One Hundred
Tamils
of the 20th Century
T. Balasaraswati
1918 - 1984
Nominated by Sachi Sri
Kantha
"In the
history of dance, we find every now and
then a supreme artist who dominates the
field for a generation, enriching the
existing tradition, providing a corrective
to current practices and setting standards
for generations to follow. Anna Pavlova was
one such artist and so was Vaslav Nijnsky.
And today in India Balasaraswati is
one...No dancer captured the public
imagination as Balasaraswati did in the
thirties and forties. Bharata Natyam to the
public until then was an esoteric art
practised for the pleasure of a few
connoisseurs and dilettantes. Outside the
pale of the temple ... there were hardly
any public performances. Balasaraswati made
the public aware of Bharata Natyam, not by
deliberate efforts as a reformer, but by
the beauty and the eloquence of her
dancing. It was left to others to fight
prejudices and stupidity, do research,
delve into the past, give the dancer's
profession respectability and so
on..."
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from Balasaraswati by Narayana
Menon, published by the Inter-National Culture
Center, New Delhi 1, India
" In the history of dance, we find every now and
then a supreme artist who dominates the field for a
generation, enriching the existing tradition,
providing a corrective to current practices and
setting standards for generations to follow. Anna
Pavlova was one such artist and so was Vaslav
Nijnsky. And today in India, Balasaraswati is one.
The great dancer, the really great dancer, is
perhaps an even rarer phenomenon than great
musicians or painters or sculptors. This is because
the dance is the consummation of all the arts. The
dance, in addition to the qualities that pure
dancing demands, must be sensitive to and have an
uncanny feeling for music. He or she should have an
artist's sensibility to the significant line and a
sculptor's approach to form. He should have a
practised actor's response to a dramatic situation.
Rarely does one come across all these attributes in
one and the same person. But when one does, and
Balasaraswati has a generous measure of all these,
the result is greatness.
The flowering of Balasaraswati's genius has taken
place in a garden of great splendor. For
generations, the family has been a repository of
the Karnatic tradition in its pristine glory. The
family tree can be traced back to over two hundred
years. Every branch is dotted with music and dance.
Balasaraswati's great-great-great-great
grandmother, Papammal, was a musician and a dancer
at the Tanjore Court - that was in the eighteenth
century. Papammal's daughter, Rukmini, was also a
court musician at Tanjore. By the time we come to
Rukmini's daughter, Kamakshi (circa 1810-1890), the
picture is clearer and more details are available.
She had been taught by the great Ganapati Sastri
and danced at the Tanjore Court till the age of
seventy-five.
Of Kamakshiammal's children, two were famous.
One was her son Apparkkannu who took to the violin,
at that time a newcomer to the Indian musical
scene, and attained considerable mastery over it;
the other was her daughter Sundarammal (circa
1820-1888). Both were pupils of Subbaraya Sastri,
and himself a composer of great qualities who has
perhaps not had the recognition due to him.
It is on record that Subbaraya Sastri taught the
well known kriti, Nannu brochutakau in Todi to
Ponnuswamy and Sundarammal. While learning the
kriti they sang the phrase Mayamma Kamakshi with
such inspiration and feeling that Sastri said that
the Goddess Kamakshi certainly belonged to them.
The family and their descendants today are thus a
repository of the compositions of Syama Sastri and
Subbaraya Sastri and the most authentic
interpreters of their works. It is also to the
credit of Ponnuswamy that he persuaded his niece
and Sundarammal's daughter, Dhanam (1867-1939), to
take up the Veena. No finer or more sensitive
exponent of the instrument is known in the history
of Karnatic music. The Veena was her natural
vehicle of expression (though she was also a
vocalist of the highest quality), and her
music was the quintessence of the Karnatic
tradition.
Veena Dhanam and her sister Rupavati both practised
dancing for some time; so did Balasaraswati's
mother Jayamma and almost every other member of the
family. Music and the dance reigned supreme in the
household. The family was an inspiration for
composers and teachers alike. First there was the
association of Subbaraya Sastri. Then there was
Sattanur Panchanadier, a pupil of Muthuswami
Dikshitar, who taught music to Veena Dhanam and
Rupavati. Patnam Subramania Iyer taught Dhanam's
daughter. A great many of the javalis of Dharmapuri
Subbarayar were composed in that home.
It was into such a treasure-house of the Karnatic
tradition that Balasaraswati was born on the 13th
of May, 1918. Music and dancing were in her blood.
