Chandralekha

MADRAS MISCELLANY

A ‘Cecil B. DeMillean’ Chandralekha

S. MUTHIAH

Sixty years ago, a film was released in Tamil and Hindi that broke all box office records. S.S. Vasan, the person who made the film, has been called the ‘Cecil B. DeMille of Tamil Cinema’ by film historian Randor Guy.

Given how spectacular it was — and the appreciation lavished on it from 1948 till well into the 1950s, which is when I caught up with it — I’m sure that if re-released, it would do better at the box office then most Tamil films today.

“Chandralekha” also had a storyline that, corny though it was, grabbed everyone’s imagination. Film critic V.A.K. Ranga Rao has described it as “the most complete entertainer ever made.”

It was in 1943 that Vasan, following two successive hits, announced that his next film would be “Chandralekha”. Yet, when he launched an advertising blitz for the film, he had nothing more than a name for the heroine — which he had found used in the storyline of a tough, talented woman that he had rejected.

One of his storyboard men, Veppathur Kittoo, then developed a story the ‘Boss’ liked from Robert McCaire the Male Bandit, a novel by G.W.M. Reynolds who was synonymous with one of the most famous pulp magazines of the time, Mysteries of the Court of London.

When shooting began on “Chandralekha” in 1943, few realised it would take five years to complete. With Vasan making his debut as a director halfway through the shooting, scenes were shot and re-shot. In the end, the cost mounted up to Rs. 3 million, the most spent on making a film in India at the time.

Starring in the film as the gentle son of the king was M.K. Radha, who had not wanted to play the villain’s role.

The villainous son was Ranjan (of “Mangamma Sabatham” fame), who replaced Vasan’s first choice, K.J. Mahadevan, the hero of “Thyaga Bhoomi” who had proved too soft in the first shots that were made for “Chandralekha”.

The heroine was T.R. Rajakumari, whom Randor Guy considers “the first dream girl of Tamil Cinema.” Krishnan and Mathuram were part of a circus troupe that was an afterthought — but a key link in the story. And the rest of the cast was as well-known.

Many years later, Kothamangalam Subbu recalled, “During the film’s making our studio looked like a small kingdom…horses, elephants, lions, tigers in one corner, palaces here and there, over there a German lady training nearly a hundred dancers on one studio floor, a shapely Sinhalese lady teaching another group of dancers on real marble steps adjoining a palace, a studio worker making weapons, another making period furniture using expensive rosewood, others set props, headgear, and costumes, Ranjan undergoing fencing practice with our fight composer ‘Stunt’ Somu, our music directors composing and rehearsing songs in a building…there were so many activities going on simultaneously round-the-clock in the same place.”

Out of this mayhem there emerged a super hit whose highlight was the drum dance, to this day one of the most famous scenes in Tamil cinema.

Vasan had Gemini Studios’ 400 dancers preparing for that single sequence, and they rehearsed daily for six months. When they finally executed the scene flawlessly, the sequence had cost Rs. 5 lakh!

Making the film in Hindi sometime later, Vasan opened the doors of Hindi film theatres to films made by South Indians.

He also pioneered making South Indian films in English — a shorter version of “Chandralekha” in English was screened in the U.S. and Europe in the 1950s. All of this helped him make a fortune — but, more importantly, it made him one of India’s greatest film-makers and someone no film committee of the time could do without.

The tragedy is that his home on Edward Elliot’s Road (Dr. Radhakrishnan Salai) and his Gemini Studio, which should have been turned into a Vasan or Tamil cinema museum, have vanished.

Ananthapadmanabhan Veenai

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Chat Corner

A natural talent Ananthapadmanabhan

The name is synonymous with the veena. He was recently conferred ‘A Top Grade’ by All India Radio (AIR), the only veena artiste from Kerala in this category. The self-groomed Ananthapadmanabhan is the only veena staff artiste of the AIR in Kerala. Born in Thiruvananthapuram in 1951, he migrated to Thrissur in 1975 with an appointment order of the AIR in pocket. A beaming Ananthapadmanabhan introspects.

Initiation into classical music...

