The difference in the conception of ‘laya’ between the northern and southern systems of music is nowhere so evident as in the sub-divisions of a ‘matra’ which serve as points of take-off and arrival. The percussionist in the Hindusthani system usually avoids these sub-divisions as points of correspondence and confines his attention mainly to the beginning of a beat. In other words, he begins or ends on a whole ‘matra.’ If ‘tala’ structure demands eight ‘matras,’ he seldom constructs a pattern to synchronise with a sub-division of the ‘matra,’ beginning and ending on the same sub-division after traversing the whole cycle (‘avartana’) of the ‘tala.’ If in the execution of certain ‘bols’ or ready-made rhythmic figures, he is constrained to negotiate such a sub-division, he does it only as a part of the larger pattern of the ‘bol.’ On the other hand, the percussion (mridangam) player of the Karnatak system revels in such subdivisions. Partly this is explained by the way the compositions in Karnatak music are conceived in a ‘laya’ setting. It is not often that a ‘kriti’ (composition) begins on the beat of a ‘matra.’ The start could be on any of the sub-divisions of a matra. The point of take off is thus judged by the text of the composition, because except when it starts at a particular point of ‘tala’ structure, the text will not neatly dovetail into the structure of a ‘tala.’ The composition of a kriti in a certain laya setting requires therefore a degree of precision which Hindusthani music generally manages to do without. The development of the ‘bol’ in a ‘khyal’ in the northern system is no doubt based on a rigorous ‘laya’ pattern, but the ‘laya’ pattern serves more as a scaffolding than as an integral structure of the text of the song. The text of a ‘khyal’ may in its basic enunciation stretch over, let us say, an ‘avartana’ or a single cycle of the ‘tala structure. But in its elaboration, it is permissible to stretch it over any number of ‘avartanas.’ What is important in Hindusthani music is the number of ‘matras’ that it requires to elaborate the text. If the primary form of the text covers eight ‘matras,’ its elaboration can be stretched over any number of ‘matras,’ provided it is always a multiple of eight. But in Karnatak music, the structure of the ‘tala’ in the basic enunciation of the text cannot be altered even in its elaboration. The result of this difference in the conception of the role of ‘laya’ is that while Hindusthani music conceives of ‘alap’ (elaboration) as a spacious moulding of the text over multiple cycles of the ‘laya’ pattern, Karnatak music conceives of it as intricate variations (‘sangatis’) within a single cycle of the ‘laya’ pattern. Notwithstanding the desperate effort of the All India Radio to establish the identity of modes and measures in the music of the North and the South, we must say that there is as large a difference in their viewpoints as between the ideas of amplitude and precision.
It is not the form of the kriti alone which underlines the aspect of precision in Karnatak music. There is the other feature of ‘kalpanaswara’ which reinforces this aspect. Only next in importance to ‘raga alapana’ in Karnatak music is the ‘swaraprasthara.’ Though, of course, the ‘swaraprasthara’ seeks to bring out the contour of a ‘raga’ as much as the ‘alapana,’ it brings out, besides, the precision of the laya structure. Hindusthani music dismisses this feature as ‘sargam.’ ‘Sargams’ are neither as integral nor variegated in Hindusthani music as ‘swaraprasthara’ is in Karnatak music. There are many critics who bewail, in rather lugubrious terms, the growing importance of ‘swaraprasthara’ in Karnatak music concerts. But they do not seem to grasp the fact that the importance of ‘swaraprasthara’ issues from the place accorded to ‘kritis’ in that system of music, and to variations (‘sangatis’) in ‘kritis.’ Surely, these critics would not suggest that the text of a ‘kriti’ should be elaborated as the text of a ‘khyal’ is. Again, in spite of the tongue-in-cheek disapprobation of ‘sangatis’ in some stock situations (as when it is supposed to violate the text of the line or when it is taken to be too rehearsed), the critics would not suggest that the ‘kritis’ should not employ the gradual unravelling of the text through graded and brilliantly deployed ‘sangatis.’ What would compositions like ‘Sri Subramanyaya Namaste’ or ‘Chakhani Raja Marganu’ be without such ‘sangatis?’
The third feature which reinforces the idea of precision in Karnatak music is the ‘neraval.’ The ‘neraval’ is, in a manner of speaking, the same thing as ‘sangati,’ but it is more impromptu than the latter. Supposing a singer takes a single ‘avartana’ text for ‘neraval’ or impromptu elaboration, he has to confine the elaboration of the text each time, whether in the slow or fast tempo, to a single cycle of the ‘tala’ structure. Naturally, the elaboration takes the form of intricate rhythmic pattern which arrived dead pan on the ‘laya’ pattern adopted. These rhythmic patterns, consequently, adopt various points of departure but arrive always on the precise sub-divisions on which the text commences or rests within the ‘laya’ cycle.
Because of these various features which reinforce the ideas of rhythmic intricacy and precision in the elaboration of the text of the ‘kriti, ‘laya’ in Karnatak music has become largely a matter of subtle and breathtakingly precise manipulations of rhythm. There must surely be some sociological foundations to this attitude, just as surely as there were sociological foundations to the concept of ‘raga’ and ‘sruti’ and ‘swara.’ We may examine these foundations later and relate them to other ideas underlying the form of Indian music. But, for the present, we may merely observe that amplitude and precision are two features of the Indian conception of rhythm and that they are contrapuntal in nature.
It is not surprising, therefore, that the precision part of Karnatak music finds greater response in others who are not born into the Karnatak tradition, than the ‘alapana’ of a ‘raga.’ The ‘drut alap’ of Hindusthani music incorporates many of the features of the rhythm of Karnatak music, especially in the music of maestros like Ravi Shankar. It is instructive to see how many features of Karnatak rhythm Ravi Shankar has adopted in his music. The emphasis on the sub-division of a ‘matra,’ the employment of ‘yatis’ in the structure of rhythmic patterns, the syncopation of rhythm by stretching of a ‘karvai’ (rhythmic syllable) across a bar, the weaving of different ‘gatis’ or internal rhythms either in a separate or same ‘avartana,’ cross-rhythm starting off from the most unlikely sub-divisions of a ‘matra’ and either maintained over a large number of time cycles or progressively halved to keep the same kind of tension within half or quarter cycle of the ‘tala’ — these and many other features of rhythm in Karnatak music have been adopted by some musicians of the North. And it is these rhythmic features which have struck sympathetic chords in Western audiences when the latter have been introduced to Indian music.
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In the North-South encounter to establish a fundamental unity through ‘raga,’ K.V. Narayanaswamy gave a rendering of ‘Pantuvarali’ which was remarkably ordinary. There is something of a torpor about his music which needs the constant reinforcement of a certain bounce to make it live. There is always the fear that the music may go to sleep at any moment. And this in spite of the fact that Narayanaswamy’s articulation is clear, and his phrases sharp in their outline. Possibly the torpor is born of the feeling that one has sung it all before. It is as novel and as routine as the magician taking a rabbit out of his hat. The only occasion when the singer broke through his own apparent scepticism was when he managed a leap in his ‘alapana’ in a phrase like g m n n d pm. Bhimsen Joshi was, on the other hand, full of gusto which proclaimed that he had sufficient faith in his own music to make it worthwhile. The ‘alap’ in ‘vilambit’ was especially felicitous and sweet, like the ‘blushful Hippocrene’ of Keats.
AEOLUS, 11 September 1966