INDIAN MUSIC
Women singing as they grind. Singing to the bullocks.
Singing on the road. The rest-house. Soldiers singing.
Palanquin bearers. Indian taste in music. Indian musical
instruments. The native band. The "Europe" band. Sir G.
Clarke on Indian music. Evil associations of native tunes.
Indian choir-boys.
One of the commonest sounds in India is that of women grinding at the
mill. You not only hear the grating of the revolving stone, but since
it is a hard and monotonous task, the toilers almost invariably
enliven it by singing. They do so rather melodiously, and it sounds
pleasant in the distance. Their songs are to a large extent made up on
the spur of the moment, and form a sort of running comment on what
they are doing, or on what is going on around them.
This custom of singing in order to relieve the monotony of labour is
universal in certain departments, and even the beasts get to look upon
it as a stimulus to work. When drawing water from the wells, the man
in charge of the operation invariably encourages the bullocks with a
cheery sing-song, at the critical moment when they are raising the
heavy leather pouch of water from the well, and if he was to remain
silent, the Indian bullock, who is a strong conservative, would
certainly refuse to start. When they travel round and round, working
the mill which squeezes the juice out of the sugar cane, or, in the
same fashion, causing the great stone wheel to revolve which grinds
the mortar, their master alternately whips them and sings to them. I
once listened to the song which the man sung when they were making
mortar. It was something like this--"Oh bullocks! what a work you are
doing. Going round and round making mortar for the masons. Oh
bullocks! go faster, go faster! The masons will cry out, oh bullocks,
for more mortar--more mortar. So, go faster, go faster," etc., etc.
On bright moonlight nights large parties of men and women come
trotting briskly along the Yerandawana road, bearing baskets of fruit
on their heads for the Poona market. Indians nearly always go at a
trot if they have an unusually heavy burden to carry far, and it
appears to make their task easier. I do not know whether other nations
have the same custom. There are many reasons why travelling by night
is preferable. The air is cool and pleasant, there is no scorching sun
to injure the fruit, and it gets into market in good time before the
rush of business commences. A charitable Hindu has built a rest-house
for the benefit of travellers, just opposite the gateway of the
village mission. Such rest-houses are to be found all over India.
They are only what we in England would call a shed, but they provide
as much shelter as the climate demands, and they are a great boon to
the many who travel the roads on business or pleasure. The Yerandawana
rest-house is often thronged with people, because it is so near Poona
that they can get some hours sleep, and yet get into market early. But
the travellers, who go swiftly along the road with their burden of
fruit, often sing delightfully in chorus for the greater part of the
way, so that what is really a task of great toil seems almost
transformed into a cheerful excursion.
Indian soldiers on the march are sometimes allowed to sing as they go,
or occasionally to whistle, which has a delightful effect. Some years
back, when visitors could only reach certain hill-stations by being
carried in a palanquin, unless they were sturdy climbers, because the
steep paths were not practicable for wheels, the team of six or eight
coolies who acted as bearers, turn and turn about, sung a good deal,
especially in the more difficult parts of the journey. They did not
realise that the Sahib they were carrying sometimes understood the
vernacular, and was able to appreciate their poetical comments on his
weight, or their musical speculations as to what sort of tip he was
likely to give them at the end of the journey.
People sometimes ask whether Indians are musical. It is difficult to
say. Indian taste in music is certainly peculiar, and perhaps
deserves greater study than it has yet secured. But it would lead the
casual listener to suppose that music amongst them is still in the
elementary stage, corresponding somewhat to the scales and time
exercises of the beginner. At the Inamdar's afternoon party, the
musical performance given by the two Mohammedans (p. 80) was probably
a fair sample of what would be considered refined music. One of the
performers had a kind of guitar with a large body, made out of a gourd
with a section sliced off and then faced with wood, and with a very
long stem. The whole instrument, with all its fittings, was
exquisitely made.
The other man had a large and peculiar instrument, called a _bin_, in
which the long keyboard is supported at each end with a big gourd.