And music and dancing were all around her. And they
were, of course, music and dancing of the highest
quality and practised and heard in abundant
measure. Her formal training started at the age of
four under the late Kandappan.
Kandappan himself was the inheritor of a great
tradition. For over six generations, the family
were nattuvanars, dance teachers. Kandappan's
great-great-great grandfather Gangamuthu must have
been a contemporary of Papammal. Two generations
later we come to the celebrated Tanjore
quartet-Chinnayya, Ponniah, Sivanandam, and
Vadivelu- all of them teachers and composers of the
highest standards. Kandappan was the great-grandson
of Chinnayya, the eldest of the Quartet. Kandapan's
father, Nellayappan (1854-1906) was perhaps the
finest teacher of his time. Kandappan born in 1899,
died prematurely in 1941 at the age of 42. The
tragedy of his early death is alleviated only by
the fact that he trained with a devotion rare even
in those days of dedicated teachers the greatest
Bharata Natyam dancer of our age.
Balasaraswati's Arangetram (debut) took place in
her seventh year at Kancheepuram at the Amanakshi
Amman temple. The great Nayana Pillai was present
at the Arangetram. Word had gone round in
Kancheepuram that the great Dhanam's grand-daughter
was to dance at the temple and there was an
enormous crowd. But the seven-year-old child
betrayed no signs of nervousness and astonished
those present with the exactitude of her rhythm and
the precision of her movements. "Tremendous" was
the word with which the excited Nayana Pillai
summed up the evening.
Soon she was in great demand for public
performances. But life was by no means a bed of
roses. Those were the days of the Devadasi Bill.
While veteran musicians and connoisseurs went into
ecstasies over her art, there were others who
scoffed at the practise of Bharata Natyam as a
profession. But Jayammal, her mother, stood firm.
The result was not only a personal triumph for
Balasaraswati, but the preservation and the
strengthening of a great and ancient tradition.
No dancer captured the public imagination as
Balasaraswati did in the thirties and forties.
Bharata Natyam to the public until then was an
esoteric art practised for the pleasure of a few
connoisseurs and dilettantes. Outside the pale of
the temple ... there were hardly any public
performances. Balasaraswati made the public aware
of Bharata Natyam, not by deliberate efforts as a
reformer, but by the beauty and the eloquence of
her dancing. It was left to others to fight
prejudices and stupidity, do research, delve into
the past, give the dancer's profession
respectability and so on."
Balasaraswati's Presidential
Speech at the Tamil Isai Sangam
on receiving the Isai Perarignar award, 2001
(Translation) Courtesy: Shanmukha
I am sincerely grateful to the Tamil Isai
Sangam for giving me the honour of presiding
over the Conference this year. I consider it
a great privilege to have this honour
conferred on me in this year of the 600th
anniversary of Arunagirinathar, who sang the
praise of Arumugan (Lord Muruga), the darling
deity of Tamil Nadu.
There is
a special relationship between Tamil music
and Bharatanatyam. The Tamil lyrics of
Muthutandavar, Ghanam Krishna Iyer and
Subbarama Iyer lend themselves wonderfully
well for dancing with intense participation.
It is the distinguishing feature of Tamil
music that compositions, coming in an
unbroken line from the Vaishnava and Saiva
saints through Gopalakrishna Bharati down to
the composers of our own time, are replete
with moods and feelings suitable for
abhinaya.
BHAKTI
As far as I know, Bharatanatyam is bhakti;
Tamil is also nothing but bhakti. I believe,
therefore, that Tamil and bhakti are part of
the same tradition.
In Silappadikaram, eleven dances are referred
to, which were danced by divinities like
Siva, Tirumal (Vishnu), Muruga, Kama, Kali,
Tirumagal (Lakshmi) and Indrani. They depict
the destruction of various demons and
symbolize the triumph of good over evil. This
is evidence enough that dance was a divine
art whose theme was the destruction of evil
and the purification of the spirit.
In these early dance forms, valour and wrath
are the predominant emotions. Yet, Sringara
which was, later to become the ruling mood of
abhinaya was pre-eminent in the Tamil dance
tradition right from the beginning. In the
two important dance forms, the court dance
and the common dance, which relate
respectively to the inner and the outer life
of man. Sringara belongs to the court and to
the inner life. This explains the eminence of
sringara as a mood. In dances such as the
group dance of the cowherd girls, this same
sringara becomes the love of God. This bhakti
is beautifully expressed in the following
verses of Silappadikaram:
'The Girl to her companion:
The magical one,
Who shook the young tree like a stick,
And brought the fruits down-
Should he come amidst our cattle,
Shall we not hear again,
The music of the sweet kornai flute
On his lips
And
Oh, the look on her face!
