Wind is poetic. Wind is
musical.
Isn’t that the reason for many
poets describing the wind, using similes, keeping wind as a metaphor and even
symbolising wind as an ambassador?
Before I go to the second
element which finds a mention in the first line, let me briefly delve into the
first element. Tamizh grammar gives different names to the same wind depending
on the direction from which it blows. As per literature(and as per one’s
experience as well), the quality of the wind varies and is purely dependent on
the direction. Concomitantly, our feelings and emotions too vary. As an
example, the wind blowing from the south is ‘thendRal’ and is supposed to be
very pleasant. On the other hand, the one blowing from the north- vaadai- is
supposed to evoke the feeling of viraha (separation).
Would you believe me if I said
that an entire piece of work in literature revolves around the wind, the one
from the north to be precise? Viraha, which is the quality of vaadai, runs as
the undercurrent in Nedunalvaadai, which is part of the Sangam literature.
Composed by Nakkeerar, it is in praise of Thalaiyaalangaanaththu cheruvendRa
paaNdiyan Nedunchezhiyan. Unlike many other works, the hero appears only
towards the end and even this is brief as the verses here talk about his visit
to the camp to see the warriors who fought for him in the war. Pregnant with
descriptions about nature, the palace and the cot for most part, this work is
on the viraha feelings of the queen who misses her husband and leaning on the
ivory cot with tears in her eyes, listens to the prayers to Goddess KotRavai.
Did I not mention that viraha
runs as the undercurrent? It actually runs subtly even in the description of
nature. One has to read between the lines to comprehend, grasp, understand and
appreciate this fact. What I am giving below is just a sample and these three
lines appear almost towards the end of the work.
வடந்தைத் தண் வளி எறிதொறும் நுடங்கித்
தெற்கு ஏர்பு இறைஞ்சிய தலைய நன் பல
பாண்டில் விளக்கில் பரூஉச்சுடர் அழல.
The cold wind from the north
blew and whenever it blew, the thick flame in the round lamps, swayed and
tilted towards the south.
Pretty simple, right? North to
south. It is logical, scientific and natural. What is great about this?
Anyone who loves just the
surface and wants to stay only there, is bound to ask this.
But people who hate the word
‘superficial’, will say these:
But scratch the surface; go
beyond that.
Don’t read just the lines;
read between the lines as well.
Always aim to see the unseen.
If we follow the latter, we
can discover a gold mine. The Queen’s location(no GPS those days!) is to the
south of the place of war. By saying that the vaadai was blowing, the poet
first touches upon the viraha. He goes a step further and rather than saying
that the lamps went off(which is what happens when the wind blows), he says the
flame just tilted towards the south, indicating that there is a happy ending
and that the king will return to his palace after emerging victorious in the
war. The flame can also be considered as a symbol for the queen, with the
vaadai being the emotion.
This is what the wind does to
the imagination and creativity of poets.
Doesn’t the same happen in
case of music and therefore with musicians as well?
That we cannot hear music in
the absence of wind, is too well known a fact to be even mentioned. But the
fact that some geniuses have used the different types of wind, musically is
something which is known and yet has to be mentioned.
Here is a naayika, besotted
completely with her lover and finds music as a form of expressing her desire
and yes, viraha. The genius that he is, ILaiyaraaja uses a classical raga known
more to invoke the feeling of devotion and certainly not associated with
romance, unlike pentatonic ragas or even complete ragas like KalyaNi.
The raga Simhendramadhyamam is
deep and unlike its Shuddha Madhyama counterpart KiravaNi, is not universal. It
does take a lot of gumption to use this raga in a romantic set up. He has done
this before as well in ‘Aananda Ragam’, a song I discussed here four years ago
(ILaiyaraaja – The Prudent Musican- 14th April 2019) . But this one is different, in fact it is a study in contrast.
If ‘Ananda Ragam’ is racy like
the wind from the north, ‘Thaalaattum PoongaatRu Naanallava’ (Gopura Vaasalile-
1991) is like the wind from sea, soothing and yet deep with a degree of heat
present innately.
The initial humming of Janaki is
like the Kacchaan(wind from the west), soft, quiet and mild. In a matter of
seconds, one sees the sketch of the raga. With the santoor interjecting with
grace, the small flute moves elegantly. Two other flutes take over and play
simultaneously with panache, one in higher-octave and the other in lower-octave,
thus showing the contrasting emotions- joy and viraha. Like the wind which go
up and down during the rain, the keys sound the ascending and the descending
notes of the raga.
The Pallavi (vocals: Janaki)
too has the ascending(rigamapa) and the descending swaras (magarisani.) in the
first two phrases of the last two lines(oh nenjame/en nenjame).The third
line (varuvaayo/ vaarayo) exudes with viraha with some closely packed
swaras (padhamapagamapaga) in vaayo and raayo.
The strings in the beginning
of the first interlude, move with ferocity like the KundRavaadai (wind from the
North- East). Meanwhile, the flute moves with vibrancy like the
Karunkondal (South-East) with the guitar passing like the cross wind, in
between. One sees the two layers of the wind in the two sets of strings. While
one is boisterous and vivacious, the other is delicate and subtle. The santoor
and the keys sway like the branches of the trees.
The flute continues its wave
of enthusiasm in the CharaNams as well, showing up between the lines again in
ascending and descending fashion alternately. One also sees the sudden upward
movement of the wind towards the end of the CharaNam with the penultimate line
showing a steady climb to start with (sariga), a descent(risasa), a sudden
jump(from the lower sa straight to the upper Sa), a slight descent(SaniniSa)
and then an intense descent in the higher-octave (GaRisa). The last line is a
mix of ascent and descent just like the wind blowing in the mountains.
Vaadaikachchaan (South-East)
meets Kacchankodai (South-West) in the first half of the second interlude. This
is how one can describe the flute melody and the santoor melody. If the former
is plaintive and deep, the latter is jubilant and gentle. So captivating is
this spectacle which is full of contrasts that even the percussion stops
playing, absorbing itself in the beauty. Two sets of strings go in tandem, one
in lower-octave and the other in higher-octave and this seems like the meeting
of Vaadai and ThendRal.
Wind is poetic; Wind is
musical..
..just like Life!
No comments:
Post a Comment