WRITER, freedom fighter and journalist Taluku Ramasawami Subba Rao (Ta-Ra-Su) belonged to the Chitradurga district of Karnataka, which forms the backdrop of his novel Hamsageethe. Hamsageethe was included in Kannada textbooks and secured a place for itself in Indian cinema history when Raja Nawathe adapted the story into one of the most significant classical musicals of Hindi cinema: Basant Bahar (1956). Almost twenty years later, in 1975, G.V. Iyer adapted the same novel for his Kannada film, which fetched M. Balamuralikrishna the National Award for Best Male Playback Singer.
The years 1955 and 1956 were arguably Shankar–Jaikishan’s most challenging. Seema (1955) and Basant Bahar required them to break away from the very Western, Arabic and swing style of music that Raj Kapoor demanded. Basant Bahar was a period movie set in Mysore during the time of Tipu Sultan. Moreover, the story was about rival classical singers Gopal and Mallaya. Thus, there was no scope whatsoever for anything remotely Western.
Exponents of classical music have often contributed to Hindi film music. Of course, stalwarts like Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma and Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia became part of Hindi mainstream cinema music for big banners like Yash Chopra. String instrumentalists like Timir Baran Bhattacharyya (who was also a composer for a few films), Pannalal Ghosh, Vilayat Khan, Ravi Shankar, Ali Akbar Khan, Bismillah Khan, etc., or percussionists like Samta Prasad and Allah Rakha (who composed for films under the name A.R. Qureshi), contributed to film songs. Naushad, one of the pioneers who popularized Indian classical music in films, had vocalists Ustad Amir Khan and D.V. Paluskar compete for vocal perfection in Baiju Bawra (1952). Bade Ghulam Ali’s song in Mughal-e-azam (1960), with Dilip Kumar romancing Madhubala, is legendary.
But none of the songs achieved the popularity and cult status enjoyed by S–J’s climactic song for Basant Bahar.
In Basant Bahar, it was Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, perhaps aptly – given the North Karnataka setting of the original novel. The sequence of ‘Ketaki gulaab’ is about a duel in more ways than one: lineage vs. cultivated interest, efficiency vs. passion, dedication vs. dominance, or in the physically obvious, Mallaya vs. Gopal. Director Raja Nawathe deftly elevated the conflict between the two singers to a level where the audience needs to discern and appreciate the nuances. It is not something as one-sided as, say, a tuneless comedian versus a singing hero.
Being the son (and the heir apparent) of the court singer of the King of Chitradurga, Mallaya has the genes. Gopal, son of the court astrologer Narsing Joshi (played by Om Prakash), has the passion. Mallaya rides the wave of his ancestral reputation while Gopal goes about looking for a guru. Mallaya’s aim is recognition and fame while Gopal seeks to merely walk the hallowed path of music.
Mallaya (played by veteran Marathi actor Parshuram), in the voice of Bhimsen Joshi, does a solo act impressing everyone in the grand durbar. In the second antara, the commoner Gopal walks in. The champion flaunts his technique while the challenger stokes the passion which is intrinsic to the raga. Mallaya tries to dominate the saptaswara while Gopal bows humbly to them. Gopal (Bharat Bhushan) plays the quintessential underdog and has to win the battle. Basant Bahar was written by a common man for the common man. And the king awards Gopal money and a statuette of Goddess Saraswati. Needless to say, he refuses to accept the former.
The story is from the south but the tune is that of a Hindustani raga. The lyrics are in Awadhi. ‘Ketaki gulaab’ is an example of the boundlessness of the Indian classical raga. The song is composed on Raga Basant Bahar. The essence of the raga is extremely relevant as the film is also of the same name. Shailendra’s pen does the rest. Each word endows the tune with the warmth of spring and the zeal of youth without missing out on the ferocity of the progressing duel.
The other songs in Basant Bahar were ‘Sur na saje’, ‘Badi der bhayi’, ‘Duniya na bhaaye’, ‘Nain mile chain kahan’, ‘Ja ri ja’ – at least two of these could have been referred to the third umpire for inclusion in this Classic 50 list. According to the grapevine, S–J took up the assignment as a challenge to Anil Biswas who is supposed to have questioned the duo’s knowledge of Indian classical music. S–J not only gave a fitting reply, they also managed to set the benchmark for classical compositions in film.
The voices of Pandit Bhimsen Joshi and Manna Dey make for an interesting contrast in this compelling melody. Pandit Joshi’s is a heavy, fuller voice that dominates the proceedings right from the start. He is the learned court singer. Manna’s voice is lightweight in comparison, but has a certain charm, putting everyone at ease, not challenging Pandit Joshi but suitably supporting his rendition. That he has to win the duel, by hitting notes which are beyond Pandit Joshi’s range, is one of the ironies present for the sake of the script. ‘Manna sahab, you sing very well. Why don’t you take up classical singing seriously?’ Pandit Joshi commended Manna after the recording.
A light-hearted ‘statistical’ sidelight: though Manna went on to ‘win’ the duel against Pandit Bhimsen Joshi in ‘Ketaki gulaab’, he would ‘lose’ it to Mohd Rafi in the final qawwali, ‘Na toh karvaan ki talash hain’, in Barsaat ki Raat (1960) and again to Kishore Kumar in ‘Ek chatur naar badi hoshiyaar’ in Padosan (1968).