Gandharvas: Sarangi players of Nepal

Everyone knows of Bise Nagarchi, the tailor who gave Prithvi Narayan Shah a single coin and inspired the king to collect money from all his subjects to aid him in war.

But few know of Mani Ram Gaine who aided the king in more subtle ways. He was a singer, and he would go from place to place singing the glories of the Gorkhali king so that by the time the Gorkhali soldiers came around, the people were already enamored of the hill-king.

Secretly, Mani Ram was even more.

He not just disseminated information but also gathered it for the King, making it easier for Shah to plan attacks. And finally, when an attack was imminent, Mani Ram would gather the people of a village at one place and start singing, setting a perfect target for the Gorkhali king.

The Gandharvas, a caste of singers to which Mani Ram belonged, believe Mani Ram’s role in Shah’s conquest was as important as Bise’s, if not more. But while Bise’s material contribution is remembered, Mani Ram’s artistic contributions were thought of as inconsequential or even frivolous in times of plenty, and slowly forgotten.

In their own stories that do not make it into the pages of history, Gandharvas continue to valorize their people. They tell stories of a princess who fell head over heels in love with a Gandharba. They remember their history in the Mahabharata where Devas and Gandharvas are children of the same mother, where Arjun learnt the art of singing from Gandharvas in heaven (which he used to disguise himself as an eunuch when in exile), where revered sages like Narad were proud to learn from Gandharvas, where Gandharvas shared the heavenly court with Devas and Apsaras, and fought on the side of truth with the Pandavas.

From this glorious history, Gandharvas somehow fell to the bottom of the caste pyramid where they now reside as ‘Dalit.’ Caste consciousness is deep in their psyche, and the Gandharvas, who consider themselves descended from a rishi (sage) called Gandharba, have endless theories about how they came to be dalit.

Some believe it is because of their own behavior. “Dalit are those who don’t bathe, are dirty, and get drunk. If we get drunk all the time, what can we be but Dalit?” asks one of them.

Another believes that Gandharvas lost their status due to the cunning politics of Brahmins, while yet another tells a story about a king who was dividing the rights of his people. The Gandharba arrived last because he was busy singing and flirting, and all the spoils had already been divided. It then fell to his lot to beg from all the others.

Even from this position of dalit, Gandharvas continued to play an important role in society. Before mass communication, they were the ones who made songs out of new and current events and carried it from village to village.

Krishna Bahadur Gandharva, 53, who has been wandering in the villages of Gorkha for more than 40 years, understands this function only too well. People are eager to hear these stories, especially those who can relate to the situations.

“Sometimes women cry when they hear songs of hardships women face,” he remembers. These stories not only updated them but also provided cathartic release.

“To be a Gandharba, you need to know the psychology of the people,” says Krishna. According to their mood, he plays humorous songs, religious songs, songs of bravery and heroism, karkha (genealogy of kings), vedana (songs of sorrow), and other genres. And he also claims to know at first sight if a person is sinful or virtuous, because it comes with being a Gandharba.

Gandharvas are also rumoured to be Tantrik (magicians). “We can control the weather in all directions for five kosh,” says Krishna, who is himself one such Tantrik. “We can make it rain, we can protect the environs. After the evening song called Sanje (or Sandhya to be grammatically correct) is played, you can sleep in peace, and no ghosts will disturb you.”

Many of these arts are lost today. Since the advent of modern communication, people do not need Gandharvas to carry news, and nor do they need singers to entertain them when they have mobiles, Internet, and TV. Instead, people increasingly began telling Gandharvas that they should work for their living instead of “begging.” Krishna also partly blames “party and politics” for the waning hospitality in villages.

“There were times when gaines were welcomed everywhere with food, shelter, and gifts. Today, they will first ask you of which party you are, and if you are of the wrong party, you may even be beaten up,” he warns.

It is no wonder then that Gandharvas entered the city in droves while their children have gone for modern education and learn music only as a hobby. Due to lack of audience, Gandharvas in Kathmandu are forgetting traditional songs. 

Once upon a time, parents asked a prospective son-in-law if he could sing, and only gave their daughter to him if he could, which reassured them that he could earn a living. But today, no one can sing Pingul—the Gandharvas’ most powerful song akin to the Veda. It lives only in myths. Also lost are the 36 ragas and 36 raginis that true Gandharvas are supposed to know. They sing newer folk songs instead: Resham firiri is on top of their list, and they scour the streets of Thamel looking for buyers of Sarangi.

