topics: |  poetry | folk | bengal

The Baul traditions

The bAul culture is a mix of the devotional (bhaktI) streams in islamic and hindu cultures, and have been a strong presence in bengal for at least three hundred years. The tradition of their poetry, however, seeks inspiration in earlier compositions, as emphrasized by their annual gathering at the birthplace of the 12th c. sanskrit poet Jayadeva, whose text, the Gita-govinda, is among the earliest (certainly among the most poetically successful) texts declaring the unity of the heavenly and earthly loves.

The tradition continued in the region with the 14th century poet Vidyapati of Mithila (to the east, in present day N Bihar). This stream continued with the efflorescence of the vaishnava movement with Chaitanya in 16th c. bengal, whose echoes are still heard in the worldwide krishna movements initiated by Sri Prabhupada.

The Vaishnava tradition was very much a part of the bhakti movement, the earliest rumblings of which came from the Tamil tradition, and were incorporated into the Marathi and Bengali/Orissa bhakti cult converging in the Mathura region around the 16th c. A startlingly original analysis of the role of these traditions (e.g. see excerpts from David Haberman's introduction to the _bhaktirasAmr^tasindhu_ of Rupa Gosvamin).

Bhattacharya has earlier investigated this poetic corpus in his impressive work of translation, Love Songs of Vidyapati, about which I had effused

This is exceptional poetry, every poem speaks to me. The constructions are sparse, the working is elegant and lyrical.

And here he turns his hand to the Baul genre. His fine ear for English verse is evident in his translations, but sometimes his sense for compactness, I felt was not as discerning as in his renderings of Vidyapati.

Deben refers to his childhood impressions with the Bauls in Benaras. Baul songs are a mainstay of bengali culture, and anyone visiting rural bengal would be exposed to them. Travelling in local trains in the suburbs of kolkata is perhaps a good way of encountering them today. Among the earlier afficionados of Baul music we must mention Rabindranath Tagore, who was deeply influenced by these simple poems that often express deep spiritual concerns.

My childhood encounters with bAuls

In between my urban forays, I also spent time at our ancestral home in a village north of Kolkata. Here we used to have bAuls who regularly stopped by at the rural homestead - they would come singing along the road, and when they arrived, they might pause to declare mA bhikShA den ("Mother, alms!"). More often they would just keep singing at your door, and their intent was of course, easily interpreted. Indeed, the process of giving alms was institutionalized - even we kids were empowerd to handle it. There was a special cup with which a measure of rice would be taken from the large tin drum and emptied into their bags, and then they would depart with a mangal hok (may the future be propitious).

Tagore was among the most prominent writers to bring the Bauls to the notice of the west - he devoted a large part of his speeches (e.g. in Creative unity), to the Bauls. I excerpt below, some of his insightful descriptions of the bAul culture, along with some of his translations.

The poems

This text is a collection of 204 translations by Deben Bhattacharya, who
made a career out of tape-recording the bauls and other folk artistes from
around the world.  His fine ear for English verse is evident in his
translations of Vidyapati, but here the
English renderings seem more pedestrian, though they sparkle fromt time to
time.

While the translations read well, one is severely handicapped in evaluating
them since the bengali originals are not mentioned.

My most serious issue with the text is the absence of any reference to the
originals - not even the first lines.   Thus, anyone seeking the originals
has to resort to a wide search.  The book is meant for the reader who knows
only English, and is in some senses.

I consider this attitude somewhat disrespectful to the Bengali language
(imagine translating a Dante or even a French folk song without referring
to the originals).  This was quite common in colonial times, when the
languages of the colonized world were clearly inferior - even Tagore's
Gitanjali in English - or any of his later translations - do not refer to
the original poems, not even the first lines.  Perhaps it was fine in the
1910s, but we shouldn't we have wisened up by the 1970s?

One hopes Holm Press would find someone who would edit the volume,
adding the originals in Bengali - maybe in transliteration - on the
facing pages.

The interpretation

As Bhattacharya notes in his instroduction, the bAul tradition is an oral
tradition,  not intended to be written down.  Indeed, most practitioners were
illiterate.  Thus, the words and images of the songs are largely rustic.