Her garment and bangles slipped away
With her hands, covered herself,
Seeing her,
Who hid herself with her hands,
His shame and pity became wild passion
Oh, the look on His face!"
It is this stream of sringara that swells
into the mighty river of the lover-beloved
songs of the Vaishnava and Saiva saints, the
Ashtapadi of Jayadeva and the compositions of
Kshetragna. In Bharatanatyam, too when it
comes to abhinaya, sringara has been the
dominant mood.
NOT CARNAL
I emphasize all this because of some who seek
to "purify" Bharatanatyam by replacing the
traditional lyrics, which express sringara
with devotional songs. I respectfully submit
to such protagonists that there is nothing in
Bharatanatyam which can be purified afresh;
it is divine as it is and innately so. The
sringara we experience in Bharatanatyam is
never carnal; never, never. For those who
have yielded themselves to its discipline
line with total dedication, dance, like music
is the practice of the Presence. It cannot be
merely the body's rapture.
Bharatanatyam is an art, which consecrates
the body, which is considered to be in itself
of no value. The yogi, by controlling his
breath and by modifying his body, acquires
the halo of sanctity. Even so, the dancer,
who dissolves her identity in rhythm and
music, makes her body an instrument, at least
for the duration of the dance, for the
experience and expression of the spirit.
CORRECT SEQUENCE
I believe that the traditional order of the
Bharatanatyam recital viz., Alarippu,
Jatiswaram, Sabdam, Varnam, Padam, Tillana
and the Sloka is the correct sequence in the
practice of this art, which is an artistic
yoga for revealing the spiritual through the
corporeal.
The greatness of this traditional
concert-pattern will be apparent even from a
purely aesthetic point of view. In the
beginning, Alarippu, which is based on rhythm
alone, brings out the special charm of pure
dance. The movements of Alarippu relax the
dancer's mind and thereby her mind, loosen
and coordinate her limbs and prepare her for
the dance. Rhythm has a rare capacity to
invoke concentration. Alarippu is most
valuable in freeing the dancer from
distraction and making her single-minded.
MELODY
The joy of pure rhythm in Alarippu is
followed by Jatiswaram where there is the
added joy of melody. Melody, without word or
syllable, has a special power to unite us
with our being. In Jatiswaram, melody and
movement come together. Then comes the
Sabdam. It is here that compositions, with
words and meanings, which enable the
expressions of the myriad moods of
Bharatanatyam, are introduced.
TEMPLE ANALOGY
The Bharatanatyam recital is structured like
a Great Temple. We enter through the Gopuram
(outer hall) of alarippu, cross the Ardha
mantapam (half-way hall) of Jatiswaram, then
the Mantapa (great hall) of Sabdam, and enter
the holy precinct of the deity in the Varnam.
This is the place, the space that gives the
dancer expansive scope to revel in the
rhythm, moods and music of the dance. The
Varnam is the perpetuity which gives
ever-expanding room to the dancer to delight
in her self-fulfillment, by providing the
fullest scope to her own creativity as well
as to the tradition of the art.
The Padam follows. In dancing to the Padam
one experiences the containment, cool and
quiet of entering the sanctum from its
external precinct. The expanse and brilliance
of the outer corridors disappear in the dark
inner sanctum; and the rhythmic virtuosities
of the Varnam yield to the soul-stirring
music and abhinaya of the Padam. Dancing to
the Padam is akin to the juncture when the
cascading lights of worship are withdrawn and
the drum beats die down to the simple and
solemn chanting of scared verses in the
closeness of God. Then, the Tillana breaks
into movement like the final burning of
camphor accompanied by a measure of din and
bustle. In conclusion, the devotee takes to
his heart the God he has so far glorified
outside; and the dancer completes the
traditional order by dancing to a simple
devotional verse.
GREAT SYMMETRY
At first, mere meter; then, melody and meter;
continuing with music, meaning and meter; its
expansion in the centerpiece of the varnam;
thereafter, music and meaning without meter;
in variation of this, melody and meter; in
contrast to the pure rhythmical beginning a
non metrical song at the end. We see a most
wonderful completeness and symmetry in this
art. Surely the traditional votaries of our
music and dance would not wish to take any
liberties with this sequence.