Most of them supplement their income by singing in restaurants. The restaurants have no space for traditional Gandharba songs; they demand new folk songs and sometimes Bollywood songs. Even their instrument has changed: they continue to use teak and mahogany to make the body of the sarangi, but instead of animal intestines, badminton strings are used to make sarangi strings.

Gandharvas, though very conscious of conserving their art and culture, are nonetheless positive about these changes. For many, the singing profession was a compulsion because they had no other option. But today, through education, they have other options of livelihood. Krishna’s two sons are in France and Norway, and his two daughters are into tailoring and nursing respectively.

Besides, these changes also mean a slow reversal of the class structure that Gandharvas want to break free of.

“In our times, if a Brahmin found a son singing in the forests, he would be chastised for ‘singing like a gaine’”But today, Ramkrishna Dhakal, a Brahmin, makes his living by singing,” says Arjun Gandharba. Manoj Gandharba joked that people of other castes were taking over their occupations, but he too seemed pretty happy that the playing fields were becoming more level for everyone.

One example of the modernization of Gandharvas is the Gandharba Culture and Art Organization which was founded in 1995 and works to promote the interests of Gandharvas. It has published CDs and documentaries, and members of the organization hope to publish more if finances permit. It has also trained a lot of non-Gandharvas to play Sarangi. Today the organization receives people of all ages, castes and nationalities interested in the traditional arts of the Gandharvas. Though the old songs are lost forever, the future of Gandharva music itself seems secure with new generation enthusiasts.

The god who traveled - Bhairavsthan of Palpa

After a scenic countryside drive nine kilometers to the west of Palpa, we get to the Bhairavsthan, a temple dedicated to the fiery avatar of Lord Shiva. We can reach the temple after a short uphill walk from the Siddhartha Highway. On top of the temple is a trident – trishul – symbolizing Lord Shiva. Many believe it is the largest trident in Asia, and the impressive brass relic is definitely worth a look.

But that is not the only thing the temple is famous for.

Palpa used to be one of the Chaubisi (‘twenty-four’) kingdoms, and the name of Palpa’s capital Tansen itself comes from the Sen Kings who ruled it then. Palpa was a prosperous kingdom then, and it also holds historic importance as the home of King Prithvi Narayan Shah’s mother.

Historian Nirmal Shrestha informs that in the fifteenth century, its Sen king Mani Mukunda Sen was powerful enough to mount an attack on Kathmandu Valley. He even ruled it for a short time, and as a symbol of his victory, he sent back an idol of Bhairav from the Valley to Palpa. According to the Bhasha Vamshavali, Nepal’s oldest genealogy, the idol was previously seated in front of the Machhindranath Temple in Kathmandu.

Today, the idol rests in an underground sanctorum in Palpa, while a facsimile is displayed in the altar above. Locals believe the real face of the statue is so scary that no human can bear to look upon it. But Shrestha thinks the aura of secrecy was created to heighten its importance. The priests of the temple worship the real statue from behind curtains.

The priests of the temples are Kanfatta (‘torn ear’) Jogis of the Naga (‘nude’) community. And even their rituals of worship have a long history. When the idol was first established, the water for worship was procured from Ridi, which is 15 kilometers away from Bhairavstan. The water from Ridi was preferred because there flowed the holy Kali Gandaki where shaligrams (stone fossils) were found. In keeping with the customs of the Kanfatta community, the priest covered his mouth with a piece of cloth as he brought up the water, and did not touch or speak to anyone on the journey. If anyone accidentally touched him, he restarted his journey. Later, Kali Gandaki appeared to the priest in a dream and told him that he need not go to Ridi River, she would appear at Jaya Dhara.

But again, Shrestha believes the real reason is more pragmatic. “Ridi was too far,” he says. “By the time the priest got back, dusk would have fallen.” Conveniently, Jaya Dhara lies at the bottom of the hill where Bhairavsthan is located.

In a world with fast disappearing traditions, the Kanfatta Jogi priests still follow their arcane traditions of worship. They cover their mouth and do not speak to or touch anyone when they bring water for worship. But even though the source of water is much nearer, the priest still brings water at 3-4 pm, around the same time he would have arrived if he had gone to Ridi. The reason is that after he brings the water into the temple, worships from other devotees are not accepted. So this gives other devotees ample time to worship the Bhairav. The next morning, the deity is worshiped with the same water.