Like all poetic traditions, the bAuls have their own set of metaphors
(tropes), which the audience is expected to know.  Bengali is formed by the
vast delta of two of the major rivers of the world - the ganges and the
brahmaputra.  Thus, rivers and boats figure prominently among these
metaphors.  Some of these tropes are more univeral - e.g. life is like a
river.  So also the inner quest, and its separation from the formal
traditions of temple and mosque, are perhaps somewhat universal, from Sufis
and Christian mystics to the bhakti traditions.

However, in any cultural translation, there are many intricacies which can
prove difficult.  A frequently appearing term is "moner mAnush" - the man of
my heart - the supreme infinite, but also a lover, at once very much at hand
and yet unattainable (see Tagore on this phrase, below).  "Who is it
that talks to me but does not let me see him?"  Even the moon is complex,
sometimes associated with krishna, sometimes with the unattainability of
'moner mAnuSh'.

Even more esoteric are references such as the sixteen gangsters
(bandits) which are sensory and action organs which are possible detriments
in the path of salvation.

Nonetheless, a large part of the poetry does come through.


Includes a CD with ten songs, in the earthy voices of the baul
musicians.

Excerpts

[The songs do not have titles; I have dared suggest some, if only to index
them in this text]

The river of lust

Never plunge
into the river of lust
you will not reach the bank.
It is a boundless river
where typhoons rage.
	- dwija kailAshchandra

Life is an oil lamp

My life is a little oil lamp
floating on the waters.
But from which landing-pier
did you set me afloat?
With darkness ahead of me
and darkness behind,
darkness overlaps my night,
while the necklace of waves
constantly rings me about.
The storm of the night
relentlessly flows
below the stars,
and the lamp is afloat
with only the shoreless waters
for company.
	- gangArAm p. 87

As the dumb one sings

As the dumb one sings
for the deaf,
the handless plays the lute
and the cripple leads the dance.
The blind watch,
engrossed in the show.
What a strange world is this!
	- gaurchAnd

Judge your audience
then choose your words.
If you speak the truth
you will be struck by a stick.
If you lie
you will charm the world.
	- gobinda dAs p.91

God the playwright

God has reversed the acts
of the play:
The land talks in paradox
and the flowers devour
the heads of fruits,
and the gentle vine
roaring,
strangles the tree.
The moon rises in the day
and the sun at night
with shining rays.

Blood is white,
and on a lake of blood
float a pair of swans
copulating continuously
in a jungle of lust and love.
	- gopAl p.92

Indivisible (Free impulses)

Free impulses
live together
with the forces of abstinence.
Feminine energy entwined
with the spirit of man
resemble the tuned strings
of the lute,
wholly indivisible.
The heart is the home
where there is
no separation.
	- hAude gosAin, p.104

Agreement (When the life)

When the life,
the mind,
and the eyes
are in agreement,
the target is
within your reach:
You can see
the formless Brahma
with bare eyes.
	- hAude gosAin, p.106

On the other shore

On the other shore
of the ocean
of one's own self,
quivers a drop of fluid--
as the origin of all.
But who can cross the seas
to reach it?

The root of all
is based in you.
explore the base
to reach the essence.
	- hAude gosAin, p.108

Dangerous currents of life

On the dangerous currents
of the river of life,
wicked is the oarsman
of my heart:
having eaten the whole fare
he refuses to row.
	- jaladhar p. 122

If you fail to recognize

If you fail to recognize
your own heart,
can you ever come to know
the great unknown?

The farthest away
will be nearest to you,
and the unknown
within your knowing.

Fill up your home
with the world,
and you will attain
the unattainable man.
	- kAlAchAnd p. 122

A holed boat

This land offered me
only dubious joys.
Where elese could I go?

I found a broken boat
and spent my life
bailing out the water.
		- Lalan p.133

[Footnote: river = symbol for life;
	   boat = human body]

A man unknown to me

A man unknown to me
and I
we live together
but in a void--
a million miles
between us.

my eyes blindfolded
by worldly dreams
cannot recognize him,
or understand.
	- Lalan p. 145

Love's records

The scriptures will teach you
no prayers for love.
Love's records remain
unsigned by sages.
	- lAlan, p. 145

As the man and the woman in me

As the man and the woman in me
unite in love,
the brilliance of beauty
balanced on the two-petalled lotus
within me
dazzles my eyes.
The rays
outshine the moon
and the jewels
glowing on the hoods of snakes.

