Singing The Boatman: Hemango Biswas and the ‘Bahirana’ in Folk Music
Rongili Biswas As part of the legendary folk singer Hemango Biswas’ birth centenary celebration,the first volume of his collected works came out which contained among others, his writings on folk music. As one of the editors of that volume (Hemango Biswas Rachanasangraha, vol 1, Pranab Biswas and Rongili Biswas ed., Deys Publishing, Kolkata, 2012), I had to read his theories and critique on folk music closely. His theorization is complex, multi-layered and geared towards achieving a purity in folk singing. He firmly believed that folk singing is non-codified. Its sensibility is defined by the specificities of physical ambience, language, tune, rhythm of labour, styles of articulation as well as geographical, historical and cultural contexts of a particular region. In that sense, it cannot have a school or gharana as found in the classical musical tradition. If it has something that is construed and shaped by the parameters I just mentioned that would better be termed as bahirana, a mode of learning that draws upon the traditions of a particular region, and is firmly entrenched in the cultural specificities of the same. The compulsions of market economy constitute too strong a force working against the traditional modes of such pure performances. Artistes often present corrupt versions of traditional songs with accompaniments that are far removed from the purpose of preserving them. Urban and sometimes even rural audiences, whose perception has been moulded by the corrupt versions, do not desire anything better than those versions. Even serious artists often succumb to such demands. Hemango Biswas was a strong and often a lonely critic of such distortions in folk singing. As a student of his classes on folk singing and as his daughter and close associate, editing the volume made me share his anxieties, anxieties that get deepened in today’s context. One way of responding to that, I thought, would be to build up a musical archive where his own recordings, those of the artistes he thought as genuine representatives of the original styles and the songs collected by him sung in his preferred styles could be preserved. This is urgently required to minimize the loss that his own collection in the house has already undergone. The archive contains several notebooks containing the lyrics of songs collected by Biswas from various Indian provinces. These range over bhatiali, bhaoaia, kamrupi, bongeet, sari, jari, jhaore, ghumor, murshidi, jhumur, gambhira, bhadu, tusu, kajri, choiti, dhamail, lullaby, hori, bihu, etc. Within this repertoire, only a chosen few have been recorded in Biswas’ own voice (in the album Surma nadir gangchil), which gives a fundamental idea about the extremely nuanced and ornate style of bhatiali and dehatatwa he represented. Bhatiali is essentially the song of the boatman on the river. Bhatiali relates to the slow downstream movement of the boat while sari relates to the vigorous upstream journey. Since rivers constitute an integral part of the terrain of the two Bengals (West Bengal and Bangladesh) these songs are often considered to be one of the principal representative forms of folk songs from Bengal. Solitude in a way constitutes the core of bhatiali. On the one hand, the sound of the water brings in a lilting unevenness in the notational structure that calls for a specific vocal timbre for rendering it properly. On the other, bare nature and the very expanse of the river facing the boatman brings out an existential anguish. And bhatiali often tends to merge with dehatattwa– a genre of music that dwells on the philosophy of the body. In these, the river is typically used as a metaphor for life. Where to get anchored and how to attain transcendence (siddhi) avoiding the enticements of life (presented through the motifs of lights, markets, colours) are questions asked perennially. ‘Dehotori dilam chhario’ is a famous song of this genre. Here is a typical Hemango Biswas style. “ I unfasten the boat of my body in your name, o guru. If I drown, your name will be tarnished. Traders trade goods in the market Colourful lights dazzle the shop windows. They rob people in full glare On the principal street, Taking your name. I unfasten the boat of my body in your name, o guru. I am puzzled to see the market. Perhaps I am luckless, Fallen into trouble. I left Narayanganj to walk The path of Madanganj. Taking your name. I unfasten the boat of my body in your name, o guru. If you go to Madanganj The alligator of desire will catch you. Pass through the town of Siddhi first In order to reach the perennial abode. Taking your name. I unfasten the boat of my body in your name, o guru. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmULE_uK1qY This is a form of bhatiali that is extremely ornate in nature. Its classical, rambling, nuanced style of rendition is rare, nearly extinct nowadays. The names of the places act as metaphors, as is the norm for this mystical mode of communication. Madanganj, Narayanganj, Siddhirganj exist as place names and they also stand for symbols of desire, abstinence and transcendence. I am tempted to quote an artiste who hails from the same region as Hemango Biswas – Sylhet in Bangladesh – and is considered to be the master of a certain style. His rendition follows a mild beat and a different scansion: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivCgAyTW73k I cry my heart out By this worldly river. O my mind, who will help you cross over. I wasted my time when times were good, I have come to the river at the bad hour Boatman, I do not know your name Who would I call? The boat is there, but not the boatman There is not a soul on the banks Boatman, I do not know your name Who would I call? Idam the lesser mortal says ‘ Who knows what awaits me’ Sitting at the dargah of Hazrat Shah Jalal Idam Shah cries. O my mind, who will help you cross over. This song was used in Rittwik Ghatak’s film ‘Meghe Dhaka Tara’ at