A story has persisted in North India from the 16th century and has come down to us today about Baiju, a singer who paid a heavy price for his ambition. There was a Hindi film about him in 1952 called Baiju Bawra or Baiju the Insane which is considered mostly fiction, though it was a huge hit and its songs are evergreen, especially Man tarpat Hari darshan ko aaj by Mohammed Rafi.
According to tradition, Baiju learnt music from Swami Haridas, a real person and a disciple of Sri Purandaradasa, who is hailed as the ‘Karnataka Sangeeta Pitamaha’. An annual music festival has been held in Mumbai from 1952 called the Swami Haridas Sangeet Sammelan.
Our story begins by noting that Baiju was said to be the spoilt son of a poor but happy couple in Gujarat. But when his teacher father took ill and died, his mother took Baiju to Vrindavan, the traditional refuge of the destitute.
Baiju’s mother gamely took up domestic work and located a patashala nearby for Baiju to learn his letters. Baiju went humming to school. He often sang the little devotional songs his mother taught him. Along the way, he heard the most glorious singing. He went to the house where it came from and saw a man seated in the outer courtyard, singing with his eyes closed. Baiju could not help himself. He walked in and sat cross-legged on the ground to hear the song.
The singer opened his eyes when the song ended.
“Did you like the song?” he asked Baiju cordially.
Baiju nodded vigorously. “I want to sing like you,” he said with childish directness.
“Why don’t you sing something you know?” invited the man.
Baiju launched at once into a Krishna bhajan that his mother had taught him.
The man looked at him in delight. “I will teach you, little one. Come after school every day.”
And so, the greatest good luck befell Baiju and a magical decade commenced. His teacher, Swami Haridas, was not only a great singer but also a composer and a holy man with many followers. He had offered to teach Baiju on a kindly whim because of Baiju’s simplicity and good voice.
For over a year, Swami Haridas made Baiju study the first musical note, ‘Sa’. It was called ‘Shadja Grama’ or ‘the domain of Sa’. In it lay all music. Swami Haridas then initiated Baiju into the mystery and rigour of the song form called dhrupad.
“It comes from the Sama Veda itself. It has four parts that you gradually enter, build up and must leave gracefully at the end. We call the dhrupad ‘Vishnu Pada’, the Lord’s metre.”
Baiju drank it all in eagerly. He became famous as a singer in Vrindavan, attracting large crowds. The big temples began to invite him to perform. This was a great honour, for temples were the cultural hubs of society where dance or nritya seva and music or sangeet seva were regularly performed as activities greatly pleasing to God.
When Baiju turned eighteen, his mother found him a sweet-natured bride. A boy and a girl were born to them. Baiju bought a little house with his concert fees and his mother no longer worked as a servant. Invitations to sing came from neighbouring towns and important royal courts like Chanderi and Gwalior. Baiju’s career was at its peak and his family life was blissful.
One day, a royal messenger showed up from a distant Himalayan kingdom, inviting Baiju to be the court singer. Baiju could not resist the temptation. His family was in tears but Baiju went away, promising to be back soon.
Ten dizzy, wonderful years passed before Baiju felt even remotely homesick. The Himalayan raja grew very attached to Baiju and showed him off as an ornament of his court. Lost in the glamour and ceremony, Baiju emotionally disowned his past and lived for the day, vastly enjoying himself.
One day, however, he found himself thinking of his family. After many pleas, he was allowed to return to Vrindavan, happy scenes of reunion in his mind. But a terrible shock awaited him. His house no longer existed and nobody knew where his family was. Baiju went from house to house, asking, but nobody could answer him. Finally, an old maid servant recalled that his family had left years ago but did not know where.
Frustrated, Baiju went to his guru’s house, where another shock awaited him. Swami Haridas had passed away and his disciples ran a music school there. They were cold to Baiju for his sudden, thankless disappearance and knew nothing about his family.
Baiju could not bear the shock and guilt. Weeping bitterly, he slept under a tree, not knowing what to do. As the days passed, Baiju deteriorated into an unhinged state of mind. He looked unkempt like a beggar and wandered all day around Vrindavan, accosting startled pilgrims to ask about his family. Soon, he was called ‘bawra’ or insane. Everybody shunned him.
Baiju sat for hours by the Yamuna reproaching himself for neglecting his family. “I was vain and stupid. Mother, forgive me,” he wept, unable to deal coherently with his grief.
One day, wandering aimlessly through town, his feet strayed into his guru’s lane and he heard the sound of singing. Several old students had gathered to sing Swami Haridas’s compositions. The swami had composed two kinds of songs. The ‘Siddhanta Pada’ songs were deeply philosophical. The ‘Keli Mala’ or ‘garland of play’ chronicled the play between Radha and Krishna, giving full agency and even superiority to Radha. “Two beams of light play, unequalled in their dance…” went the song. Baiju walked in as he once had, long ago.
The music broke through his dark misery and he joined in the singing, hesitantly at first but soon with full-throated power. His audience was deeply moved. They begged him to stay on with them. By his guru’s enduring grace, Baiju was miraculously home again.
Renuka Narayanan
Slug: Faithline