Invocation—Amma & Son

“Birju, Birju beta…”—Amma, the graceful, benign, self-effacing and compassionate idol—74-year-old Pandit Birju Maharaj is lost in reverie as he reverts to his nine-year-old self, thinking about his mother. Each of the dance doyen's statements are interspersed with mentions of his mother, an indication of the strong bond that the two shared. Born in 1938, as Dukhharan Nath Mishra (his mother believed he would wipe off people’s woes), Birju Maharaj is the son of legendary Kathak dancer Achchan Maharaj. Later, he was renamed Brij Mohan, after Lord Krishna surrounded as he was by a bevy of female cousins. Birju bhaiyya was everyone's favourite too. But by the time Birju was born into the illustrious family of Maharajs— the famous Kathak dancers of Kalka-Bindadin Gharana of Lucknow, the family coffers were empty. Birju was bred on his mother’s tales of riches, once held in those large, empty chests strewn around his ancestral home. When Birju was just a baby, Achchan Maharaj was a teacher at Sangeet Bharati in Delhi. On January 30, 1948, Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated. The nation plunged into darkness and turmoil. “The country was assailed by Hindu- Muslim riots and people were fleeing from Delhi fearing for their lives,” says the guru, whose repertoire includes performances on brotherhood. Birju Maharaj and his family, too, joined the fleeing crowds. “There was a thick envelop of palpable fear. The tongas on the roads moved slowly, only one or two dhibris (lamps) lighting the way. We could hear our hearts beating in the heavy silence when we passed the Lal Quila (Red Fort). It was now a question of survival, of running from Delhi to save lives,” recalls Maharaj. Soon after, the nation also lost Achchan Maharaj, and a young Birju was left to fend for himself and his mother. A nine-and-a-half year old Birju had by then learnt all the gur (expertise) that his father had in Kathak and music, thanks to a persistent mother who would prod a reluctant Achchan Maharaj to take his son on his sojourns to mehfils where he was performing. Unwillingly, Achchan would comply, warning his wife that Birju would trouble him for balloons and what not. What followed were years of struggle in Lucknow and Kanpur. Birju managed to study till Class VI, at the same time eking out a living for his mother and himself through dance performances. Recalling those days Birju Maharaj says: “Though just a child, I wanted to console my mother. I would tell her: ‘Do not worry Amma. Just bless me and I will keep practicing whatever I have learnt from Babu (father).’” Birju was somehow confident that he could do that. For once, Maharaj had overheard his father tell Amma, “‘I have passed on all my skills to Birju. It is upto him how to utilise them’,”Maharaj recalls, adding, “Babu had assured Amma that when I grow up, I would do well.” His uncle Lachchu Maharaj was in Mumbai, busy with films. And though Shambhu Maharaj (my uncle) was in Lucknow, he was busy too. “I was my mother’s only crutch. And she was my support. Whenever I saw her in tears it was heart rending. I felt so helpless that I was just a child and had no formal training.” And yet, Birju bravely tried to wipe his mother’s tears. If his mother had not tried so hard to ensure that Birju carried on the family tradition, perhaps Birju Maharaj would have been a mechanic! “I had a passion for cars and would often tell mother that if nothing came off my dancing, I would become a mechanic and work in a garage.” But the courageous mother persisted, sending her young boy near and far to dance. “From Bareilly to Nepal, she did not hesitate to send me anywhere.” He remembers one wedding in the royal family of Nepal. Some 22 famous Indian dancers were invited, including Kishan Maharaj and Boodhaiya Maharaj. Birju’s mother told him that he must grab this opportunity to showcase his talent. She persisted that Birju accompany his relatives (the dancers). “She requested the troupe to take me along hoping that if the king was pleased he would grant us some money,” recalls Birju Maharaj. Even a small sum of `50 which was a huge amount those days. “It meant that Amma could run her household for a few days. Imagine how poor we had become! From owning naulakha haars (nine-lakh chains), trunks full of expensive saris, chadars and shawls received from our patrons, kings and nawabs to empty stories of broken wooden chests and vanished riches—it was an arduous, sad journey indeed.” Amma worried about her son’s future incessantly. “We were now paupers, pawning household goods. We would burn my mother’s Banarsi saris to melt the gold and silver zaris and sell them. That provided our ration for a few days.” Yet, through these hard years, young Birju had a clear goal—to continue his struggle and become famous like his father.

