The Flute - A short story of Adivi Bapiraju (rendered into English)

The Flute

A short story of Adivi Bapiraju 

(rendered into English by K B Gopalam)

The Flute

Adivi Bapiraju

 

The sounds of the boy's flute filled the bunds of the fields, crops, canals and the hills at a distance.

He had no knowledge of the ragas (musical scales) nor had he learnt about the swaras (musical notes). His mentors were – the koel, the carpenter bee, the mountain brook, the mooing of the cows, the gentle breeze floating over the fields, the thunder, the beetle and the Lavangi birds.

A naturally gifted flautist, he had a great sense of music though ignorant of musicology, its theories, principles and terminology. Comparing notes and notes, he would tune the shruti (pitch). His breath kept the laya (rhythm & tempo). Only three talas (beats) emerged from his rhythm & tempo – they were Adi, Eka and Roopaka.

The melodic patterns (moorchanas) he conjured up were simply out-of-the-world combinations.

2

He was a cattle grazer and nine years old. After eating yesterday's remnant rice and gruel with salted fish as side dish, he put some of the rice gruel in a small pot and a pickled piece of raw mango, covering it with a plate. Wrapping the lunch-pot in a piece of cloth, he reached the river bund riding a buffalo.

The shade of the neem tree was his throne; his cattle were his subjects, and his weapon was his flute!

A tattered loin cloth and an equally torn head scarf were his silken attires. Whenever it rained, he made a couple of buffalos stand close together and sat down under them. When the river swelled, he crossed it on the buffalos. Cows and buffalos were his armed guards. Equipped so, he could stand up even to a tiger.

3

Once he reached the grazing field, he bade them go on their own and settled himself under the tree, playing and singing.

He pulled out the flute and played on it to mesmerize the world. The lyrics for the songs were his heart itself.

Sometimes his song jumped and pranced. It flowered and spread gentle fragrance all around and bubbled up like the waters of a little spring.

Sometimes his song looked at the world and wondered, paled or shivered.

Another time his song searched for something. It gazed at the sky keenly; pierced the depths of the earth, and counted the water drops in the river.

At times it went into tears. It curled with some unknown fear, sulked with hunger and took on the form of the entire gamut of human suffering and wept.

Yet another time the song assumed the all-knowing lotus yogic posture and offered grass flowers in supplication. Also, it probed the depths like a fish in the water.

Kissing the flute with his lips, the boy turned into one who lost cognizance of his own handiwork.

4

One day from an adjacent farmland, a girl worker came looking for him following the song.

She was eight. She sat still before him listening to the song.

She did not divide his kingdom or usurp it.

She became one with his kingdom, with his song and with him.

She would come every day by his song time and sit there before him.

The tattered cloth on her midriff did not cover her nakedness completely. She had a pair of bangles on her arm, and two aluminum anklets on her legs.

If the boy's face was the image of the sun, her face was the lotus in the side-by-pond.

5

One day when he played on the flute, the whole world listened to it under a spell. And the girl turned into that very song.

In the meantime, some monstrous bird hovered in the sky with an earth-shattering sound. Stunned with the sound, the boy stopped playing and fell at once to the ground. The girl flew to his side. Shivering and wailing, she embraced him.

The demon bird flew away. After a while the two naïve kids got up and surveyed around with bleary eyes.

His cows and buffalos grazed as usual. Flowers were in bloom. The neem tree stood outspread just as before. The brook flowed on gurgling.

He mustered up courage to pick up the flute and once again harmonized the three sacred notes into a cadence that questioned this universe. The girl continued to cling to him.

Far away in Europe, there was a war raging. Japan let itself loose on Pearl Harbor.

The boy came out of the impact. Matching the pitch of the daily visitor demon birds, he played a new combination to which the girl listened, smiling and captivated.

