Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Tyagaraja (1767-1847)

A link from Chapter 1


By V Ramnarayan

Tyagaraja was one of the greatest composers in Carnatic music. Known as the ‘pitamaha’ of the realm, he became part of a miraculous trinity of the greatest composers in the tradition-the other two were Muthuswami Dikshitar (1775-1835) and Syama Sastry (1762-1827)-born in the same little town of Tiruvarur, within a few years of one another.

Tyagaraja was born to Kakarla Ramabrahmam and Sitamma, a Telugu brahmin couple, at the home of his maternal grandfather Giriraja Kavi, a poet-composer in the court of the king of Tanjavur. He was named after the presiding deity of the temple at Tiruvarur.

Tyagaraja began his musical training under Sonti Venkataramanayya, a noted music scholar and court musician, at an early age. Music was a spiritual pursuit for him, his expression of his devotion to his favourite god, Rama. From a talented and devout singer, he eventually became a composer. Singing the praises of Rama was reward in itself for him, so much so that he refused lucrative offers to become a court musician. His rejection of worldly success and wealth in favour of the service of Rama is beautifully encapsulated in the famous song Nidhi chala sukhama in the raga Kalyani. “His lyrics reveal great depth of knowledge of the sciptures, epics, legends, purana, musical expertise, his humility as well as self-respect, introspection, and sense of humour,” says The Illustrated Companion to South Indian Classical Music (by Ludwig Pesch, Oxford University Press, 1999).

Tyagaraja was a prolific composer who had a major impact on the development of the south Indian classical music tradition, the structure of the typical Carnatic music composition, in particular. He developed the kriti as we know it today from the kirtanas belonging to the utsava sampradaya or tradition of festivals celebrating gods.

To Tyagaraja is attributed the origin of the present pattern of the kriti consisting of the pallavi, anupallavi and charanam, the song developing upwards from the opening or pallavi towards the middle part or anupallavi and concluding in the charanam. All three portions of the song, which occur in seamless progression, are marked by sangatis or melodic and rhythmic variations on the lines of verse that make up the song. The sangati is regarded as Tyagaraja’s major contribution to Carnatic music.

While Tyagaraja composed kirtanas in the bhajana tradition as well, but predominantly kritis in over 200 ragas-including several he created-he was also responsible for Prahlada bhakti vijayam and Nauka charitam, musical narratives of myths in the operatic style. Most of his compositions were in Telugu, a language brought to Tanjavur from migrants from Vijayanagar in present-day Andhra Pradesh.

His pancharatna kritis are five compositions in the ghana ragas Nattai, Gowlai, Arabhi, Sriragam and Varali, which crown the annual Tyagaraja Aradhana at Tiruvaiyaru where his samadhi or final resting place is situated.

Tyagaraja sang his compositions facing Rama’s idol while his disciples wrote the lyrics down on palm leaves, which were handed down to future generations of disciples in an unbroken thread. Though he is said to have composed thousands of songs, only some 800 or so have survived.

SOME TRIBUTES TO TYAGARAJA

Dr S Radhakrishnan says in his preface to The Spiritual Heritage of Tyagaraja by Sri C Ramanujachari:

“The name Tyagaraja means the prince of renouncers, of those who give up worldly desires. Tyaga or renunciation is the way to mental peace and freedom. In one of his songs Tera tiyagarada? Tyagaraja says, “O Supreme Being, Tirupati Venkataramana, could you not remove the screen of pride and envy, which is taking a firm stand within me, keeping me out of the reach of dharma and the like.”

“Tyagaraja was a person of great humility. He expresses the truths of the Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita in simple and appealing language. He addresses the Supreme as Rama. The kingdom of God acquired through devotion is the greatest of all treasures: Rama bhakti samrajyamu.

 “If we have faith in the Divine, there is no need to worry: ma kelara vicharamu.

“The secular must be invaded by the spiritual; only then is life dignified. Self-realisation is through self-giving.”

In the Introductory Thesis of the same book, Dr V Raghavan says Tyagaraja is probably the greatest of the great music-makers of south India.

He attributes his success to his powerful genius that comprehended the varied excellences of the early masters as well as his own brilliant contemporaries. 