Vilambit Laya; A Struggling Dancer

Birju definitely had something extraordinary in him. His first memorable performance was at the age of seven with his father at the court of Nawab of Rampur. “There were no prosceniums or wooden stages. We performed at mehfils or informal gatherings,” says Birju Maharaj. The Nawab appreciated little Birju’s performance so much that he fixed a monthly stipend of `21 for him. But Birju Maharaj waves aside all credit for his achievements. He believes that it was his mother’s and gurus’ blessings that have led him this far. Dismissing his struggles, he says, “I took dance tuitions and gave small performances here and there. But God was benign. My struggles made me determined and I continued dancing.” It was providential that Dr Kapila Vatsayan, the famous scholar of classical Indian dance, art and architecture, chanced upon Birju. “She went to Lucknow and met my mother. She asked her, ‘does your boy do anything?’” recounts Birju Maharaj. His mother replied, “His father is no more. Whatever he taught Birju, the boy remembers a little of that.” It was his Guru Didi (Kapila) who took him to Delhi promising his mother to get him a job at Sangeet Bharati—if the boy proved his merit. Birju Maharaj, now a strapping 13-year-old lad, did more than that. He became the youngest teacher of Kathak at the institute. He was so dedicated that if he happened to be travelling or performing elsewhere, he would head to his classes the moment he landed in Delhi. “I would come with my bag and baggage!”

Druta Laya; Performer and Personae

Birju Maharaj’s journey from a struggling dancer to a legend picked up pace in Sangeet Bharati. He was not new to performance, having performed with his father in Kanpur, Allahabad, Jaunpur, Dehradun, Madubani, Calcutta and Bombay. In fact, his father would sometimes let the young boy present a dance before taking the stage himself. Birju Maharaj’s first major solo was at Manmath Nath Gosh celebrations in Bengal. The show was a success. The car-lover-turned-Kathak teacher had by now also become the proud owner of a bicycle. “I still have it,” he says proudly. “It cost me `125.” Panditji tells the amusing anecdote of his Robin Hood bicycle. “I was earning `50 from dance tuitions when I decided to purchase a cycle from one of the shops around Jama Masjid. It was the first time that I was buying something for myself. There was Hercules brand and Robin Hood brand. I had read the story of Robin Hood in Class V and knew he was a fast runner. So, I decided to buy Robin Hood.” It indeed took him on a drive down the fast lane to success. From Sangeet Bharati, where Birju “worked hard to teach four to five students devotedly,” he moved to Bharatiya Kala Kendra, till the establishment of Kathak Kendra. There he stayed in saddle as the head of its faculty, and later as the director, till his retirement in 1998. “During this period, I travelled the world. I think I visited Russia for a performance as early as 1962,” says Birju Maharaj. “My mother’s insistence that my father let me tag along and watch him, was finally paying off.” But not for a moment did Birju forget his humble beginning. And this reality check still keeps him grounded. There is an ambience of venerated guru-shishya parampara around Birju Maharaj. Panditji, as he is known, is renowned for his pureness of spirit and invokes a deep devotion within his pupils. “It is my desire that my disciples become like me.” He quotes his father to illustrate the point. “My father had once said, ‘knowledge and education increase when you give it away or gift it. If you try to save it or hide it, it goes to the ghats (funeral pyre). The more knowledge you gift, the more your’s will increase.” Birju Maharaj firmly believes that propagating his art enriches his learning. Standing as a testimony to this philosophy, this true guru broke the tradition of handing down the mantle of Lucknow Gharana to the bloodline. He has declared four of his disciples—Pratap Pawar, Munnalal Shukla, Prabha Marathe and Saswati Sen—as Gandabandh Shagirds (Gandabandhan is a ceremony in which a guru ties a sacred thread around the disciple and authorises her or him to carry forth the legacy.) That he has won hearts as a guru, is evident from the way his disciples, young and old, flock to him to seek his blessings. And when they do, Birju Maharaj’s hand rises to bless each one individually.That he is a performer par excellence is as indisputable a fact as that he is an enlightened guru. He received the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award when he was just 28 years old. But more than any award the fact that Birju Maharaj holds all art forms in same regard as Kathak, reveals his worth as a performer. “I won’t talk only about Kathak here. I have received equal love from performers across classical dance forms—Kathakali, Bharatnatyam or Manipuri. I attend all programmes that I am invited to irrespective of their form. If India is my country, then all its dance forms are also mine.” More recognitions have followed over the years: Kalidas Samman, Nritya Choodamani, Andhra Ratna, Nritya Vilas, Adharshila Shikhar Samman, Soviet Land Nehru Award, Shiromani Samman and Rajiv Gandhi Peace Award. He was also awarded honorary doctorates by Banares Hindu University and Khairagarh University. But the highest point of his steadfast, single-minded devotion to Kathak, and a fitting finale to his illustrious career, was when the Government of India conferred upon him the Padma Vibhushan. It was a vindication of his personal and professional struggles. Yet for this indefatigable proponent of classical dance forms, no programme is too small and no audience insignificant. “We were on the last leg of our tour in Italy. The auditorium was huge, but due to inclement weather only 50 people could make it. My troupe was disheartened. Have we come so far to perform before such a small audience? I said to them, think of these 50 aficionados who have braved the rain and storm to watch us perform.” Birju Maharaj wove his magic for one-and-a-half hours over the 50 people. “My father would say that a person who comes to watch us perform, because he genuinely is interested, is our huzoor (lord). Maharaj has the same regard for his many patrons.” He never forgets these nuggets of wisdom his father gave him. You can find Panditji at most functions of Kalashram (his school) playing the drums and singing in the wings for the protégés. Or, sitting in the front row watching performances, singing along, pointing out the good performers or discussing the nuances with his shagirds.