T N Rajrathnam Pillay Two Items

T N Rajaratnam Pillay - Nadaswaram

Janakiramana - Shuddha Seemantini
Ninnujoochi- Saurashtra

Rice in India

Indian Influence

Rice may have been domesticated independently in Afghanistan and northern India at least 5,000 years ago. It spread west to the Indus Valley and south into peninsular India. Rice cultivation began near the Ganges around 2500 BCE. Semi-nomadic hunters and fishermen moved regularly to avoid Mongol invaders from Central Asia, and to find arable land. Around 2000 BCE, these Indo-Aryans moved into the Caucasus, Persia and the Hindu Kush Mountains, settling in Punjab, Delhi and Afghanistan. The five rivers of the Punjab irrigate much of the rice grown in India, even though rice consumption in southern India is greater than in the north. From the Moghal influence comes pilaus with cream, fruit and nuts in meat and rice preparation. Idlis and dosas – both fermented products (souring and fermentation lowered bacterial contamination risk and extended ‘shelf life’) – and rice and dal (lentils) are more common as you head south. For Kashmiris, pilaf is seasoned with cumin, cloves, cinnamon and cardamom. For Bengalis, the ‘holy trinity’ flavour profile includes fish, rice and mustard seed oil, just as celery, green onions and green peppers are the ‘holy trinity’ of Cajun cookery, and mirepoix (carrots, celery and onions) for French cookery. For Keralans, curry leaves and coconut perfume rice. Mutton curry with rice showcases the Muslim influence.

                                                                         From Rice A Global History.

I find some facts in this book related to asia not exactly acceptable. Researchers depend on what comes their way.This book says the words paddy and batty came from a sanskrit word Bhakta. They say it means cooked. Unfortunately that is not right. Cooked is pakwa in sanskrit. It also means ripe.

Staue of Unity - Gujarat

Sample pictures of the Staue of Unity - Sardar Patel

Warangal Photos

Thousand pillar Temple. Fine hole in the stone pillar.

A thread is introduced into it.

Friends at the famous Kakatiya gate - Fort Warangal.
Click on the images to see them bigger.

Baby's Way - Rabindranath tagore

IF baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment.

It is not for nothing that he does not leave us.

He loves to rest his head on mother’s bosom, and cannot ever bear to lose sight of her.

Baby knows all manner of wise words, though few on earth can understand their meaning.

It is not for nothing that he never wants to speak.

The one thing he wants is to learn mother’s words from mother’s lips. That is why he looks so innocent.

Baby had a heap of gold and pearls, yet he came like a beggar on to this earth.

It is not for nothing he came in such a disguise.

This dear little naked mendicant pretends to be utterly helpless, so that he may beg for mother’s wealth of love.

Baby was so free from every tie in the land of the tiny crescent moon.

It was not for nothing he gave up his freedom.

He knows that there is room for endless joy in mother’s little corner of a heart, and it is sweeter far than liberty to be caught and pressed in her dear arms.

Baby never knew how to cry. He dwelt in the land of perfect bliss.

It is not for nothing he has chosen to shed tears.

Though with the smile of his dear face he draws mother’s yearning heart to him, yet his little cries over tiny troubles weave the double bond of pity and love.

Warangal - Thousand Pillar Temple 1

Are there a thousand pillars really? No, 

Old Indian Story

This is supposed to be a story told to a British Child by his Ayah.
He was the son of an officer and later wrote all the stories he heard into a book.

THE VORACIOUS FROG.

HERE were a rat and a frog. And the rat said to the frog, “Go and get me some sticks, while I go and get some flour and milk.” So the frog went out far into the jungle and brought home plenty of sticks, and the rat went out and brought home flour and milk for their dinner. Then she cooked the dinner, and when it was cooked she said to the frog, “Now, you sit here while I go to bathe, and take care of the food so that no one may come and eat it up.” Then the rat went to take her bath, and as soon as she had gone the frog made haste and ate up the dinner quickly, and went away.

When the rat came back she found no dinner, and she could not find the frog. So she went out to look for him, calling to him as loudly as she could, and she saw him in the distance, and overtook him. “Why have you eaten my dinner? Why did you go away?” said the rat. Said the frog, “Oh, dear! it was not I that ate your dinner, but a huge dog that came; and I was only a tiny, tiny thing, and he was a great big dog, and so he frightened me, and I ran away.” “Very well,” said the rat; “go and fetch me more sticks while I go for flour and milk.” 

So the frog went out far into the jungle and brought back plenty of sticks. And the rat went to fetch flour and milk. Then she lit the fire and cooked the dinner, and told the frog to take care of the dinner while she went to bathe. As soon as she had gone, the frog ate up all the dinner, and went away and hid himself. 

