balgandharva.
His extraordinary talent performed numerous miracles on the stage, and the dedication he took for the revival of our theatre in the new era created the final miracle of his life.