Madhya Laya; Guru, Guide and Philosopher

By the time of his retirement from Kathak Kendra in 1998, the transformation of Birju Maharaj to Pandit Birju Maharaj, an institution, was complete. Yet the legend had not lost his verve to teach. Suddenly, he was confronted by the reality of existence in a vacuum— without Kathak Kendra to which he had devoted his life and with which he identified himself. It was his moment of crisis. He was clear though, that he wanted to continue teaching. But there was no extension forthcoming from the government. From his desire to teach, germinated the seeds of Kalashram—his vision of a Kathak school—where kala (art) is venerated through unstinted and honest effort (shram). Panditji explains his vision: “Take kala (art) as the root word. All other art forms are interlinked. If dance is the root, then vocals, instrumental, painting, are also its branches and leaves.” Birju Maharaj is a metaphor of his own vision. If dance is his root—music, art, choreography, composition and poetry are his branches and leaves. His experimentations with group compositions and dance dramas are legendary. He can play all percussion instruments, but is an ace at the tabla and naal. His expertise with string instruments is surprising as he has never trained in them. An excellent singer, he has a steady hold on Thumri, Dadra, Bhajan and Ghazal. With his command of the laya, Birju Maharaj has a gift for composing and gives scores for all his dances. He is also an amateur painter, a poet and an orator, holding his audience’s attention with comic anecdotes. “Through our mudras and the music of our ghungroo (anklets) we recreate the different facets of nature.” Drawing a simile more vivid with his hands mimicking the birds chirping and his eyes darting to indicate their fluid movement, he explains: “Sit down quietly somewhere close to nature at dusk and just soak in the silence. You will hear the birds returning to their nests, chattering. Their chirpings sound like the twinkling of our anklets. We learn from nature. Famous teachers have also drawn lessons from it. If nobody had walked, could time have been there? Deer, cows, buffaloes, elephants also walk and in each walk is hidden a different speed or rhythm. Our gurus tied the different speeds together calling it Ektara Taal. Hear the birds talk on a quiet evening. They talk in different rhythms. This is what our anklets do—they start conversations with the earth.” It is this simple yet profound art of conversation—a gur (artistry)—that he wishes to teach his students at Kalashram. “This cannot be achieved where you cannot hear the birds sing. Nowadays, no one pays attention to a cuckoo’s call. I want my students to hear it. For this to happen I need a verdant, open space. For art to flourish, we must connect with nature.” Kalashram is still to get a little green patch “where there will be trees, a talaab (pond) and birds”. That Kathak as a classical dance has come a long way from its days of village minstrels singing for alms, to the royal mehfils, through the ignominy of kothas and mujras; to become a world-renowned art form, is in no small way due to the ceaseless efforts of Birju Maharaj. He has documented the oral, abstract tradition, giving each mudra a name. He has woven contemporary and intellectual subjects into it without playing with the purity of form, making Kathak a vibrant art, taking it all over the world. Talking about the journey of Kathak, Birju Maharaj quotes some incidents from his childhood.“In my family, girls were not allowed to dance. They were married off early and had to maintain strict purdah,” In fact, much later too, it was only after much cajoling that his mother would sing long-lost songs that he today weaves into his compositions. The stigma attached to the professon was such that it even affected his childhood freindships. “I had a friend, now a professor in the US. As a kid he loved to paint. But whenever we would be sitting together in the evenings, his mother, scared of my influence on him, would call out: Bhole. Bhole. Come home. It is getting late. She would tell him: ‘Do not spend so much time with these dancing-singing people.’ Today, when we meet, he thanks me for inspiring him to become a painter.” Recalling the public ridicule he often faced Maharaj says: “I used to wear ear studs and people would nudge and point at me referring to me as the ‘nachaniya’ (dancer). I would often lie, calling myself a cloth merchant.” Years later, the same man is accosted at international airports by ardent fans. “People want to know where I would perform next.” It makes the maestro happy that Kathak is now a respectable, sought-after art form. Undoubtedly, Kathak has travelled far and wide with this Kathik. And what does the grand old man of Kathak want to bequeath to the next generation? Some wise words: “Preserve your gur (talent). Do not think of it as entertainment. It is part of your character. Rhythm balances life. It is another name of God. I tell my audience: When you watch us perform with ekagrata (concentration), together we create laya (rhythm)—that is God.” You believe in his form of devotion.