When the rat came back she saw no frog, no dinner. She went away into the jungle and called to him, and the frog answered from behind a tree, “Here I am, here I am.” The rat went to him and said, “Why did you eat my dinner?” “I didn’t,” said the frog. “It was a great big dog ate the dinner, and he wanted to eat me too, and so I ran away.” 

The rat said, “Very well. Go and fetch me some more sticks, and I will go for flour and milk.” Then she cooked the dinner again and went to bathe. The frog ate up all the dinner, and went away and hid himself. When the rat returned she saw no dinner, no frog. So she went far into the jungle, found the frog, and told him that it was he that had eaten the dinner. And the frog said, “No,” and the rat said, “Yes.” And the frog said, “If you say that again, I will eat you up.” “All right,” says the rat, “eat me up.” 

So he ate her up and sat behind a tree, and the baker came past. The frog called out, “Baker, come here! come here! Give me some bread.” The baker looked about everywhere, could not see anybody, could not think who was calling him. At last he saw the frog sitting behind a tree. “Give me some bread,” says the frog. The man said, “No, I won’t give you any bread. I am a great big man, and you are only a little frog, and you have no money.” “Yes, I have money. I will give you some price, and you will give me some bread.” But the man said, “No, I won’t.” “Well,” said the frog, “if you won’t give me bread, I will eat you up first, and then I will eat up your bread.” 

So he ate up the man, and then ate up his bread. Presently a man with oranges and lemons passed by. The frog called to him, “Come here! come here!” The man was very much afraid. He didn’t know who had called him. Then he saw the frog, and the frog said, “Give me some lemons.” The man wouldn’t, and said, “No.” “Very well,” says the frog, “if you won’t, I’ll eat you up.” 

So he ate up the man with his lemons and oranges. Presently a horse and his groom went by. The frog says, “Please give me a ride, and I will give you some money.” “No,” said the horse, “I won’t let you ride on me. You are like a monkey,—very little—I won’t let you ride on my back.” The frog said, “If you won’t, I’ll eat you up.” Then the frog ate him up, and his groom too. Then a barber passed by. “Come and shave me,” says the frog. “Good,” says the barber, “I’ll come and shave you.” 

So he shaved him, and he thought the frog looked very fat, and so as he was shaving him he suddenly made a cut in his stomach. Out jumped the rat with her flour and milk—the baker with his bread—the lemon-seller with his oranges and lemons—the horse and his groom. And the barber ran away home. And the frog died.

Mysore Maharaja

Jayachamaraja Wodayar was a music lover and composer!

He was crowned on 8-9-1940

Well of Holes

Between AD 600 and 1850, more than 3000 step wells were dug, by hand, in the Indian provinces of Gujarat and Rajasthan. Many of them had intricate staircase designs, peppered with shrines and balconies on which to linger in the afternoon heat.

They reach deep underground and provided insurance against the region's fluctuating water supply. The stairs guided local people – women, mostly – down to the water that seeps in from nearby aquifers. During the rainy season, the wells fill up, but in the dry season, you would have to lug containers up and down the entire well. This particular well, Panna Meena ka Kund near Amber Fort in Rajasthan, has eight storeys. According to local tradition, you must use different sets of stairs to climb down and climb out.

The photograph was taken by Edward Burtynsky for his latest exhibition,Water, which opens at Flowers Gallery in London on 16 October. "I wanted to find ways to make compelling photographs about the human systems employed to redirect and control water," he writes in the accompanying book. His research took him around the globe, from the fish farms and giant dams of China to Iceland's glaciers and the salt flats of Mexico.

Burtynsky found it a challenge to gain enough height to capture the enormous scale of water resources and the structures we build to tap them, and had to resort to drones, aerial lifts and helicopters. He took this picture using a 15-metre pneumatic mast, with his remotely controlled camera mounted on the top.

As well as documenting our ingenuity and recklessness in controlling water, he reveals the depth of our connection to this vital resource. As Wade Davis of the National Geographic Society puts it in his introduction to Burtynsky's book: "We are born of water... Compress our bones, ligaments and muscle sinew, extract the platelets and cells from our blood, and the rest of us, nearly two-thirds of our weight, would flow as easily as a river to the sea."