The aesthetics and the artistry of
Bharatanatyam alike make us realise that
sringara has pride of place here. In a sense,
Bharatanatyam is a combination of the yoga
and mantra sastra-s. The mudra-s of the
mantra shastra-s are the same as the hand
gestures of Bharatanatyam. When dancing to
the beat of the rhythm, as in a yoga
exercise, the dancer's body is rid of its
human weaknesses and is purified into a
conduit of the spiritual and the beautiful.
However, the experience of the art can be
total only if a variety of moods and feelings
are portrayed; variety is the soul of art.
But these feelings should be universalized
into aspects in divinity and not remain the
limited experience of an insignificant human
being. The mood of a song may tend to get
portrayed as the subjective feeling of one
individual; but true art lies in
universalizing this experience. To train the
dancer in this art, melody and meter join
together in Jatiswaram. The dancer takes
leave of her subjective consciousness in the
Alarippu and identifies herself in with the
universal consciousness in the Jatiswaram.
Thereafter, she is ready to explore and
express the infinitely varied nuances of the
entire gamut of emotions and feelings not in
terms of her subjective self but in terms of
which bring out their universal essence.
SUPREMACY OF SRINGARA
Sringara stands supreme in this range of
emotions. No other emotion is capable of
better reflecting the mystic union of the
human with the divine. I say this with great
personal experience of dancing to many great
devotional songs, which have had no element
of sringara in them. Devotional songs are, of
course, necessary. However, sringara is the
cardinal emotion, which gives the fullest
scope for artistic improvisation, branching
off continually, as it does, into the
portrayal of innumerable moods full of
newness and nuance.
If we approach Bharatanatyam with humility,
learn it with dedication and practice it with
devotion to God, sringara which brings out
the great beauties of this dance can be
portrayed with all the purity of the spirit.
The flesh, which is considered to be an enemy
of the spirit and the greatest obstacle to
spiritual realization, has itself been made a
vehicle of the divine in the discipline of
the dance. Sringara thus is an instrument for
uniting the dancer with Divinity. Since the
dancer has universalized her experience, all
that she goes through is also felt and
experienced by the spectator.
THE SABDAM
Refined in the crucible of Alarippu and
Jatiswaram, the dancer portrays the emotions
of the musical text in the Sabdam in their
pristine purity. In the Sabdam, emotions are
withheld at the beginning; thereafter, when
the dancer has clarified herself, they are
released in a measured and disciplined
manner. It is after, mastering this
discipline that she dances the Varnam which
is a living river that holds together
movement and interpretation.
The composer of a Sabdam or a Varnam might
have dedicated it to a prince or a noble man.
But as far as the dancer is concerned, the
hero can only be the King of Kings, the Lord
of the wide world. It is impossible for her
to dedicate her art, which has sanctified her
body and has made her heart sacred, to a mere
mortal. She can experience and communicate
the sacred in what appears to be secular.
After all, our composers have been steeped in
the tradition of bhakti. While singing the
praise of secular heroes, they begin to dwell
on his devotion to Brihadeeshwara of Tanjavur
or to Tyagesa of Tiruvarur or to Padmanabha
of Tiruvanandapuram. The dancer, taking the
cue, enters the realms of bhakti, enjoys the
play and pranks of the deity concerned, and
displays them in her abhinaya. The divine, so
far mixed with the secular, now becomes
explicit in the dance and impresses itself
deep in the heart. Various rhythmic movements
are intertwined with her abhinaya; this saves
her from degenerating into the human, and
keeps her fresh and pure in the yoga of the
dance.
NO NEED TO PURIFY
It is after passing through this ordeal of
fire that the dancer fully qualifies herself
to do abhinaya for the Padam. If she has
dedicated herself to the art, there will be
no carnal distortions in her interpretations
of the padam. Steeped in art and beauty,
which are pure spiritual states, she
expresses the joy, which is at the basis of
different moods and emotions. Such a dancer
will feel no need to 'purify' any item in the
traditional order of Bharatanatyam. Indeed,
the effort to purify Bharatanatyam through
the introduction of novel ideas is like
putting a gloss on burnished gold or painting
the lotus.
The inadequacies that are felt in this art
arises from the inadequacies of the dancer
herself. If Bharatanatyam is studied with
devotion, dedication, patience, and
thoroughness, its completeness in its
traditional form will be crystal clear. The
traditional sequence and structure of the
recital secures and safeguards this
completeness. There is, therefore, no need to
purify perfection by amending, adding or
subtracting any of the elements in the
traditional order of the recital.
The traditional recital is a rich combination
of diverse aesthetic and psychological
elements, which produces complete enjoyment.