He compares Tyagaraja with Purandaradasa and Kshetrayya for sheer volume of output; he calls him a second Bhadrachala Ramadasa in his anguished appeals to Rama; he finds him as lyrical as Kshetrayya; in devotion, religious fervour and reformatory zeal, he considers him an equal of Purandaradasa again, and so on and so forth.

“From plain Divyanama sankirtana, full of words, epithets and long and difficult compounds, he soars to artistic creations in which, into a few words, an eddying flood of music is thrown.”

Dr Raghavan speaks of the poetic excellence and spiritual value of Tyagaraja’s compositions. He describes his creativity as the consummation of fragrant gold as in the works of Jayadeva, Purandaradasa and Kshetrayya. However, while praising his sangita, he also speaks of his sahitya as “a treasure of thought the contemplation of which would make one forget everything about his music.”

An article in Issue 41 of Sruti by N.S. Srinivasan, a producer at AIR-Hyderabad and a flautist trained by Mali, titled Tyagaraja As Composer: More Human Than Divine argues that Tyagaraja’s music is a product of great musical intelligence and acumen, not the handiwork of Providence alone.

Srinivasan asks if the bhava which is said to be the lifeblood of Tyagaraja’s kritis is sahitya bhava or sangita bhava.

He maintains that the musical mood conveys the meaning of a song even when the singer mutilates the lyrics, as in the case of classical musicians who do not know Telugu.

They may mispronounce words or split them ridiculously when they sing Tyagaraja’s songs, sometimes unwittingly conveying inappropriate meaning in the process, but the emotional appeal of the music is still intact.

He stresses that not sahitya alone but music also contributes to the bhava of a composition. “It has been rightly said that a song is a fusion (samyuktam) of notes (datu) and words (matu). This fusion is indeed one of the secrets of Tyagaraja’s success.”

Tyagaraja was a Rama bhakta but also a composer par excellence. To call his compositions the products of divine ecstasy is to ascribe his genius to his heart and take away credit from his brilliant mind.

Tyagaraja expressed sorrow and turmoil with great musical beauty. He handled ragas rare and common, even vakra ragas, with ease, intimating the raga in a flash and painting its whole picture in the very first line. His kritis show perfect balance between form and structure. To place too much emphasis on his bhakti alone is an injustice to his musical genius.

According to his biographer William Jackson, Tyagaraja represents an archetype, a symbol in which opposites unite dynamically. 

He may be accessible, even popular in his musical outpourings, but he is inwardly a mystic with the power that emanates from self-realisation. 

His songs, steeped in the essence of over 200 ragas, including some he created, draw from a reservoir of collective memory and wisdom. In turn, he made a lasting impression on the collective memory of south India.

Sangita Kalanidhi TV Subba Rao as quoted by Jackson, said, “Tyagaraja united the apparently opposite qualities of conservatism and progress, of reverence for antiquity and impatience of restraint, of the prejudices of the heart and the revolt of intellect. He is a classic romanticist and a conservative radical. His life in ethics and aesthetics is the evolution of perfect harmony and attunement from the discordant principles of thought and action. Nothing short of the absolute universality of his mind could have succeeded in saturating his songs with that spirit of sweetness, peace and bliss which lingers in our soul long after the sounds have faded away.”

No wonder Tyagaraja’s anniversary has been commemorated for over 160 years—now in several parts of the world. For this we must thank the thousands of humble devotees who have selflessly contributed time and effort, as well as money, to show their reverence to the saint composer through music.


Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Ragas and Me

 V Ramnarayan

The first song I learnt in Todi was the varnam Eranapai, which my sister and cousin had to sing over and over again until their teacher, the pattu vadyar who came home, nodded his approval. Kalyani was of course Kamalambam bhajare in my mother's lovely voice, as she sat before the family deities on Friday evenings.

Soon I learnt to recognize Hindolam through Bhajare Gopalam and its Hindustani equivalent Malkauns through Man tarpat, the Mohammad Rafi song from Baiju Bawra. Chalamelara in Margahindolam was a favourite as Amma sang it regularly, but I did not know the name of the raga then, nor did I know that Vijayambike was in Vijayanagari, though I knew both songs backwards. I was all of nine or ten.

I knew of Tyagaraja and Dikshitar, because Tyagaraja signed his songs with his name and Dikshitar gave away the name of the raga within the song (Guruguha did not enter my consciousness yet), but Syama Sastri and other composers were strangers to me still, even though Brovavamma in Manji and Amma's voice cast a spell on all of us.