Worship, in the form of ‘Shringaar Pooja,’ is offered to three deities: to the small temple of Mai, to the statues of Bhairav, both under and over ground, and to Kalika. Kalika is the Shakti generally associated with Mahakal Bhairav. The presence of Kalika in the premises provides positive proof of the resident deity’s identification.

Another relic linking the Mahakal Bhairav with his history in Kathmandu is a pair of cymbals which the locals believe fell from the skies along with the Bhairav. But Nirmal Shrestha informs that inside the cymbals, in tiny words in the Ranjana Lipi or script – a dead giveaway to Kathmandu – are the words ‘Machhindranath’. The Dholi community who carried the cymbals and idol to Palpa still worship the cymbals, which are now housed in a ‘Dashain Ghar’ beside Palpa Durbar.

Perhaps because of its link to Kathmandu, Bhairavsthan holds a special place in the Newar community of the area. Before embarking on journeys, typically to Butwal for trade, they offer a ‘Kshemaa Pooja’ at the temple, and also after returning from journeys.

As an aside, the Newar communities in Palpa are relics of the friendship between the Sen kings of Palpa and Kathmandu’s ruling Malla dynasties. It began from the time when the Sen Kings brought over skillful Newar architects to build houses. Their work can still be seen in many buildings including Bhairavsthan itself.

Farmers offer Rot, fried bread made of rice flour, at the temple after their first harvest. There is also the tradition, during dry months, of praying for water at Purnakot, which is a hillside near Bhairavsthan, and ending the prayer procession at Bhairavsthan. Panchabali, or the sacrifice of five animals, is offered by locals on festivals and other personal occasions. Bhairavsthan is also unique in that bali is accepted any day at this temple, unlike many temples which have restrictions on holy days like Ekadashi or Poornima.

Thus, Bhairavsthan is the centre of much faith and devotion in Palpa. The history of the temple provides a snapshot of the glorious history of the entire area. This scenic and symbolic little temple is definitely worth a visit.

Published in Republica on March 7 2014, Page 14

Locking horns: Bullfights in Nuwakot

The “stadium” was a large, flat piece of land carved out of a hill. The “seats” were terrace fields that rose step-by-step in a semi-circle around the stadium. The packed stadium seemed no different from ancient Greek amphitheatres in which gladiators fought. But those who fought in the arena were no humans. In Taruka of Nuwakot, it is a tradition to hold bullfights on Makar Sankranti.

The bulls

This year, 20 pairs of bulls fought in the tournament. Adolescent bulls (3-10 years old) are considered best for fighting. “They are fed rice, soybean, millet, and black lentils,” says Ghanashyam Adhikari, a resident of Taruka who has observed the bullfights since his childhood. After their fighting age, they plough the fields like any other bulls.

When a bull is led to the arena, it immediately shows aggressive behavior. Some gore the surrounding walls, sending those sitting directly on top scrambling. Some stamp the floor and bellow loudly. Locals have interesting terms for these behaviors, words outside of everyday use which shows their intimate relationship with bulls.

The fight

Locals credit the natural aggression of bulls to the fact that when you lead two bulls into the arena, they inevitably fight. “In fact, the term Malla Yuddha, or wrestling, itself comes from fighting animals. Only later did humans term themselves Malla to highlight their aggression,” says historian Gyan Mani Nepal. No red cloths are needed, for example in bullfights of Spain, to stimulate them.

But how a bull fights depends on the individual bull. Some bulls get excited by crowds and become more aggressive. Some bulls are cowed by the same sight and run away. But usually, two bulls ram at each other, lock horns, and try to push each other back with their foreheads.

When one bull edges the other out of the arena, the fight is considered over. Some fights end decisively in moments while in others, the bulls idly lock horns for several minutes on end. The losing bull starts giving signs like backing out, taking blows on the neck instead of on the forehead, and finally turning tail. The defeated bull often becomes reckless and causes mayhem among groups near the arena. This year, one bull ran right into the spectators surrounding the stage, and they ran helter-skelter, most people climbing onto the stage. When the mayhem died down, it was found that the plywood stage had broken off in one part.

History of bullfights

The strength of bulls is important in an agrarian society like Nepal, where much farming depends on bulls and plough oxen. “The bull owner’s superiority and capacity to nurture healthy cattle is proved when his bull wins,” says Arjun Adhikari, a local resident. This leads to the bull’s price rising and owner’s reputation growing.