My father, the late T.S. Ananthakrishnan, who was Professor of Civil Engineering at the College of Engineering, Thiruvananthapuram, was a good veena artiste. He always used to play the veena at home. My father’s niece Gomathi Chidambaram was also an accomplished veena player. So the ambience at home was very musical. By the time I was 15, I had learnt the basics of the veena, both formally and informally from my father; by informal, I mean listening to him practising. In 1966, I happened to hear S. Balachander’s magical mellifluousness on the veena and was besotted by it. That concert helped me make the decision that the veena would be my forte.

Training…

After learning the basics from my father, I trained myself through practice that lasted for about six to seven hours a day. This practice was my main entertainment. During the last five years of college life, I used to spend all my evenings either practising or listening to concerts. I was very lucky to enjoy many live concerts of S. Balachander, Chitti Babu, K.S. Narayanaswamy, Mysore Doraiswamy Iyengar, M.D. Ramanathan, Semmangudi, Bade Ghulam Ali Khan and Ravi Shankar, to name a few. Those days, I used to play all the compositions I had heard at a concert when I got back home. Sometimes, I would select a raga and practise it for about six hours, trying to highlight its special features.

The break…

After graduating in Mathematics from M.G. College, Thiruvananthapuram, I wandered around for some time. Maths was never a choice. Music is and was always in my head and heart. During that time, I used to play the veena and the sitar for Thunder Birds Orchestra. I have performed with almost all the top playback singers in Malayalam. Although I also learnt to play the sitar, I realised that playing both the veena and the sitar would not take me anywhere. So, I decided to focus on the veena. In 1975, I was appointed as a veena staff artiste in All India Radio, Thrissur.

Style of playing…

I do not belong to any particular school of playing. Moreover, I have not been trained in any music college. So, with equal ease, I play both Carnatic and Hindustani ragas on the veena. That provokes orthodox rasikas. Even now there are pundits who feel that that ragas such as Nalinakanthi, Kalyana Vasantham, Bageswari, Desh, Syamkalyan and Shudhasarang should not be played on the veena. I do play these ragas, some of which are among my favourites. My work in AIR has given me the experience and confidence as I got to tune light music compositions too.

‘Triveni Sangamam’ ‘Triveni Sangaman’ was a confluence of Carnatic, Hindustani and Western music. The audience loved it. I did it in 1976, long before the people of Kerala even started discussing about fusion music.

Favourite ragas….

All the ragas are my favourite. Nevertheless, I think I perform more compositions in Carnatic ragas such as Todi and Reetigowla and in Hindustani ragas such as Bagesri, Syamkalyan, Sindhu Bhairavi, Jaijaivanthi and so on. The moods evoked by those ragas… such as romance, devotion, melancholy and so on captivate me.

Teaching music…

I do teach. But I believe that music cannot be taught. One needs an inborn flair; constant practice can set that spark aflame. A guru is only a guide to channel such divine sparks. Being the ward of a great musician does not necessarily make one the the torch bearer of that tradition. So, usually, in my classes I perform and allow my students to pick it up and improvise according to their calibre.

K.K. GOPALAKRISHNAN

GarbaRakshambikai

Garbarakshambikai is a Hindu goddess who is supposed to protect the fetus and pregnant women. Typically when some one has a difficult pregnancy, it is to her that people pray.

The main temple is located in Tirukarukavur(Thiru -Shri, Karu - Seed, Ka--Kakaradhu- protect, oor- city).

The Taj

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A monument to love – Mumbai’s Taj Mahal

Russi M. Lala

A horrific terrorist attack has ravaged one of Mumbai’s most-loved symbols and taken the lives of many of its dedicated staff. This heritage hotel was not started as a commercial venture. It was Jamsetji Tata’s gift to the city he loved — as the Taj Mahal of Agra was Shah Jahan’s memorial to the woman he loved.

MUMBAI'S PRIDE: Before the Gateway of India was built, the Taj Mahal offered the first view of the city of Bombay to ships sailing into the harbour. Even now, with many more tall buildings on the skyline, the hotel engages immediate attention.

The 1880s and 1890s were a time of great construction in Bombay. The Grand Victoria Terminus was built, and after it the Municipal Corporation building, another beautiful structure, followed by the Churchgate headquarters of the B.B. & C.I. Railways (now Western Railways). But there was no hotel worthy of the growing city.