I knew Mohanam and Bhairavi through varnams in the ragas, and Hamsadhwani by Vatapi Ganapatim bhaje, but also a strange assortment of compositions in Ramanannu brovara (but had no idea it was in Harikambhoji), Munnu Ravana (I knew it was Todi, because I already knew the varnam in that raga), Saranam, saranam (I knew it was Asaveri, and could vaguely identify songs in that raga on the rare occasions I heard them in concert or on the radio), Sangita gnanamu in Dhanyasi and Sarasijanabha sodari (I could recognize both ragas thanks to these two songs; they made such a strong aural impression that a couple of years ago I was able to correct a senior vidwan who mistook a Nagagandhari alapana for an exploration of Jaunpuri during a concert, purely on the basis of my memory).

I knew some other ragas, too, but on the basis of film songs, not necessarily of the uplifting kind. For instatnce, ! recognized Arabhi from Erikkarai mele poravale pennmayile, Suddhadhanyasi from Brindavanamum Nandakumaranum and Shanmukhapriya from Kurangilirindu pirandavan manidan.

I also managed to learn ragas like Surati and Chenchurutti through some Tiruppavai songs my periappa Sundaresan tuned, for us youngsters, to learn for a competition at the Balasubramania Swami temple at Teynampet. Even though the field was not very competitive, I managed to do badly, thanks to a violent attack of nerves.

The famous ragamalika Bhavayami Raghuramam was doing the concert rounds in the 1960s when I was entering college. I was always drawn to the Nattaikurinji segment of the song, but for years did not even know the name of the raga, and even after learning it, tended to forget it all the time -somewhat like a besotted young man unable to recall the face of the object of his affections. Whenever I heard the raga again, I was always reminded of the words Dinakaranvaya tilakam while struggling to recall the raga's name.
Surprisingly I could tell Anandabhairavi and Reetigaula apart without much effort unlike some of my more knowledgeable friends, but Purvikalyani and Pantuvarali always posed a few problems, as did a whole host of Shanmukhapriya-like ragas. Latangi and Kiravani, I was glad to learn, can stump at least one famous musician - by his own admission.

Just in case I have impressed the reader by the use of the past tense in the foregoing paragraphs, let me confess: I still practice good old hit and miss when it comes to raga identification, but happily, I can enjoy any raga, lose myself in any raga, even if I can't put a name to it. There are few that I dislike, in fact none, thanks to the sheer beauty of raga music and the marvelous way good musicians treat ragas. Listening to lec-dems on ragas, ragalakshana and ragabhava by the likes of R Vedavaili, R K Shriramkumar and Sriram Parasuram has enhanced the raganubhava several fold for me.

To make another confession, Hindi film music, especially songs during the decades from the 1950s to the 1980s made a much deeper impression on me than Tamil film songs, and may I be forgiven for this act of blasphemy. Naushad, Chitragupt, Shanker-Jaikishen, Khayyam, Roshan, C Ramachandra, Salil Chaudhuri, Hemant Kumar, S D Burman and Sardar Malik provided hours and hours of delight, especially through their more melodious numbers based on ragas. Listening to Vividh Bharati during the lazy afternoons of summer vacations was sheer heaven, as was the delightful introduction to ragas that the station provided through its iconic programme Sangeet Sarita. It was through Vividh Bharati that I came to know that sitar maestro Ravi Shankar was a first rate music director in films, starting from Satyajit Ray's Apu trilogy, and peaking with the Hrishikesh Mukherjee classic Anuradha. Hayere voh din kyun na aaye in the raga Janasammohini (a Valaji clone), by Lata Mangeshkar was one of the many film songs of the era that rose to the highest levels of aesthetic excellence.

So, here I am, the editor of a premier magazine on the performing arts, but with a strong grounding in film music. If I stand before you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, charged with treason to the cause of classical music, so be it. I plead guilty.


(The author is Editor-in-Chief of Sruti magazine)

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Of crows... and cartoons

FROM THE ARCHIVES OF FRONTLINE

Interview with R.K. Laxman
by gowri ramnarayan

JANUARY 31, 1992





"LOOK, I am tired of interviews. I don't want to explain yet again that I still don't know where I get ideas for my cartoons." That is Rasipuram Krishnaswamy Laxman, who has been tirelessly reflecting the bewil­derment of the mute millions of this country through his check-coated common man, a daily witness to the Indian political panorama. Over the past four decades the cartoonist's animadversions have continued to be witty, satirical and wholly funny.