My skin and bone
are turned to gold.
I am the reservoir of love,
alive as the waves.

A single drop of water
has grown into a sea,
unnavigable...
	- lAlan, p. 147

The key to my home

The key to my home
is in alien hands.
How can I enter
to gaze at my riches?

My home is loaded with gold
but run by a stranger
who is blind from birth.
He would let me in
if I paid my entrance fees.

As I do not know
who he is
I wander the streets
of error.
	- lAlan p. 150

Pandemonium

Pandemonium broke loose
in the guard-room of love.
My heart was caught
like a thief
by the greatest of lovers
who had set snares
in the air.
	- lAlan p. 149

Sixteen gangsters

Sixteen gangsters
of the city
are running loose,
looting all.
The five wealthy ones
are nearly lost;
trade is at
the breaking point.

The king of kings
is also king of the thieves.
To whom can I complain?

The riches, all are gone
leaving only an empty room
to my credit.

Says lAlan:
the room is enough -
it will pay
the tax claims.
	- lAlan p. 152

[sixteen gangsters =
    5 forces of perception jnAnendriya = ears, skin, eyes, nose, tongue (taste)
  + 5 forces of action karmendriya : anus, genital organ, hands, feet, tongue (speech)
  + 6 inimical forces shaDaripu : lust, anger, greed, ignorance, pride, envy
Five wealthy ones = conscience, wisdom, restraint, renunciation and devotion
"empty room" = body

In the original Bengali, the last stanza says:
	Says Lalan:
	the room will pay
	    for tax claims
]

Temples block the road to you

The road to you is blocked
by temples and mosques.
I hear your call, my Lord,
but I cannot advance,
prophets and teachers
bar my way.

Since I would wish
to burn the world
with that which cools my limbs,
my devotion to unity
dies divided.

The doors of love bear many locks;
scriptures and beads.

Madan, in tears,
dies of regret and pain.
		- Madan

All can see

All can see
when a forest is on fire
but none can trace
the fire in my heart
	- miyAjAn fakir p.160

writings on the heart

Your heart
is a piece of paper
The figures
you have written there
cannot be known
except by the heart.
	- narahari p. 161

Lust mingles with love

[..]
Lust mingles with love
like water with milk.
      - nitya khyepA p.164

Baul Biographical notes

				p. 206-214


lAlan fakir : legendary bAul composer from the 19th c.; (d. 1890). Born a
	hindu kAyastha family but left for dead after a severe smallpox
	attack.  adopted and raised by a muslim bAul family; like many other
	bAul composers, uses both Hindu and Islam themes in his songs.
	The book includes the bAnglA handwriten text (and song by Torap Ali
	Shah) of his ke-kathA-koy-re (who is it that speaks, but never
	shows up?)

 
lAlan fakir, sketch jyotirindranath tagore.


hAude gosAin : b. 1795 in medtalA, burdwan.  from a brahmin family,
	original name was matilal sanyal.  Was educated in sanskrit, and in
	Vaishnnavism and Tantra.  Eventually left home to become a bAul, and
	adopted the name hAude.

kAlAchAnd : carpenter by profession; possibly from the namashudra caste.
	Disciple of nityanAth; madan bAul is said to belong to this tradition
	of bAul teaching.

madan : born a mussalman, his guru was Ishan jugi, belonging to the
	 Hindu Jugi caste.  He was also associated ith gangArAm.  possibly
	 19th c.

narahari gosAin : Hindu bAul from (today's) west bengal.

miyAjAn fakir : muslim bAul from netrakona - subdivision near Dhaka.

(most entries in this biographical section says - "dates uncertain";
 however, several master-disciple lineages are known.   Many of the works
 of these bAuls were collected, presumably after their deaths, during the
 annual bAul fair at kenduli - birthplace of Jayadeva, near burdwarn.)

main references:
   * Kshitimohan Sen Shastri, bAnglAr bAul, 1954
   * Upendranath Bhattacharya, bAnglAr bAul o bAul gAn, 1957

Tagore on the Bauls

		(from Creative Unity,
		p. 520 of his Collected English Works, ed. Sisir K. Das)

[Tagore draws a similarity between the Bauls and Buddhism]
	Both of them believe in a fulfilment which is reached by love's
	emancipating us from the dominance of self. [522]

One day in a small village in Bengal, an ascetic woman from the neighbourhood
came to see me. She had the name 'sarva-khepi' given to her by the village
people, the meaning of which is 'the woman who is mad about all things.' She
Fixed her star-like eyes upon my face and startled me with the question,
'When are you coming to meet me underneath the trees?' Evidently she pitied
me who lived (according to her) prisoned behind walls, banished away from the
great meeting-place of the All, where she had her dwelling.