Being an ardent fan of Mark Twain, Jamsetji Tata may have read of the writer’s fate in the so-called ‘best’ Watson’s Hotel: Mark Twain and his family were roused every morning at dawn by doors slamming, servants shouting, and “fiendish bursts of laughter, explosions of dynamite.” The Irish chef at the hotel was apparently more conversant with the French language that with French cooking, “serving up Irish stew on 14 occasions under 14 different French names.” Sir Stanley Reed, Editor of The Times of India, said Jamsetji had an intense pride and affection for the city of his birth, and when a friend protested against the intense discomforts of hotel life in Bombay, he growled: “I will build one.”

One day without consulting anybody, not even his sons or partners, he announced his plan to build a grand hotel. It was his personal contribution and money he was putting in — not that of Tata & Sons. Along the present Yacht Club at Apollo Bunder was a little bay where yachts used to scull. The British were reclaiming the land and he bought a substantial site of two-and-a-half acres on November 1, 1898 on a 99-year lease. There was no formal laying of a foundation stone but a traditional coconut was broken and a Parsi diva (oil lamp) was lit, perhaps by the well or spring between the present swimming pool and the lifts. This ceremony took place in 1900.

Many an interesting story is invented round the Taj being designed by an Italian/French architect who, after his exertions, went home and returned to find the building was put the wrong way around — what should have been in the rear was in front and vise versa. Heartbroken he went to the top floor of the Taj and flung himself out of the window. Dramatic! Touching! But not true. As anyone who stayed at the then-non-air-conditioned Taj in the summer would attest, the late afternoon breezes that blow across Colaba do not spring up from the harbour but sweep in from across Back Bay. The U-shaped wings of the hotel were positioned to trap this breeze and extract the most benefit.

Indeed, the necessity to draw whatever relief there might be from the torrid heat of western India was certainly the inspiration behind the hotel’s two most original features. At the time, the clientele Jamsetji expected was from abroad and his endeavour was to make the hotel as cool as possible. Thus it had high ceilings and wide corridors, which would be conducive to air circulation. Furthermore, the Wellington Mews — another property Jamsetji bought — behind the hotel site was where the horses and carriages were housed and these could roll in directly from the west side.

One convincing explanation comes from the daughter of a Goan customs officer, Francis Xavier D’Mello, who was stationed in the customs shed at Apollo Bunder and witnessed the Taj rising stone by stone: “Jamsetji Tata came regularly to watch his great hotel being built. The customs shed provided the only shelter from the blazing sun, so Mr. Tata used to come there and have long chats with my father. Once my father asked him why he had put the entrance to the Taj at the back, and Jamsetji told him that he wanted the majority of his hotel guests to have rooms overlooking the sea. Jamsetji surely had some hand in his broad instructions to the architect.”

Sadly, having designed the Taj along with a Parsi architect under Jamsetji’s instructions, Sitaram died of malaria. The dome designed on the model of the Victoria Terminus (now Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus) had not been built. W.A. Chambers was called to help. Khansahib Sorabji Contractor built the solid structure.

The prospectus for the hotel to be underlined some salient features: “The Hotel, when completed, will be five storeys high, and will accommodate, beside hotel boarders to the number of 500, a number of permanent residents. Immense cellars, below the ground floor level will contain the refrigeration plant, which will cool the rooms of the inmates, and will also enable their food to be stored in a manner foreign to India. The ground floor will be occupied by the offices, first-class restaurants, and shops for the sale of articles generally desired by travellers. The first floor will be mostly taken up with a grand dining room, drawing room, reading rooms, billiard room, and a few grand suites, all provided with electric fans. The second, third, fourth and fifth floors will contain bedrooms, mostly double and furnished in the Continental style with sofa, tables and chairs, and other furniture, and on each floor bathrooms and lavatories. The kitchens etc., will be on the top of the house with a roof garden. The Hotel will be lighted throughout with electric lights, and many lifts, also worked by electricity, will convey residents from floor to floor with comfort. A Turkish bath will also be fitted up in the Hotel.”

Jamsetji personally went to order the electrical machinery from Dusseldorf and chandeliers from Berlin. Furthermore, he made sure that if by chance electricity failed, a back up system of gas lights was at hand. There was the in-house soda bottling plant, an electric laundry, fans from the USA — and the first spun-steel pillars from the Paris Exhibition where the Eiffel Tower was then the latest wonder of the world. These pillars, a hundred years later, hold up the ceiling of the Banquet Hall.