Traditionally, bullfight was a purely local affair. Any two owners with bulls would informally wrestle their bulls near their homes. But with time, the bullfights gained notice as well as support from the government. An organizer’s committee of bull owners was formed in 2006. For the past few years, tournaments have been held on a grand scale at Taruka, despite a glitch last year when two tournaments were held due to political division in the organizers’ committee.

Locals have it that when the Bajhangi King Jay Prithvi Bahadur Singh visited Nuwakot, a bullfight was arranged to entertain him, and the tradition stuck. But bullfights are, by many accounts, much older. Such fights are held in other areas of Nepal, including Betrawati of Rasuwa, on a smaller scale, and in many parts of India on a larger scale. Jallikattu or bull taming festival of Tamil Nadu is perhaps the most famous of them. All these are held on Makar Sankranti. These point to a pan-Hindu origin of the festival.

Gyan Mani Nepal agrees that bullfights are an ancient means of entertainment. “Bulls, rams, roosters, fights of all these are held on Makar Sankranti,” says Nepal. “Even men wrestle on the day.” According to Nepal, inscriptions about bullfighting have been found since the Lichhavi age, or 1,500-1,600 years ago. Records speak of Licchavi rulers collecting tax for bullfights. Later, records are also found of Rana Bahadur Shah holding grand bullfights in Kathmandu’s Basantapur, going to the length of acquiring special breeds from Andhra Pradesh.

Makar Sankranti came to be a natural choice partly because of the weather: the end of winter signals the beginning of spring, a time of fun and frolic. The sky is clear but not too hot, perfect temperature for outdoor sports. The end of harvests means that people are free of the cares, and have plenty to eat. “Pushma paak, Maaghma khaak” (‘You cook in [the month of] Paush, you eat in Magh’) is a proverb that describes this phenomenon, according to Bhawanth Adhikari, another resident of Taruka. At this time, the fields are barren, which provide the venue. Not to forget, Makar Sankranti is a time for family reunion and social networking, and bullfights are hubs of such processes.

Future of bullfights

Toyanath Dhakal, a bull owner who regularly enters his bull into competitions, spends about Rs. 10-15,000 every year on bulls. “I feel happy if my bull wins, and also when it doesn’t,” says Dhakal. “The point is to enjoy the fight.” Recently, animal rights activities raised concerns about cruelty and called for an end to the fights. “But that’ll never happen,” claims Dhakal. “It’s our culture, and people here will continue to uphold it. Last year, there had been attempts to take it to Kathmandu, and it failed. Well, that’s Kathmandu. But over here, no one can change what the locals own,” Dhakal concluded.

The fights may go on forever, but changing times have had an impact on how they are viewed. “This is after all a capitalist exercise,” says Bhawanath. “Only the rich have enough capital to invest on fighting bulls.” Indeed, the bulls are fed rice when sometimes rice may be scarce even for humans. Perhaps this view is unknowingly echoed by a Narsingha (horn) player who played at the games. “I don’t care much for the fight, I’m just a musician. Weddings, bullfights, festivals, they are all the same to me,” he said.

Reforms

No matter what critics say, the bullfights seem set to stay. This year the festival was more organized than ever. Registrations were held beforehand, and attempts made to publicize the tournament, attract internal tourists, and make the fights safer. Volunteers ringed the arena, pushing people back from the bulls. There were facilities like snack and drink stalls, and the organizing committee were responsive to suggestions, like addition of toilets.

Panchai Baja (folk quintet) greeted guests like politician Ramsharan Mahat, and was played at intervals. Local bhajans were also included. Also, organizers gave information about the nature and history of the fights from time to time, which are all modern additions.

Previously, it was not uncommon for bull owners to rub alcohol on the bull’s hump, hoping to make the other bull balk and lose. There were rumors that some bulls were given alcohol to make them reckless. But such practices are banned now, and strictly monitored by the committee. Injuries on bulls and people can also happen, Arjun recalls a time when a bull went crazy and 4-5 locals had to jump and hold him by the horns. Today the committee pays compensation for unexpected injuries. This is beside the Rs. 1,000 given to the winner and Rs. 500 to every participant in the tournament.

With all these improvements and heightened publicity, the bullfight has truly become the identity of Taruka. In future, it has the potential to replace the bloodier Spanish bullfights in the popular imagination of Nepalis. One day it may even become the “pride of Nepal,” as the people of Taruka hope.

Published in Republica, Feb 28, page 10


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