There dried gourds are largely in request for musical purposes. The
_bin_ was also artistically finished, and adorned with brasswork and
inlaid woods. It had five or six strings. The performer played on it
with his fingers after the manner of a guitar, one of the gourds
resting on his shoulder. These instruments being so attractive in
appearance, and apparently large and powerful, and the two Mohammedans
setting to work with great solemnity, and a commendable hush coming
over the assembled company, I expected a musical treat. The performers
began by tuning up with great care; but the tuning continued so long
that I began to wonder how soon the real music would begin. Just then
the musicians ceased, and I found that the apparent tuning was the
actual performance and that it was all over. The audience appeared to
be pleased with what they heard.
For the more popular kind of music you must go to the native band,
which is the universal adjunct to every sort of entertainment, great
or small. The members of the band are unwearied in their exertions on
small drums and shrill pipes. The tune, which never seems to vary
whatever the occasion, consists of almost as few notes as the song of
an Indian bird, and it is played over and over again and no one grows
weary of it. Even the performers play it for the thousandth time with
almost as much enthusiasm as when they first began. When they have
played far into the night, and fall asleep from sheer exhaustion, they
wake up in the morning to begin again.
Though native instruments and the method of playing them does not
usually appeal to the English ear, except for condemnation, it must
also be said that Indians in general assert that they do not recognise
any particular beauty in English melodies; and the wealth of sound of
a full band, performing the composition of some great master, only
suggests to the Eastern mind a confused medley of meaningless noise.
At the weddings of wealthy men who wish to make a special display,
there sometimes appears what they call a "Europe" band, which consists
of Indian performers, dressed in cast-off uniforms and with Western
instruments, on which they play what are meant to be English popular
airs. But there is usually the old-fashioned band also in attendance,
and there is no question as to which band the guests really cared to
listen.
The truth appears to lie in the fact that the two nations are looking
for different effects in music. Europeans value the melody, and the
harmony which enriches it. Easterns care little for the melody,
dislike the harmony, but think everything of the time. It is the
unvaried repetition of the same meagre tune, repeated over and over
again with apparently wearisome monotony, which is the attractive
feature. And the amount of pleasure to be found in listening to any
musical exercise is proportionate to the skill of the performer in
beating out his even measure on drum, or pipe, with unwearied
pertinacity.
Sir George Clarke, Governor of Bombay, at a meeting of an Indian
Choral Society in Poona, in August 1911, in sketching the diverse
developments of Eastern and Western music, suggested that the tones of
the instruments in vogue had affected the art of singing, and that the
falsetto style, common amongst Indians, is in imitation of the
shrillness of their reed instruments, while the fuller voice,
cultivated in Europe, follows the development of the ampler harmonies
of Western instruments. Each style of music represents a cultivation
of certain qualities with a neglect of others. The ultimate result of
intelligent study should be the combination of the great qualities of
both into a richer music than either East or West has known hitherto.
Sir George Clarke went on to say that, before Indian music could
develop or become widely known, it must be reduced to some
intelligible method of writing. Progress in this direction seems
rather slow at present, and Indian music is really in the position of
an illiterate struggling against a highly educated competitor.
Some attempt has been made to adapt Indian tunes to the translations
of English hymns, but without signal success. Also, Indian Christian
converts do not encourage the attempt. They say that the few popular
native tunes are so suggestive of the indecent songs to which they are
generally sung, that it is impossible to use them safely. English
popular melodies which some people, especially dissenters, have
adapted for religious use have no associations of this kind. The only
doubtful point in their adaptation is the risk of introducing an
element of comedy.
Christian Indians get to like the tunes usually associated with the
English hymns which have been translated into their vernacular, and
they sing them with spirit. Indian choir-boys often give sufficient
promise to indicate that, if they could be given the skilled training
which is generally lacking, they would not fall behind their English
brothers in sweetness of voice and delicacy of expression.