For all his projects Jamsetji got the costing done thoroughly but not for the Taj. It was his gift to the city he loved — as the Taj Mahal of Agra was Shah Jahan’s memorial to the woman he loved. It cost about Rs. 25 lakh. When the hotel opened, it had a large staff of waiters but only seven guests. It was Bombay’s first public building to be lit by electricity and when it happened, those present outside clapped as they saw it lit.

As if such a grand edifice was not enough, he purchased two small islands near Uran called Panjoo and Dongri so that the guests at the Taj could go on picnics.

Jamsetji wanted to lease out the Taj to an experienced European hotelier. The plans fell through and finding the staff and running the hotel was to fall initially on him in 1902 and later on his partners and colleagues. The Gateway of India came up only in 1924 to commemorate the visit of King Emperor George V and Queen Mary in 1911. Before that at the Gateway site, sahibs used to sit at tables sipping burra and chotta pegs.

Perhaps, says Allen and Dwivedi (who have done research on the Taj), Jamsetji believed in starting a new venture on an auspicious date, Muhurat as it is called. It was decided to open the hotel on December 16, 1903, before the building was complete. Only one wing was ready and the dome had not been completed. A study of Jamsetji’s medical reports of the late-1903 shows his health was deteriorating. His sons and colleagues may have decided to speed up the opening so he could have the satisfaction of seeing at least one of his dreams come true. Steel, the hydro-electric venture, and the Indian Institute of Science came up after his death.

Five months after the Muhurat, when Jamsetji died, a leading journal of Calcutta, The Empress, wrote in the obituary: “The new hotel represented, to Mr. Tata, something more than a mere commercial venture, and he had determined that the Taj Mahal Hotel should set an example, which should re-act throughout India, in removing one of the greatest hindrances to agreeable travel in this country. The plans were drawn with the sole purpose of securing an entirely worthy building, and he looked for no immediate financial returns. There is something peculiarly saddening in the coincidence that the fixing of the key-stone of the noble dome should have preceded, but only a few days, the death of the man who inspired it.”

The lives of the clientele, which was mainly British, revolved round news from home. The P. & O. brought the mail every Friday morning and left every Saturday evening. The London GPO’s largest single destination was mail for India. It was rushed from London, sorted out between Aden and Bombay and special bags delivered within an hour of the arrival of the steamer. Saturday was spent in answering letters. The Sea Lounge at the Taj was created as a letter-writing room and by special arrangement mail from the Taj was directly delivered to the ship.

In years to come, world-renowned personalities have stayed there, from Somerset Maugham and Duke Ellington to Lord Mountbatten and Bill Clinton. The hotel was featured in a hundred books, including Louis Bromfield’s One Night in Bombay, which is centred on the Taj.

The maharajas become the great patrons of the Taj and invited the hotel to do special catering in their states. The Chamber of Princes was to meet there regularly every January — hence the ‘Princes’ Room’ at the southern end of the Taj. The business maharajas were to follow next; today the Taj is the most sought after venue for wedding receptions, and one can frequently see fire crackers being let off at the gate as the bridegroom’s party dances merrily away.

As there was no Gateway of India for 20 years after the Taj came up, the hotel offered the first view of the city to ships sailing into the harbour until 1924. Even now, with many more tall buildings on the skyline, the hotel engages immediate attention. It is a symbol of Mumbai.

(Russi M. Lala is the author of For the Love of India — The Life and Times of Jamsetji Tata. He lives near the Taj Mahal and even closer to Nariman House.)

MSV

SOUCE

Grand rendezvous

MALATHI RANGARAJAN

IN CONVERSATION A not too well known facet of veteran composer M.S. Viswanathan will come to the fore this weekend.

Photo: S. S. Kumar

IN TUNE: M.S. Viswanathan.

The quiet Tuesday morning at Musee Musicals on Anna Salai turns vibrant as M.S. Viswanathan enters the premises. Seeing the maestro at the music showroom is a pleasant surprise for the aficionados present. As he is led to the piano on which he would play this Sunday, at the programme, ‘Vaarthaigal Sollum Vaadhiyangal’ (VSV), organised by www. msvtimes.com and presented by Aircel, his eyes reveal the joy of a toddler who is given a freehand with his favourite toy!