Laxman's talent for drawing and painting surfaced in childhood and enabled him to illustrate elder broth­er R.K. Narayan's articles and stories (in The Hindu) while still at the Maharaja's College, Mysore, study­ing politics, economics and philoso­phy. He drew political cartoons for Swatantra, edited by Khasa Subba Rao. For six months, he was part of an animated film unit at Gemini Stu­dios in Madras before shifting to Bombay. After brief stints with Blitz and The Free Press Journal, Laxman ensconced himself as the editorial cartoonist in The Times of India.

After the explanation, "I want to talk about your crows, not cartoons," the eyes gleam, the smile appears and Laxman's irritation is replaced by interest. What follows is an up­roarious session. "You said it, Mr Laxman," even more zany, irrepress­ible and wide-ranging than could have been planned. These excerpts from that rambling talk the artist had with this writer focus on the car­toonist's passion for the common crow, a repeated subject of his pop­ular paintings.
Since when did you become interested in crows as a subject for your paintings?

As far back as I can remember from childhood, the crow attracted me more than any other bird because it was so alive on the landscape. In our garden it stood out against the green of the trees or the blue of the sky, against the red earth or the cream compound wall. Other birds are afraid and get camouflaged.

But this canny scavenger could look after itself very well indeed. As a three-year-old I observed it carefully, my hands always itching to sketch its antics. My mother noticed that I was becoming rather good at drawing crows and encouraged me because the crow is the avian mode of transport for Saturn, Saniswara of the Hindu pantheon. By drawing his mount was I averting his evil eye? Of course, I ignored this religious in­terpretation. For me looking at the crow affords pure aesthetic pleasure.
Granted, the crow is a perky thing to watch, but how does it generate aesthetic pleasure? It h
as no colour scheme or dainty shape, no beauty or grace to speak of.

It is beautiful for an artist. To me the peacock seems a very ugly crea­ture. I cannot bear its overdeveloped harsh shades. Its colour separation is an inexpert job. Perhaps the great Creator, after shaping all the beings of the world, used the leftovers to make this hideous thing as a joke. Otherwise, is it at all reasonable to find a front blue, a rear you cannot make out, and that great sweep, the train, an imitation broomstick? It can't fly much with that trailing tail, nor walk properly. This tail must have been an afterthought to feed vanity. And when it begins to dance, to me it appears most uncouth.
How much of your knowledge is backed by any ornithological study?

I know the birds, one picks up information as one reads and observ­es. But my main preoccupation is not scientific. I know that crows differ in colour and size in different regions, even within India. In Kashmir, the smaller, rather brownish crow has a call totally distinctive. Why, even in places near Bombay, crows have beaks bent at the tip like eagles. Some crow-fanciers swear that each locality in a city has its own brand—the Dadar crow is distin­guishable from the Warden Road crow. As I see it, the crow is the only bird with a gregarious, vivacious na­ture. It is the only bird which gathers before sunset on rooftops in rows for friendly chitchat.
Do you think crows have a sense of humour?

I think they are nearer human beings than other birds. And they are terribly intelligent. They keep an eye on arrivals and departures. That is why perhaps we believe a single crow caws to announce visitors. And do you know, a crow will come very close to an infant to steal its food. But it knows that after the age of four, a man-child spells danger.
Have you made friends and established wider contacts through a shared love of crows?

People keep sending me articles and clippings on the subject from many sources, from many places. Like the Station Director of AIR, Bangalore, after my radio talk on crows. Many others seemed im­pressed enough by my comments and observations to write to me. For instance, crows are adept at stealing the soft lengths of wire used to tie high-tension wires above electric trains. They are nesting material for the thieves who take them away as many times as they are replaced. An official told me that this causes a loss of six to seven lakhs of rupees each year to the railways.

Aha! I can see you falling a prey to crow lore! That is why I said let me talk about something more interest­ing than my cartoons!
Just how many crow paintings have you done over the years? Have you
drawn other birds besides crows?

