Tirujnana Sambandar’s Tevaram - Rāga: Hemavathi - Dr. M Balamuralikrishna (1970s)

Imagine that you are in the lush countryside of Tamil Nadu. You are in the village of Thiruttonipuram, the holy place where heaven and earth and the four Vedas were created. All around you are verdant, fertile paddy fields. Bees frolic in the warm sunshine and the ponds are filled with lotus blossoms among which swans float in regal grace. This is the home of the wondrous black-necked Lord Shiva, slayer of Yama, powerful dancer, the almighty deity with the radiant half-moon in his matted hair and the garland of bones on his chest. But, where is he? In this bucolic paradise, Shiva is nowhere to be seen. However, there is a way to find him. Just sing this song written by the lotus flower- garlanded Sambandar, and you will reach his heavenly feet. This is the universe, poetry and devotion of Sambandar, a seventh century saint, poet and ardent devotee of Shiva. He is one of the most important of the Nayanmars, who were holy people who dedicated their lives to singing the praises of their beloved Lord Shiva. These Nayanmars, along with their Vaishnavite counterparts, the Azhwars, were part of a Bhakti movement that came to life in the Tamil speaking parts of south India between the 6th and 10th centuries. Theirs was a deeply emotional and personal connection to their god. They wrote meltingly beautiful and soul-stirring songs and poems that form an important part of Tamil devotional literature. The poetry of the Nayanmars is collected in 12 volumes called the Thirumurai; the first seven of these (that includes the work of Sambandar) are the Thevaram. Sambandar is often referred to as a child saint. Legend speaks of his being taken regularly to the Shiva temple in his village (probably present-day Sirkazhi, near Thanjavur, and probably near or actually the Thiruttonipuram of his songs) by his father. One day, the story goes, little Sambandar was left on the steps of the temple tank while his father went to take his ritual dip; the child, hungry, began to wail. When the father returned to his baby he was amazed to find him with milk dripping down his chin, a golden bowl in his hands. When asked about who gave him the milk, the little boy pointed up to the temple where the goddess Uma sat alongside Shiva. Sambandar has been immortalized by this tale in the form of bronze icons that depict him as an infant, barren of clothes, with a bowl in one hand and a finger of the other pointing up, to Uma and Shiva. Much of Sambandar’s poetry is filled with rich imagery of the Tamil countryside with its paddy fields, flowering trees, rivers, ponds and rich variety of flora and fauna. His Shiva belongs here, close to his home and hearth, a world away from the distant, snow-clad Himalayas. His songs are a celebration of nature and life, and perhaps because of this, he is often portrayed dancing. Now listen to Balamurali as he inhabits the soul and music of Sambandar and sings this lilting song of love and longing for his beloved Lord Shiva. He sets the stage with a lovely alapanai in Hemavathi. The beginning, which he takes low and slow, has a dreamlike, unreal quality as his voice swirls mesmerizingly around the notes. He swoops down 3 octaves - high Sa to the low Sa so effortlessly, so delightfully. It is a Hemavathi unlike any other I have heard. To me, Balamurali is the Picasso of Carnatic music. Like Picasso, he takes the elements of whatever he is depicting and arranges them in an utterly unique manner that is often of a strange and wondrous beauty. It is familiar, yet unexpected, unconventional, singular. Hemavathi is said to be a Nadaswaram ragam, yet this alapanai - so sweet, so gentle, so meditative - is the antithesis of the Nadaswaram’s characteristic sound. The violin alapanai is more conventional and is also lovely. And then ......the song. Balamurali makes you feel Sambandar’s longing for Shiva as he wanders around Thiruttonipuram, through the fields, past the singing bees, lotus-filled ponds and graceful swans, in search of his black-throated all-powerful lord. Balamurali has sung a selection of verses from the first Thirumurai. All have the same melody. He ends with a short Neraval section that will move you to tears. He picks up the lines from the first verse, and how wonderfully apt are the words: isai paadi - singing music - that he imbues with an almost unbearable beauty. The mood continues in the swara kalpana section that follows. It has all the mellifluousness, excitement, thrills and brilliance you expect from Balamurali. (I would like to thank Viji Ramakrishnan for her help with translating the verses). Kamini Dandapani, New York, June 2017