An impromptu treat comes your way as the musician’s fingers dance on the keys of the piano with gay abandon. He pauses for a moment to say: “Decades ago I would come to this shop to check out various instruments. The ambience is still the same. It makes me nostalgic.” Getting back to his keys he plays some of his evergreen hits, looks up after a while at the group gathered around him and with a smile asks, “Is it enough for now.”

Amidst posing for pictures and signing autographs, the chat begins. Composer, singer, harmonium player, MSV is all these and much more. He is a seasoned pianist too. “Please! I’ve not mastered it. You can’t accomplish it in one lifetime,” is his typical, modest refrain. But you know that he’s an ace on the instrument.

Why the sudden idea of showcasing his prowess on the piano? “I’ve always wanted to do such a show. So when my friends, Vaidy, Sabesan and Ramki suggested a programme on these lines, I grabbed it. They even have a website, some dom-com they call it, in my name,” he guffaws.

The piano has been an integral part of many an MSV hit, and most of the pieces — such as ‘Ellorum Nalam Vazha,’ ‘Paaduvor Paadinaal’ and ‘Andru Vandhadhum’ — each a fascinating bit, have been played by the composer himself.

“As a boy when I began playing the harmonium my master would give me a whack if the notes didn’t spell out the lyric used,” he recalls and gives a demo on the piano as an explanation. Words are vital. It is the composer’s job to cull out the music hidden within them is his contention. “Just watch this. If I play ‘Kaanilae Enna Undu’ instead of ‘Kannilae’ the word gets distorted and so does the tune. It’s ‘Tha na na’ not ‘Thaa na na.’ Do you follow me?”

So ‘Vaarthaigal Sollum Vaadhiyangal’ will have many instruments such as the flute, accordion, sax and guitar, each of which will be used instead of the voice, with the rest of the orchestra offering the score. What about the piano? “I’ll be there on it throughout. I prefer being in the background,” he laughs. The stage will have singers too, including MSV. But they will be part of the chorus.

Crowning glory

Of the 32 songs that have been selected for the evening, the troupe will have time to play about 25 pieces — the crowning glory will be a medley with the entire orchestra in action. “The crowd should pardon me if I take off on my own on the piano for a while,” he chuckles. Most of the numbers will be those in which piano is the mainstay. “We’ve also planned compositions where I’ve not used the piano. ‘Ullathil Nalla Ullam’ from ‘Karnan’ for example,” says MSV.

Is the programme a pioneering effort? “Way back in 1958 I recorded instrumental mood pieces for HMV. ‘Pongum Poompunal,’ as it was called, had Kannadasan giving his voice to explain the segments. For example the ‘East West Wedding’ piece in the collection had religious mantras chanted alongside a church choir, with a blend of nagaswaram and western instruments,” he remembers. But VSV will be the first entirely instrumental music show on stage by MSV.

Knowledge of Classical music is a prerequisite for any endeavour in the art, he feels. “I’ve composed a variety of numbers to convey various emotions. Proper use of the ragas, be it Hindustani or Carnatic can enhance their beauty. ‘Kannuku Kulamedhu’ (‘Karnan’) in Pahadi is the song that comes to my mind now,” he says.

MSV wishes to present off beat music-based programmes on television to highlight the beauty of classical music, ghazals in particular. The veteran is still smarting from the lukewarm response his album ‘Sangeetham Santhosham’ met with. “The tunes were melodious and Kamakotiyan’s lyrics were remarkable. Only the publicity wasn’t enough.”

For the first time in the interview he becomes wistful. But the next moment he is back to being his cheerful self. “I’m planning to work on another soon,” he says, and gets up to return to the rehearsals that are on in full swing for the show that’s round the corner.

“I’m thankful that I have the drive to keep trying out new things and the heart to appreciate good music wherever it comes from. Today’s youngsters are very talented,” he smiles. The zest is incredible. “You are as old as you think you are. I’m just 22,” he winks.

Sridhar- Trend-setter

(SOURCE)

Trend-setter

RANDOR GUY

Filmmaking got a new definition with the arrival of Sridhar.

Photos: Chitrakala Sundararajan, Kalaniketan Balu and Special Arrangement.