I can draw any bird, of course. But I can't work them up into a se­ries. Owls, eagles, storks and hens are just birds—they have no character, no stories, no drama. I have painted hundreds of crows—singletons, pairs, threesomes, whole murders of crows (Don't look so horrified! That is the collective noun, not a bloody scene!). I have sketched crows from different perspectives, from near and far. In many moods, too. The crow has great pliability and flexibility for varied treatment.

An artist makes viewers aware of the common things around us which go unobserved, in the human face, in light and shade, in a tree, in a land­scape, mountainscape.... I want to bring those unnoticed aspects of the crow to viewer attention. And I think I have succeeded in making people see the crow as an essential part of our lives in this country. Visitors to India—diplomats and representa­tives of multinational corporations— often approach me for a crow or two because that bird is their most vivid memory of the country. One of my crows hangs in Iceland now.
Is your fascination for crows in any way related to your instinct for drama, for liveliness, for vivid humour as a cartoonist?

Well... I haven't thought about it that way. True, cartooning is not a dead art, it hits the eye as does the crow. If you can stretch your imag­ination and bend your logic, you may say there is a connection between my crows and my cartoons!
Do you enjoy modern art?

I am a great admirer of the Im­pressionists. I used to like contempo­rary art, but they all look the same to me now. The eye is gouged out of a child or woman, the figures are dis­torted into impossible postures. I humbly admit that I don't under­stand them and I don't know how anyone can derive pleasure out of such compositions, colours, arrange­ments, themes. As for more abstract work, that is totally confusing. Be­cause printing technology has im­proved so much, you find that such abstractions have crept into maga­zines and newspapers—to illustrate articles about water scarcity, floods or communal rioting! Somehow the editors have felt that symbolic repre­sentations would be far better than straightforward illustrations. This has led to irresponsibility among art­ists. They toss off anything—a stroke here, a smear there, and declare, "This is my vision of the Mandal Commission report."
Is it that you dislike abstraction and distortion? Do you prefer realism?

It is a question of suitability and beauty, of how you do it. Our gods, our heroes, our demons, our mythic forms, have all been conceived in ab­straction. Whether you go to Dwara-ka or Udupi, you find the temple idol has a dynamic and powerful stance. The temple sculptors took liberties with reality, but retained the quality of Indianness and infused beauty in­to their forms. I have studied their deeply ingrained sense of proportion and originality at Hampi, Konark, Khajuraho, Belur, Badami....

I find their work radiant! What a splendid figure of action the Natara-ja makes with hair flying, leg up­raised! Or take Ganesha. Where can you find such an exciting and unique design? It has humour and a sense of pure mischief too. And what a con­trast they offer! You strike a silence before Nataraja but chuckle when you see the elephant-headed god.

(Breaks off to look at a sari-clad Westerner passing by.) Just look at that. That sari is beautiful. But it is out of place on that large occidental frame, just as that brown and green clash with white skin and blonde hair. So, there is satire everywhere. You have to note it and shape it when you want it!
With your varied interests and zest for life do you sometimes feel oppressed by the fact of having to turn out a new cartoon each day as you have been doing for the last 42 years?

Not sometimes. Always. Every day I grumble, I plan to resign as I drag myself to the office. By the time I come home I like my work.






A multifaceted genius



or.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call the late Sundaram Rajam a multifaceted genius, said V Ramnarayan, for­mer cricketer and editor-in-chief of Sruti Magazine, speaking at the Narada Gana Sabha Mini Hall recently. Titled 'Remembering Sangita Kala Acharya S Rajam', the event recalled Rajam's avatars including that of a musician, painter, photographer, music teacher and an actRajam, who is the elder brother of renowned veena player S Balachander, has the credit of popularising kritis of Ko-teeswara Iyer, besides promoting kshetra keerthanas and vivadhi ragas."He was never an Agmark Mylapore maama. He enjoyed smoking cigarettes and eating non-vegetarian food. When he talked toyou, he made you feel like you knew as much as he did. He lived an extraordinary life," said Ramnarayan. "He guided the carnatic community with his rational and logical way of explaining his approach to music," he added.

On the other hand, Lalithaa Ram, biographer, focused on the artistic side of the legend. "He has done many series of water colours and illustrations, which had been published in magazines and books. In fact, the portrait of Sangeetha Mumoorthigal (Dikshitar, Thyagaraja and Syama Sastrigal) was originally created by him, but he never felt the need to patent his work," said Lalithaa Ram. He ran through a few PowerPoint slides, which showed Rajam's phenomenal con­tribution in the field of both music and painting. He was one of the rare gems who never indulged in self promotion. It's hard to see a wonderful human being like him," said Lalithaa Ram.