Just at that moment my gardener came with his basket, and when the woman
understood that the flowers in the vase on my table were going to be thrown
away, to make place for the fresh ones, she looked pained and said to me,
'You are always engaged reading and writing; you do not see.' Then she took
the discarded flowers in her palms, kissed them and touched them with her
forehead, and reverently murmured to herself, 'Beloved of my heart.' I felt
that this woman, in her direct vision of the infinite personality in the
heart of all things, truly represented the spirit of India.

[Later he meets some Bauls, and talks to them about spiritual matters.]


 --Man of my heart (maner mAnuSh)--
The first Baul song, which I chanced to hear with any attention, profoundly
stirred my mind. Its words are so simple that it makes me hesitate to render
them in a foreign tongue, and set them forward for critical
observation. Besides, the best part of a song is missed when the tune is
absent; for thereby its movement and its colour are lost, and it becomes like
a butterfly whose wings have been plucked.

'The Man of my Heart,' to the Baul, is like a divine instrument perfectly
tuned. He gives expression to infinite truth in the music of life. And the
longing for the truth which is in us, which we have not yet realised, breaks
out in the following Baul song:

	Where shall I meet him, the Man of my Heart?
	He is lost to me and I seek him wandering from land to land.
	I am listless for that moonrise of beauty,
		which is to light my life,
	which I long to see in the fulness of vision,
		in gladness of heart.  [524]

The name of the poet who wrote this song was Gagan. He was almost illiterate;
and the ideas he received from his Baul teacher found no distraction from the
self-consciousness of the modern age. He was a village postman, earning about
ten shillings a month, and he died before he had completed his teens. The
sentiment, to which he gave such intensity of expression, is common to most
of the songs of his sect. And it is a sect, almost exclusively confined to
that lower floor of society, where the light of modern education hardly finds
an entrance, while wealth and respectability shun its utter indigence.

[gagan = gagan harkara, from KushTia, employed by the postal service to run
 over long distances to deliver letters.  Tagore came into contact with him
 during his Selaidah days, when he would bring the post to the estate.
 Tagore saw the power of his compositions, and brought his songs into the
 limelight.  Tagore himself used the tune from the song translated above -
 Ami kothAy pAbo tAre - in his own composition AmAr sonAr bAnglA, which
 is today the national anthem of Bangladesh.]

In the song I have translated above, the longing of the singer to realize the
infinite in his own personality is expressed. This has to be done daily by
its perfect expression in life, in love. For the personal expression of life,
in its perfection, is love; just as the personal expression of truth in its
perfection is beauty.
[...]

    My longing is to meet you in play of love, my Lover;
    But this longing is not only mine, but also yours.
    For your lips can have their smile, and your flute
        its music, only in your delight in my love;
        and therefore you importunate, even as I am.

The poet proudly says: 'Your flute could not have its music of beauty
if your delight were not in my love. Your power is great -- and there
I am not equal to you -- but it lies even in me to make you smile, and
if you and I never meet, then this play of love remains incomplete.' [525]
[...]

The great distinguished people of the world do not know that these
beggars -- deprived of education, honour, and wealth -- can, in the
pride of their souls, look down upon them as the unfortunate ones, who
are left on the shore for their worldly uses, but whose life ever
misses the touch of the Lover's arms.

The feeling that man is not a mere casual visitor at the palace-gate
of the world, but the invited guest whose presence is needed to give
the royal banquet its sole meaning, is not confined to any particular
sect in India.  Let me quote here some poems from a mediaeval poet of
Western India -- Jnanadas -- whose works are nearly forgotten, and
have become scarce from the very exquisiteness of their excellence.
In the following poem he is addressing God's messenger, who comes to
us in the morning light of our childhood, in the dusk of our day's
end, and in the night's darkness:

     Messenger, morning brought you, habited in gold.
     After sunset, your song wore a tune of ascetic grey.
	  and then came night.
     Your message was written in bright letters across the black.
     Why is such splendour about you, to lure the heart of one who is
          nothing?