NUGGETS: (Clockwise from top) At the puja for ‘Uthama Puthiran.’ The group (from left): V.C. Shanmugam, Ratnam Iyer, T. Govindarajan, A. Vincent, M.N. Nambiar, A.V. Subramaniam, Kamal Gosh, C.V. Sridhar, Tiruchi Arunachalam, Venus K. Murthi, T. Prakash Rao, K.A. Thangavelu, K.R. Shanmugam, Chitralaya Gopu, K.S. Gopalakrishnan and P.V. Sathyam. Raj Kapoor was a guest at the marriage reception of Sridhar and Devasena, Sridhar as chief guest in a stage show of Policekaran Magal presented by Kala Nilayam, a scene from the film.

“Nenjil Oru Alayam” was shot in a record time of four weeks. Sridhar thus proved that movies could be made with new faces, limited sets and low budgets if one had an interesting, emotionally rich story, tautly narrated on screen with pleasing music. The cast had Muthuraman, Kalyan Kumar (from Kannada cinema), Devika, ( not yet a star) and Nagesh then struggling for recognition. Besides the triangular love story it had excellent music by Viswanathan-Ramamurthi and the innovative cinematography of Aloysius Vincent who had a penchant for unusual angles, then a novelty in South Indian cinema.

This film was remade in Hindi, Telugu (“Manase Mandiram”) and also in Kannada (“Kunkuma Rakshe,” Rajinikanth in one of his early roles, directed by S.K.A. Chari).

Inspired by the success and innovative features of this film Sridhar wanted to enter it at the Cannes Film Festival and had the screenplay translated into French at great cost and sent his administrative manager, Sarma to Europe.

Not many are aware that a few years ago, California-based Indian filmmaker Jag Mundhra was keen on remaking “Dil Ek Mandir” in English and also Hindi, making some marginal changes in the film treatment. This writer took Jag to Sridhar and learnt that Sridhar had assigned it to a film financier for a paltry sum, for eternity. The assignee demanded an exorbitant fee for giving up the rights, which was almost 75 per cent of Jag’s budget!

Moving to Madras (from Maduranthakam, where he worked as a government servant) Sridhar made a name as a dialogue writer and worked on scripts for movies like “Maheswari” (1955, T.R. Sundaram- T.R. Raghunath), “Amara Deepam” (1956, T. Prakasha Rao), “Maadhar Kula Maanikkam” (1956, T. Prakasha Rao), “Enga Veetu Mahalakshmi” (1957, Adurthi Subba Rao) and “Uthama Puthiran” (1958, T. Prakasha Rao. A Venus Picture production in which Sridhar was also a partner).

Disciplined life

Somewhat shy and retiring by nature, Sridhar had no airs and led a disciplined life with his regular evening Marina Beach drives in his open maroon Standard Herald car with ‘Chithralaya’ Gopu seated beside him. He ran his office on systematic lines something unheard of in film companies of that era. Files were maintained meticulously and he had Film News Anandan as his PRO and no letter addressed to him or his company went without a reply.

Not many are aware that he launched a film with MGR, “Andru Sindhiya Ratham” and after some reels were shot, differences of opinion arose and the production was closed. Soon it took a fresh avatar as “Sivandha Mann’ with Sivaji Ganesan in the lead. It was mainly shot abroad and a major success, remade in Hindi as “Dharthi” with Rajendra Kumar in the lead.

As star maker he gave breaks to many aspiring and talented new faces which include Muthuraman, Jayalalithaa, Srikkanth, Major Sundararajan, ‘Vennira Aadai’ Murthi, ‘Vennira Aadai’ Nirmala and brought talented actors, such as Kalyana Kumar from Kannada.

What was his impression of working with top stars, MGR, Sivaji Ganesan and Gemini Ganesh? He told this writer that he loved working with Gemini Ganesh because of the top star’s sophisticated, educated middle class background, whereas he did not enjoy that freedom with the other stars for whom, of course, he had great respect. GG was his favourite hero and worked with him in many films.

Sridhar’s wife Devasena is from the famed political family of Nellore district and closely related to the Congress leader Bezawada Gopala Reddi and much respected Justice Party leader Bezawada Ramachandra Reddi.

Tamil Cinema has never witnessed a multitalented filmmaker like Sridhar and the void is most unlikely to be filled in the years to come.