Vocalist Dr Vijayalakshmi Subramaniam, who has learnt music from Rajam, reminisced his penchant for effortless singing, "It has been five years since he passed away but I still hold a few memories of him close to my heart. He was always interested in exploring the lesser-known aspects of music. His paintings, which were deeply rooted in culture and philosophy, showed that he was a true performing ar­tiste," she said. S Rajam's son Ramamoorthy felicitated Ramnarayan and Lalithaa Ram towards the end of the event. The evening also saw a music concert by Dr Prema Rangarajan on vocal, Usha Rajagopalan on violin and Kallidaikurichi Sivakumar on mridangam.

— Express Features


Thursday, November 27, 2014

Uday Bhawalkar's dhrupad concert on 11 December at SPACES

Uday Bhawalkar in  Sruti Pattabhi Raman Memorial Concert


Members of the family of the late Dr N Pattabhi Raman, founder of Sruti magazine, present a grand vocal dhrupad concert by Sri Uday Bhawalkar, accompanied by Sri Pratap Rawat on the pakhawaj, at 7.00 pm on Thursday, 11 December 2014, at SPACES, 1, Elliots Beach Road, Besant Nagar, Chennai 90.

Sri Bhawalkar will also take part in a lecture-demonstration at 9.00 am on 12th December at Raga Sudha Hall near Nageswara Rao Park, Luz, Mylapore, as part of the 3-day Lec-Dem Mela organised jointly by the Karnatik Music Forum and the Sruti Foundation during 12-14 December 2014.

All are welcome.


Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Gowri's talk for the Soka Gakkai Society

Value Creation for Global Change
Talk by Gowri Ramnarayan
27 November 2014 

This has been a wonderful opportunity to learn about Soka Gakkai, read about the founders of the society, its goals and achievements.

Also, thinking about the subject made me reflect, revisit and re-live some experiences. I remembered our prayers at school, where every morning we chanted:
Buddham saranam gacchami
Dhammam saranam gacchami
Sangam saranam gacchami

My teacher explained, “When we chant these words, we are not thinking of Gautama Buddha alone. We invoke buddham – the light of knowledge, latent within each one of us. We hope that this light will help us recognize dhammam – the power of discrimination, to separate right from wrong; do right, shun wrong. Sangam is crucial to this process of self-awakening, because we must seek and bond with the community of wise people. They inspire us, and charge us with life-long resilience to continue the quest.

I guess my teacher was talking about a quest for values – on the terrestrial as well as the spiritual plane – for world peace, as also peace within the self.
It was with avid interest therefore that I learnt about how, in their pursuit of peace, the founders of Soka Gakkai created, reclaimed, sustained and rejuvenated values -- in times of world war and nuclear holocaust. 

To these threats our times have added a greater evil: global terrorism. Our age of excess has also fostered monstrous greed, and unprecedented ravaging of natural resources. Once destroyed, these resources are gone forever. They cannot be recovered.
Any endeavour to promote peace and prosperity today has to reckon with two sets of questions. 

First,
n      How to overcome fear?
n      How to foster physical courage?
n      How to promote moral strength?
n      How to find inner tranquillity?  

Second,                                          *How to control consumerism?
                                                        * How to prevent climate change?
                                                        *How to save the environment?
                                                         *How not to poison the air, the rivers and oceans?
                                                         *How to stop war? Bomb blasts?
One thing is crystal clear. Both greed and terrorism are not merely physical threats. They are threats to the spiritual life as well.

Reading President Daisaku Ikeda dialoguing with farsighted achievers in diverse fields -- is to join his stimulating, thought-provoking sangam with world leaders and public intellectuals. In these talks Mr Ikeda’s own comments, questions and reactions are marked by a deep understanding of the human condition today, and the possibility of transformation, before tomorrow. It is easy to see that he is motivated by compassion (karuna), for all the people of the world. A quality we associate with true vidya (knowledge) and genuine gnana (wisdom). “ I am particularly struck by how easily he encapsulates the highest truths in the simplest language.