To alter this arrangement because it is
considered 'boring' is to destroy the
integrity of aesthetic enjoyment.
Let those who create novel dance forms
present them as separate performances; they
need not make a hash of the Bharatanatyam
recital by interpolations of novelties.
The Silappadikaram says, "Madhavi's dance
master knew when only one hand had to be used
and when both the hands had to be used, he
also knew when the hands had to be used for
exhibiting action and for graceful effect.
Knowing as he did, he did not mix up the
single-handed demonstrations with the double
handed and vice versa, as also pure gesture
with gesticulatory movement and vice versa.
In the movements of the foot also he did not
mix up the kuravai with the vari. He was such
an expert."
CONTINUITY NECESSARY
The dancer can integrate herself with her
discipline if she goes through the
traditional sequence in one continuous flow
without too much of an interval between one
item and another; and the completeness of the
recital in its entirety will assert itself.
My personal opinion is that this concerted
effort of the experiences of dancing, which
needs mental concentration, is spoilt by
frequent changes of costume.
Silappadikaram and Manimekalai list dance,
music and the personal beauty of the dancer
in that order. Yet, unfortunately the last
and the least of them has come to the
forefront at the present time. When so much
importance is attached to the looks of the
dancer, it is but natural that dancing is
considered carnal and sringara vulgar. The
truth is exactly the opposite; it is her
dance and music alone that make a dancer
beautiful.
Kalidasa describes Malavika standing tired
and perspiring after her dance as the best of
all her abhinaya. This is not just poetic
conceit. Even when the collyrium gets smudged
and the make-up is disturbed in the course of
the dance, that itself is a tribute to the
dancer's dedication. When the continuity of
the dance in interrupted by costume changes,
announcements and explanations the congealing
of inner feelings becomes impossible and
concentration is shattered.
CONCENTRATION
The greatest blessing of Bharatanatyam is its
ability to control the mind. Most of us are
incapable of single-minded contemplation even
when actions are abandoned. On the other
hand, in Bharatanatyam actions are not
avoided; there is much to do but it is the
harmony of various actions that results in
the concentration we seek. The burden of
action is forgotten in the pleasant charm of
the art. The feet keeping to time, hands
expressing gesture, the eye following the
hand, the ear listening to the master's music
and the dancer's own singing - by harmonizing
these five elements the mind achieves
concentration and attains clarity in the very
richness of participation. The inner feeling
of the dancer is the sixth sense, which
harmonizes these five mental and mechanical
elements to create the experience and
enjoyment of beauty. It is the spark, which
gives the dancer her sense of spiritual
freedom in the midst of the constraints and
discipline of the dance. The yogi achieves
serenity through concentration that comes
from discipline. The dance brings together
her feet, hands, eyes, ears and singing into
fusion which transforms the serenity of the
yogi into a torrent of beauty. The spectator,
who is absorbed in intently watching this,
has his mind freed of distractions and feels
a great sense of clarity. In their shared
involvement, the dancer and the spectator are
both released from the weight of the worldly
life and experience the divine joy of the art
with a sense of total freedom.
DISCIPLINE
To experience this rare rapture, a dancer has
only to submit herself willingly to
discipline. It will be difficult in the
beginning to conform to the demands and
discipline of the rhythm and melody and to
the norms and codes of the tradition. But if
she humbly submits to the greatness of this
art, soon enough she will find joy in that
discipline; she will realise that discipline
makes her free in the joyful realm of the
art. The greatest authorities of the dance
have definitely recognized that it is the
orthodoxy of traditional discipline, which
gives the fullest freedom to the individual
creativity of the dancer.
Young dancers who go in for novelties will
find that their razzle-dazzle does not last
long. On the hand, if they hold firm to the
tradition, which like the Great Banyan
strikes deep roots and spreads wide branches,
they will gain for themselves and those who
watch, the dignity and joy of Bharatanatyam.
I come out with these submissions because of
my anxiety that they should realise this. The
young will recognize the greatness if they
study it with intense participation, calmly
without haste.
HARD WORK NEEDED
One has to begin early and learn it for many
years to reach a devout understanding of the
immense greatness of this art. Then comes the
recognition of one's great good fortune in
being chosen to practice this art. This
recognition leads the dancer to surrender to
her art. Such surrender makes her aware of
the divinity and wholeness of Bharatanatyam.
And the art will continue to flourish without
the aid of new techniques which aim at
'purifying' or changes in dress, ornament,
make-up and the interpolation of new items
which seek to make it more 'complete'. This
is my prayer.
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