Forgotten link

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Forgotten link

MINI KRISHNAN

Dara Shikoh, whose death anniversary fell on August 30, was more than a Sufi-prince, scholar and translator. He was also a hands-on editor-publisher of translations

Every Indian who has ever translated a text into English owes something to a Mughal prince who lies buried in the compound of Humayun’s tomb in Delhi. The anniversary of his death, August 30, is a date we should remember with national melanchol y. The school-room facts are well known: in the struggle for the Mughal throne 350 years ago, Shah Jahan’s eldest son Prince Dara Shikoh was defeated, and brought to Delhi where he was led through the city in a disgrace-parade on an old and unwashed elephant.

Chief charge

What is significant for us today is not that there was a war for kingship — in itself nothing unusual — but that one of the chief charges Aurangzeb brought against the rightful heir was that in publishing the Majma-‘ul-Bahrain (The Mingling of the Two Oceans) Dara had openly committed to the truth in Hinduism. Like his great-grandfather, Dara tried to bridge the gap between Hinduism and Islam. The Emperor Akbar had strongly believed that his Mughal nobles needed to understand their Hindu subjects and had set up a translation bureau to render the Ramayana, the Mahabharata and the Bhagavata into Persian. Prince Dara Shikoh went much further.

Dara Shikoh, whose name means “the glory of Darius”, was born to Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal in 1615. He was the heir apparent and his father’s favourite son. As he grew up, and began to display very special qualities of scholarship and a deep interest in mysticism, which he researched relentlessly, it became clear that he was no ordinary man. In 1640 he was introduced to Lahore’s famous Qadri Sufi saint, Hazrat Mian Mir who had urged both Jehangir and Shah Jahan to be kind to all their subjects. In the same year, Dara published his first book, Sakinatul Auliya, a collection of biographical sketches of Muslim saints. His interests took a steep turn when he met Baba Lal Bairagi, a Hindu gnostic, conversations with whom he recorded in a little book entitled Mukalama Baba Lal wa Dara Shikoh.

He befriended Hindus, Sikhs and Christians and his spiritual explorations led him to a great cross-language venture. In seeking to find a common mystical language between Islam and Hinduism, Dara Shikoh commissioned the translation of many Upanishads from Sanskrit into Persian and even personally participated in some of these renderings. He believed in joint scholarship and, amazing though it sounds, encouraged by Dara, learned men both Hindu and Muslim, worked together. His translation is called the Sirr-e-Akbar (The Greatest Mystery) and in his Introduction he boldly states that the work referred to in the Holy Quran as the Kitab al-maknun or the “hidden book” is none other than the Upanishads. If his brother needed evidence against him, it is easy to see how Dara himself gave Aurangzeb sufficient material.

Famous work

Dara’s most famous work, Majma-ul-Bahrain (The Mingling of the Two Oceans) was also devoted to finding the common links between Sufism and Hindu monotheism. When it was published, the book sealed his doom and Aurangzeb used the conviction of religious groups and the ambition of political ones to overcome Dara, making out a strong case that he was unfit to rule. In June 1659, for his work in translating Sanskrit texts, Aurangzeb had Dara declared a heretic who deserved to die. Dara had already been defeated in battle and was Aurangzeb’s prisoner. In the end when his killers came for him, Dara was cooking a meal for himself and his young son. The deposed prince fought like a king, using a kitchen knife against the swords of his assassins. Just as the translators of the Bible into German and English met with fatal opposition, so too did the first translator of the Upanishads. He was buried without ceremony, his headless body dumped in a hastily dug grave.

A hundred and forty years after Dara Shikoh was murdered, his translation of the Upanishads, which had lain forgotten and unread, were translated into a mix of Latin, Greek and Persian by the French traveller Anquetill Duperon (1801) and was the very text that caught the attention of Schopenhauer who wrote those unforgettable words nine years later, “In the whole world there is no study so beneficial and so elevating as that of the Upanishads. It has been the solace of my life. It will be the solace of my death”. This sudden discovery of a vast body of literature in a sophisticated and advanced language that had remained unknown for so many centuries sent a tremor through the libraries of Europe and scholars there began to view India with new eyes.

In being the first to make the link between two entirely different — even hostile — traditions, it was the ideals and work of this Mughal prince that launched Indian thought in the Western world. The motives behind his linguistic border-breaches led to Dara’s ruin; but eventually, the translation of his translation formed the road to cultural ties between civilisations. The distinguished historian Sathyanath Iyer wrote, “He is to be reckoned among the great Seekers of Truth who can appeal to the modern mind.”

E-mail: minik@satyam.net.in