This is the answer of the messenger:
     Great is the festival hall where you are to be the only guest.
     Therefore the letter to you is written from sky to sky,
     And I, the proud servant, bring the invitation with all ceremony.

And thus the poet knows that the silent rows of stars carry God's own
invitation to the individual soul. [526]
[...]

[The Vaishnava religion] carries the same message: God's love finding
its finality in man's love. ... The bAul poet, when asked why he had
no sect mark on his forehead, answered in his song that the true
colour decoration appears on the skin of the fruit when its inner core
is filled with ripe, sweet juice; but by artificially smearing it with
colour from the outside you do not make it ripe. [526]

[...]

	I had travelled all day and was tired;
	Then I bowed my head towards thy kingly court still far away.
	The night deepened, a longing burned in my heart.
	Whatever the words I sang, pain cried through them --
		for even my songs thirsted.
	O my Lover, my Beloved, my Best in all the world.

	When time seemed lost in darkness,
	Thy hand dropped its sceptre to take up the lute
	And strike the uttermost chords;
	And my heart sang out,
		O my Lover, my Beloved, my Best in all the world.

	Ah, who is this whose arms enfold me?
	Whatever I have to leave, let me leave;
	Whatever I have to bear, let me bear.
	Only let me walk with thee,
		O my Lover, my Beloved, my Best in all the world.
					[Jnanadas, 529]

Deben Bhattacharya

ever since i ran into his superlative poetry in his renderings of
Vidyapati - I found the tattered book on a footpath shop - see
Love Songs of Vidyapati - I have wondered
about Bhattacharya.  But there wasn't that much available
about him.

Bhattacharya is mainly known as a music producer and maker of films on
world cultures.

He initially worked on introducing Indian music to UK, and later moved to
folk music from eastern europe and other areas of the world.

Grew up in Benares, where family had been living for 130 years.  Was
educated in the Sanskrit tradition, but rebelled and dreamed of going to
UK.

Has also translated Songs Of The Qawals Of India: Islamic Lyrics Of Love

bio: Deben Bhattacharya

publisher Holm Press:

Deben Bhattacharya is a nearly legendary ethnographic musicologist. He made
it his life's work to seek out the most unique, distinctively ethnic forms of
music on the planet and record them before they faded away into the modern
age.

He has made several documentary films and recorded over twenty albums of
music, such as tribal music from the Middle East, music of the Gypsies, and
that of the Bauls and Qawals of India.

He made his home in Paris and passed away in 2001.

links:
wikipedia: Deben Bhattacharya

From interview at kevindaly.org

  Benares ... as a city, where people live one on top of the other. I like
  being in a city when I can be near people without being involved with
  them. Like in a village: when you are living in a village you are
  involved with them, but you are not near, because the distances and the
  spaces are far away from one another. And one of the strongest points in
  favour of Benares, as far as I am concerned, that when you were little
  kids, you could jump from one roof to the other for probably half a
  kilometre, from roof to roof, jumping. And flying kites is one of the
  regular features of the boy's life and it happened always on the
  rooftops.

  Most of my father's family were scholars, his eldest brother was a
  professor of Sanskrit literature and cosmology at Benares University, and
  my father was a doctor of Hindu medicine, and the family had very little
  to do with the English colonial education system. There was no interest in
  national politics; the family simply didn’t want to know that the British
  existed, so they ignored it. I was given a Sanskrit education – there was
  no question of anything else.

  But I had in me a kind of strange desire to rebel against the family
  traditions. I suppose partly because I felt a little bit isolated from
  the other boys of my age, because they were having the usual,
  conventional education at that moment, like, you go into an English
  school, playing football. I distinctly remember how I wanted to wear
  short trousers, but in our family European clothes were not allowed – you
  had to wear a dhoti. Possibly it was this sort of rigidity that made me
  want to rebel, so – I started to run away from the family at the age of
  sixteen, seventeen – coming back, and so on, and travelled all over
  India, completely like, almost like a vagabond. It was a kind of peculiar
  restlessness, plus a curiosity about other people that developed as I
  travelled. Already I was dreaming of getting out of India. ...