To create a new civilization based on the dignity of life he suggests that: I Quote:
“Instead of being absorbed in the minor self of the ego, each individual must recognize his or her connection with all life in the cosmos. By doing so, we can escape our obsession with greed, advance along a more compassionate path, and bring about mutual happiness for ourselves, and others.” End Quote.

We all know that any hope of change is from the young, and they must be convinced before this change can happen. Young people are not impressed by bombast. They like it crisp and brief, but also honest. Look at the clarity with which Mr Ikeda talks about education – not as a college degree, but as a means of extending the frontiers of the human mind. I QUOTE: “Education at its best is a process of liberation from prejudice, freeing the human heart from violent passions. Those who have learned to trust in themselves, are naturally able to believe in the latent capacity of others.” End quote. 

Can you make a better case for education as empowerment, education as the means of dispelling mistrust -- which is a major obstacle to development? It seems to me that with this kind of approach, education becomes a healing process.

Nor does he confine himself to socio-economic welfare. He sums up a basic Soka Gakkai principle: I QUOTE: Only when its people are actively engaged in spiritual and intellectual struggle can the economic power of a country be utilized to the broad advantage of humankind.” End QUOTE
Today, as an artiste, I ask myself. In this process of creating humanistic values for international peace, global welfare and people’s empowerment, what is the role of the artiste? Does the artiste have a role at all? Any function at all?

Ask anyone, anywhere, to explain just why a doctor, an engineer, a scientist, an architect, an industrialist, a psychiatrist, a teacher -- is vital for the smooth functioning of a society. Or to tell you -- just why a plumber, an electrician, farmer, mason, weaver, potter, fisherman, metalsmith, is indispensable to civilization. Everyone will have an answer. But ask people, “How does an artiste contribute to the sustenance of society?” I doubt if you will get a convincing response.

So I ask myself, I had a role in society as a journalist, which I was for 25 years. But what is my role as an artiste? Am I an empty rattle? Timepass for idlers? Am I a provider of some temporary amusement? Do I fulfil any task in society? Civilisation? World? Do I have any duty, any responsibility towards others?

Then I recall that in the ancient world, poets had a defined role. They were not entertainers though they could mesmerize hearts and minds. The Greeks saw Homer and Sophocles as vates, prophets. Valmiki and Vyasa are revered as seer and sage. Closer to our times, Mirabai and Tulsidas were viewed as saints. Their work showcased the eternal values of humankind. The Ramayana and the Mahabharata were believed to be essential for building robust, resilient, sustainable civil society, and a spiritually-oriented community. Which is the goal of this symposium! These master works of literature provided light (buddham), explained dhammam (right living) and provided the sangam of wise thoughts.

It is often said that art has transformative powers, art transmits values, art generates ideals…  A recent experience made me understand just how art creates this insight.

For thousands of years the lotus image has been represented in Asian art to imply the otherworldly, the ethereal, the celestial. Its beauty and fragrance do not intoxicate, but instil contemplation, meditation.

It was in the Sanchi monument that I saw this familiar flower with completely new eyes. It was a quiet day at the stupa. Very few visitors. I almost had the entire space to myself. Looking at the intricate carvings detailing the crucial incidents in the life of the Buddha, I realized that one important person from his life was missing. Where was Siddhartha’s wife? Yashodhara? Why was she absent?

As I stood by the western entrance pillar wondering, my eyes idly followed the sun’s rays hitting the lower half of the pillar. It spotlit a carved lotus, its stem caught in the jaws of an underwater monster, but twisting itself up through the pool, gasping for breath in the open air, longing for the sun’s life-giving touch.

Then I understood that rooted in earth, rising through water, breathing in the air and blooming in the sun, the lotus partakes of the four elements, only to transcend them, to go beyond, into the realm of light, joy and freedom. The mantra gate, gate paragate, parasangate bodhi swaha… Gone, gone beyond, gone far beyond, what an awakening! acquired a new and practical meaning.

In an obscure segment of a stone pillar, the artiste had embedded an entire life journey, its troubles and traumas, setbacks and suffering, but also the invincible spirit of survival through unceasing, upwardly mobile, effort. The sculptor had made a great value eternally visible.

As I looked at the lotus carved by an unknown artiste of long ago, I thought of Yashodhara.  One fine morning she awoke and found her husband gone, leaving her and their child behind. No reasons, explanations, no promise to return.

