The basic scale in the West is the C Major from which by the simple expedient of tonic shift to the fifth higher or lower note successively all the other diatonic scales are derived. With each such shift the C Major is transformed by the introduction of an accidental note which has to be sharpened or flattened to restore it to the C Major form. In the first higher shift of the tonic to G, one accidental note results; in the further shift to D, two accidentals are involved, and so on till all the major scales are formed. Similar is the case in the shift of the tonic lower to form the F major and the other successive major scales. The selection of C Major as the basic scale is probably owing to the simple arrangement of the notes both in the lower and the upper tetrachords with the easily negotiable intervals of tone, tone and semitone. The North Indian system of Indian music also has taken the corresponding raga, ‘Bilawal’ for initiating students into the structure of ‘ragas’ and the arrangement of ‘swaras’ in them.
Karnatak music, however, has selected Mayamalavagaula as the basic scale. Tradition has it that it was Purandaradasa who laid down the fundamental exercises in Karnatak music such as Swaravali, Jantavarisai, Dhattu varisai, Alankaram, etc. in this ‘raga.’ But the selection of Mayamalavagaula could not have been merely the whim of a single person. As in C Major, in Mayamalavagaula also the arrangement of the ‘swara’ intervals in the lower tetrachord is repeated in the upper tetrachord. But here the intervals are not so easily negotiable. They are a semitone, a tone-and-semitone, and a semitone apart. Thus, from the beginning, the student in Karnatak music is trained to take in unusual intervals. This may be a strong point if the student has the correct sensibility about ‘swaras.’ But it could also end up in the student having no sure grasp of the notes. In any case, it would seem probable that the selection of Mayamalavagaula interferes with the ability of the student to get the identity of the ‘swara’ in is relationship to the tonic and the dominant which are sounded as the drone notes. The usual complaint about Karnatic musicians is that they do not maintain the correct pitch of the notes in consonance with the ‘adharasruti’ or drone notes. It may not be entirely a speculation to think that part of this defect might arise from the selection of Mayamalavagaula as the basic scale. There are two hurdles here, namely that the interval between Shadja and Rishaba is too short and that the interval between Rishaba and Gandhara is too long. If one full tone is looked upon as the natural interval between notes, then the intervals in the raga Mayamalavagaula should be considered unnatural. To initiate a beginner in the swara exercises in Mayamalavagaula would be like forcing a beginner in bridge to bid a grand slam. Countless generations of students have been trained in this manner, and quite a few of them have turned out to be successful or perceptive students of music. That they have done so may be quoted as enough justification for the adoption of Mayamalavagaula as the basic scale. But bearing in mind the generally poor correspondence to the ‘adharasruti’ in even illustrious exponents of Karnatak music today, it may be wondered whether we ought not to investigate whether this defect is not partly due to the adoption of Mayamalavagaula as the basic scale.
In fact, Mayamalavagaula is a little too complicated to be a beginner’s scale. Shankarabharanam, Harikhambodhi or even Karaharapriya could be selected as the beginner’s scale for the reason that in none of them there is the juxtaposition of the unusual intervals that one finds in Mayamalavagaula. Nor do they have that aggrieved tonality that Mayamalavagaula affects. It is not just that Mayamalavagaula is sombre and pensive; there seems to be a suggestion of the other world, besides, of both Limbo and Elysium. It is doubtful if a young mind initiated into music through Mayamalavagaula, can retain its cheerfulness or brightness after being influenced by the weltschmerz of the melody.
One cannot be sure of the reasons that prompted Purandaradasa to choose Mayamalavagaula as the basic scale in Karnatak music. He might have been influenced by the weltschmerz of his own philosophy into choosing it. Or he might have chosen it because it was popular and widely known. Or he might have chosen it to instil early in the students of Karnatak music an ambivalence in the conception of ‘swara,’ which seems to have been bequeathed to it by the Nagaraka culture. Or he might have thought of choosing a morning melody as the fittest for musical exercises in that early dawn which pedagogics held to be the most auspicious hour for learning, and therefore naturally selected one of the ‘ragas’ of the third ‘chakra’ for the purpose; and since Mayamalavagaula happened to be the one raga in that chakra with identical swara relations in both the tetrachords, he chose that as the ideal mode for initiating students into Karnatak music.
But whatever merits Mayamalavagaula might have as a basic scale, it does not help students to have that sure grasp of the ‘swara’ which is essential for complete accord with the drone notes. When one notes the difficulty young children have in negotiating the descent from ‘anthara gandhara’ to ‘shuddha rishaba’ or from ‘kakali nishada’ to ‘shuddha dhaivata,’ one cannot but conclude that the fundamental musical exercises could be greater joy and fun if they could be taught in some more fluent and less temperamental mode.
The AIR ‘national programme’ last week featured the ragas Bhairav and Mayamalavagaula as the cognate modes of the northern and southern systems of Indian music. The artistes were A. Kanan and T. K. Rangachari. Rangachari’s music belied his years; in the upper reaches, especially, his voice is clear and youthful. There is something of a coxcombry in Rangachari’s music, a certain dash and a predatory swooping on the ‘swaras’ which give his music a picaresque quality. There is less of meditation in it than of mediation; Rangachari is constantly explaining things to others; or setting things right. He is a quartermaster general in music, seeing to it that the supply lines are intact, that the convoys are well provisioned, that the transport signals are working properly. Thus his music is an example of the orderly development of the musical idea, in proper stages and by proper means. Rangachari’s music is perhaps the most completely academic music that one can think of; but unlike much academic art, it is not soulless. That is because Rangachari has adopted academicism as not merely a mark of propriety, but as a philosophy of knowledge. His way of singing has a great deal that reminds one of Ramnad Krishnan—but he is not introspective like Krishnan. Rangachari knows his subject too well to begin questioning any of its postulates. The inability to question detracts from the individuality of his art, perhaps, but it does not detract from its sense of joy, of assurance and of satisfaction.
From joy to satisfaction is a bit of bathos no doubt; but there is something of that in Rangachari’s music also. He explores a musical idea from all around it, and tells you how it looks from every side. But after the elaborate circumambulation, you might arrive at the place to find a pedestrian platform as likely as a magnificent mansion. But at all times, Rangachari is tireless, painstaking and uncompromisingly honest. He does not believe in economy of effort. He is all for a bit of fanfare and procession, like Semmangudi. But he lacks Semmangudi’s charisma—or is it exhibitionism?
AEOLUS, 23 October 1966
Aeolus - Articles and Critiques 