  [during ww2: There was no conscription in India, but ... the war created
  jobs. I could then just about speak English, and I got a job as a clerk in
  the Indian army. I didn’t get on with army people, I had trouble with both
  the Indian and British officers. Actually, I was almost court-martialled,
  because I slapped a British officer. One day on parade, he called me a
  ‘black son of a bitch.’ The moment he said it, my hand just sprang; I had
  no control over the hand! He fell, and the nearby Indian soldiers doing
  fatigue duty laughed and giggled as they’d never seen anything like that. I
  was taken under escort to the Field Artillery Training Centre. After a few
  days, I got a note saying the charge had been withdrawn. I found out later
  that some civilian lawyer had made a noise about it, that I was a civilian
  and not subject to military law.

  [but is beaten up when trying to see an english film in an army theater
  gives up job and goes back to his doctor father in Muzaffarpur, Bihar
  It is the time of the Quit India movement. ]

  Ghandi's peaceful methods were not going to get Churchill out. Churchill
  would hang onto India until it dropped dead! And Ghandi was no match for
  him in that field. So what was the answer? Guns! Guns! Guns!

  They were made in secret by village blacksmiths. They were not well made,
  and were always bursting in people's hands. But they were beginning to
  learn, you see. My people were buying these guns, and I looked so young
  and innocent (I was twenty) that my duty was to find these guns from the
  blacksmiths and bring them over. There were two of us working together; I
  was just one link in the whole chain. One day, one of my father's patients
  came to see him (he adored my father because he’d cured one of his sons
  from a serious illness) and told him what I was up to. And I had four or
  five guns hidden! My father, a very quiet, simple person was very upset. I
  was sent back to the family home in Benares.

  I was at that time dreaming of going out of India. Just at that time, I
  met two Europeans who were living like Indians in Benares, a man called
  Raymond Burnier, and his partner, a man called Alain Danielou. He was a
  French man. I was excited by their involvement with Indian culture: one
  was working on Indian music, and the other on art and sculpture.

  ... Fifth of November, 1949. I landed in Tilbury. Then took a train to
  St. Pancras, where Alan was due to meet me. It was chaos – hundreds of
  Indian students being unloaded, arriving in Britain for their technical
  education. I had precisely eighteen shillings in my pocket, and here I
  was in a totally unknown land, except for a friend called Alan
  Colquhoun.
  I had an enormous steel trunk, carrying my very precious poetry books. I
  had very few clothes ....

  In Sweden I lived for ten years, but the Swedes have an extraordinary
  habit of non-communication which I could never reconcile. I began to feel
  isolated and lonely in spite of extremely kind friends.

  I know the French have a very bad reputation for being selfish,
  egotistic, this that and the other, but somehow, as far as I am
  concerned, I feel absolutely free. I’m not aware of my colour, I’m not
  aware that I’m different from the French, and so on, in Montmartre. My
  grocer scolds me, scolds my wife that I don’t let my girl go alone to the
  school! I never hear that, anyone giving that lecture in London or
  Stockholm. They wouldn’t dare. But this kind of scolding to me is
  communication, this is contact, affection, and that makes me feel at home
  in Montmartre. I wouldn’t say this is all Paris, but Montmartre has this
  village quality which I love, within the heart of a great city, and
  honestly I’ve never felt I was a stranger in Paris. You can have friends
  everywhere, and because of that you can choose a place to live. Here in
  Paris, I can live with everyone – not just the French, or the Algerians
  or the Turks – but with everybody.


--- blurb

Now Deben Bhattacharya brings the mysterious beauty and passion of the Bauls
to Western readers with his translation of 204 ancient songs. He also
includes an extensive introduction to the history and faith of the Bauls
and the composition of their music, complete with a CD of authentic Baul
artists, with some recordings dating as far back as forty years. A rare and
exquisite example of this rarely documented artform, The Mirror of the Sky
is a must for lovers of music, poetry, and passion.

(from
http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/mirror-of-the-sky-rev/9780934252898-item.html)

note: (mid 2013):
the book is in print and quite available in the US (around USD 20), and
in India starting Rs 1200..