Through the long years Yashodhara must have struggled through darkness and despair. Experienced human feelings: anger, jealousy, frustration, fear, misery, doubt and loneliness. But finally when her husband, now a world teacher, returns to Kapilavastu, she has no reproaches. Inspired by the Buddha’s sacrifice, enlightenment and compassion, she too renounces the material world, follows buddham, dhammam, and sangham. She chooses to serve humanity. In so doing -- she finds herself, her mission, her liberation.

It was a wonderful experience for me to trace Yashodhara’s journey in my dance theatre work. And wherever we performed it, in Indian cities or cities of north America, the reaction was the same. People did not talk about how well we performed. They talked about the values the work evoked. They were moved by Yashodhara’s human struggle because they saw it as their own. They rejoiced in her final resolution, because they saw their ideal in it, a movement-of-the-spirit towards ultimate wisdom.

President Ikeda asks, I QUOTE: For what purpose should one cultivate wisdom? The answer must be, for the peace and happiness of humanity.”  End QUOTE

To be an artiste is to accept responsibility and duty towards society, to offer solace for pain, to promote positive energies, invoke joy, and hold up the highest ideals for the terrestrial life and the spiritual life. To do this an artiste must choose -- not the tricks of cleverness, but the path of wisdom.

We know that such wisdom is not some static or passive state of mind. It is an active intellectual and emotive engagement with the positive, the dynamic.

We start with awareness, not only of the good, but also of the evil that we must combat. This is what contemporary poet Arun Kolatkar does, when he retells a story from the Mahabharata in his long poem Sarpa Satra or Snake Sacrifice.  As I turned this revenge cycle of an old myth, spanning several generations, into a play, I realized how it mirrors the horrors of the contemporary world – with its savagery, genocides, ethnic cleansing and terrorism. The description of the burning down of a primeval forest becomes a modern photograph of carnage.

I QUOTE KOLATKAR:
Nothing was left, no trace of the great sanctuary…
Not just the trees, birds, insects, animals
Herds upon herds of elephants, gazelles, antelopes
But people, people as well.
Simple folk, children of the forest who had lived there for generations
Since time began.
They’ve  gone, gone without a trace.
With their language that sounded like the burbling of brooks
Their songs that sounded like the twitterings of birds
And the secret of their shamans who could cure any sickness
By casting spells with their special flute
Made from the hollow wingbones of red crested cranes

Why did they do it? Just for kicks maybe
Maybe just the fact they had all these fantastic weapons went to their heads
And they just couldn’t wait to test their awesome powers
Maybe they just wanted a clear title to the land
Unchallenged by so much as a tiger moth.

The most ironic shaft in the poem is that this genocide is performed by persons hailed as heroes, and gods, and role models. Don’t we know this disturbing delusion persists even today?
Finally the killings end. Much is saved, but what is lost is lost forever. People return to so- called “normalcy”,  go about their daily business. But the poet warns us that evil is merely suppressed, it is not extinguished for all times.  “Do not be deceived” he says.

The fire rages, they say,
in the great forest beyond the Himalayas,
where the great sages tried to dispose of it.
And there, to this day,
They say,
it continues to consume,
rakshasas, rocks, and trees.

The eternal challenge for humankind is : how to prevent that smouldering fire from once again turning into a conflagration? In every age the artiste faces this challenge, along with thinkers and mahatmas.

Mr Ikeda declares: I QUOTE: “The surest way to peace is by fostering people of character, self-motivated, empowered individuals who will confront forces that lead nations to war.” End Quote.

And just what is this peace? Not the absence of war, but a rich state of existence where everyone respects and embraces others. When diversity is not rejected, but respected and rejoiced over. Love and wisdom prevail over intolerance and greed.

I end with the final song in our Yashodhara theatre production, where the princess sees the Buddha as the personification of light and wisdom, a beneficent power which heals her wounds, quells restless fears, fills her with love and peace.

Drishti idhar jo tumne pheree                Huee shaant jignaasa meri
Bhay sanshay ki miti andheree             Is aabhaa ke aan! – Padhaaro, bhav bhav ke bhagwan
Mein thee sandhyaa kaa path here     Aa pahunche tum sahaj savere
Dayaa kapaat khule yeh mere              Doon ab kyaa navdaan (2)– bhav bhav ke bhagwan