Prasar Bharati - National Artists VI

Prasar Bharati - National Artists - V

Prasar Bharati - National Artists - IV

Prasar Bharati - National Artists - III

Prasar Bharati - National Artists - II

Prasar Bharati - National Artists - I

(Click on the images to see them bigger)

Is it for real?

The Great Indian Rope Trick!
Is it for real?
I would like people to comment.

India as seen by others

This is an extract from a book written in 1921

MYSTERIOUS INDIA
Its Rajahs - Its Brahmans - Its Fakirs

BY
ROBERT CHAUVELOT
ILLUSTRATED WITH
SIXTY PHOTOGRAPHS

TRANSLATED BY
ELEANOR STIMSON BROOKS

This French man was in awe of this country and toured the length and breadth of it not once but twice.
It is interesting to read what he says.

Here is a sampler.
This is about Indian weddings.

They do not consist, these wedding gifts, as they do with us, of modest cases of jewels, silver, lace, furs, pianos, automobiles, etc. . . . The Hindu wedding boasts of more royal presents. Would you care to know, for example, what was the wedding gift of His Highness the Maharajah of Kashmir to the young couple of Kapurthala? An elephant,six horses, fifteen thousand rupees. The other princes, less rich than he, contented themselves with offering the betrothed: one, three camels, two horses, a dozen falcons ; another, some Bokhara rugs, a collar of pearls, draperies embroidered with gold; others made their appearance preceded by a herald bearing sacks of precious stones in their matrix, or rough-hewn nuggets of gold. The exhibition of the gifts takes place, as in France, a few days before the marriage ceremony, but in the morning, from ten o'clock till noon, in a special room, guarded by two armed attendants. The groom, who alone is visible before the day of the marriage the young girl being strictly secluded in the zenana of the ranees does the honors generally of the inspection of the gifts, many of which are reserved for him personally: arms, jewels, saddles, tennis rackets, polo sticks,etc.

There is something melancholy and saddening in the persistent and mysterious absence of the bride, who ought to be the queen, feted, petted, complimented, of all these festivities. But the Hindu wedding custom permits no relaxation of this stringent system. Even if, like the Princess Brinda of Jubbal, the bride were strongly imbued with European civilization, this preventive sequestration would none the less take place. It is, in a sense, a preparatory novenna which she accomplishes now. Surrounded by the dowager queen, that is to say by the maharanee, the other ranees and their intimates, she trains herself and accustoms herself in advance to the double role of sovereign and wife which must soon be hers. The priests visit her and instruct her thoroughly in her duties there is no question of her rights, which do not exist and in certain obligations which the Law of Manu imposes on her.

India outside India

I thought this would interest some friends at least!
Please read and comment.

(Open the image in another tab to read)

Man - Donkey - Dog and Owl - Story

I was travelling with Prof V Gopalakrishnan.
He is a good conversationalist. 
While talking he narrated couple of stories.


Here is one story about man and his life.


God made all the creatures.
He never decided about the life spans of any of them.
All beings were living long lives.
Some were unhappy with the system.
At last they all went to the God in a delegation and asked him to fix tenures for the lives.
God said "You shall all live for forty years each!"

Some creatures were happy and went away. 
The donkey said, "Enough is enough! I am not interested in carrying burdens for forty long years. Twenty would be more than enough!a'
Immediately "I shall take your twenty years."
Then came the dog and said "Twenty enough for me too!"
Man jumped and greedily asked for the twenty years.
Next was an owl who did not want to live for forty years. 
Man was ready to take twenty years from the owl too.


God agreed to the plan and went away!
Man started living for hundred long years.
The first forty years of life go smooth.
The next twenty years of the donkey go toiling like a donkey!




The next twenty are of the dog. 
You bark, but none care for you!
If one lives beyond eighty, they are the years of an owl!!!

Gopalakrishnan told another one about Dr Radhakrishnan, our erstwhile President.

Some westerner made a comment about some people being fair skinned and some other black.
He ridiculed that the Indians were neither here nor there.  
It appears Radhakrishnan said the following.


God was learning to make people.
It was like making Rotis.
The first batch were half-baked. They were white in color.
Seeing them God left the people in the kiln longer.
They were burnt and came out too dark.
When God really knew the right temperature and time of baking, brown people materialised.
They are the right kind of people!!


No offence meant to anyone please!!
A story is just what it is!!