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BHATIALI: SONGS OF THE BOATMEN OF BENGAL

Indrani Majumdar

The vast stretches from the Himalayas to the ocean and from the mountains of Afghanistan to the waters flowing into the Bay of Bengal give the subcontinent its distinctive edge. Set in this geographical entity, Bengal presents a kaleidoscope of colour and variety. West Bengal covers the bottleneck of India in the east, stretching from the Himalayas in its north to the Bay of Bengal in its south. The alluvial plain in the south is watered by the legendary river Hooghly and its tributaries, while the Himalayan north is watered by the swift flowing Tista, Torsa, Jaldhaka, and Ranjit rivers. The terrain varies from the northern highlands at the feet of the Himalayas to the tropical forests of the Sunderbans.

During the British Raj, as a large and undivided province, Bengal could boast of a glorious cultural tradition. In denoting its borders, the eastern part of the province was broadly referred to as ‘East Bengal’ (now Bangladesh). It encompassed a huge area, spreading over Rangpur, Dinajpur, Bogura, Rajshahi, Kushtia, Pabna, Dhaka, Barishal, Faridpur, Jessore, Khulna, Kumilla, Mymensingh, Noakhali, Chittagong and the Sunderbans. Although districts such as Srihatta and Kachhar (Cachar) were parts of Assam, on linguistic grounds they fell within the cultural boundaries of East Bengal, surrounded as they were by rivers, reservoirs, valleys and mountain ranges—all offering endless stretches of natural splendour. The musical traditions of that whole area grew from its social life that was rooted in farming and the co-existence of different religions, practices and beliefs.

It is in the riverine East Bengal that Bhatiali was born. It has always been nurtured by the same natural conditions amidst which its birth took place. The noted musicologist, Ashutosh Bhattacharya strongly feels, ‘if it is separated from its natural background, it cannot preserve its original life force, even if it travels elsewhere and becomes popular’. Composed and sung by the boatmen of Bengal, the Bhatiali form of folk music is a fitting reminder that Bengal is a land of rivers. The mighty rivers such as the Ganga, Padma, Brahmaputra, Kabotaksha, Meghna, Madhumati and Biruganga not only brought the Bengal delta to life, but they also gave its people one of the cheapest forms of transport. Thus, boating is the sole occupation of a specific group of people—the majhis. Therefore, in the lyrics of Bhatiali songs, words such as boat, sailing-boat, boatman, rudder, sails, oar, scull, mast, etc. appear so frequently that there has never been any difficulty in identifying them as songs of the boatmen. These words have helped both boatmen and shepherds to sing the songs during their moments of leisure. Certain words have symbolic meanings: for example, a boat may mean the body; the boatman then represents the mind, and a huge river, or even the sea, would connote the entire world.

Boats are the chief means of transport in the region. When travelling by a boat, all one has to do is sit at the helm and ensure that the boat remains straight when sailing down a river. It is the river that pushes it along at low tide. This gives the boatman enough time and opportunity to express all his secret desires and passions through a song. The messages conveyed in these songs may have deeper meanings. The main pattern of melody heard in this Bhati region is Bhatiali, although it may not be right to assume that it is reflected in every category of songs. Variations in tune and rhythm are clearly noticeable in different kinds of songs. The typical Bhatiali tune is generally confined to songs that speak of spiritual matters and the relationship between the boatman and his boat.

However, it is not the river alone that has a close relationship with Bhatiali. The wide expanse of open lands, slow and leisurely journeys over those lands, a detached and melancholic mood in the air—all these are sources of inspiration for Bhatiali music. In East Bengal, ‘wide open lands’ usually mean huge stretches marked by canals and reservoirs. These lands are known as haaor. It is a distortion of the word sagar, or sea. When a boatman simply holds on to his oars while travelling down a haaor and is able to relax for a minute both physically and mentally, he lets the flow of the river push his boat along, and breaks into a Bhatiali song spontaneously. Or else in autumn, when the water in the haaor dries up, exposing the barrenness of a wasteland, a young shepherd boy, on a sad and lazy afternoon, might lie down on a grassy bed in the shade of a tree and impulsively start singing a Bhatiali. One can see, therefore, that Bhatiali has a place either in the endless expanses provided by nature, or during moments of loneliness. In that respect, as a form of music, it is meant for loners and its ‘loneliness’ is of a special kind: just as the singer does not have a co-singer to join him, he does not have a listener either. He neither needs to perform for an audience nor does he need to modify his own flow of melody out of fears of how his listeners might react. Here the singer is completely free; there can be no obstacle between him and the feelings of his heart. No established beliefs or practices can affect his natural perceptions. That is why no other form of folk music can express the innermost feelings of the singer as clearly and effectively as the Bhatiali. Despite the hoary tradition of Bhatiali, today, little is known about its origins which are lost in antiquity.

Bhatiali has spread beyond the valleys that lie close to rivers such as the Surama and the Meghna, and reached other areas that line the rivers. There is no division of opinion among research scholars regarding the antiquity of Bhatiali, but there is no reliable source of information that can indicate exactly when it first came into being. Everything is, therefore, a matter of conjecture. The earliest mention of Bhatiali is seen in Sree Krishna keertan written by Bodu-Chandidas in the fourteenth century. The word ‘Bhati refers to lowlying ground; ‘ali,’ or ‘aal’ is the small ridge demarking a piece of agricultural land. This helps not only to separate one piece of land from the other, but also helps to store water for irrigation. According to some authorities, that is the basis for the word Bhatiali.

Boatmen from East Bengal often went to West Bengal to earn a living, and in the process helped popularise their music in the new region. In ancient and medieval Bengali literature, there is frequent mention of merchant ships from West Bengal being rowed by boatmen from the eastern parts of the province, and taken to different countries. In medieval literature, particularly in every mangalkavya (epic poem), there was a description of the ‘bangaal majhi’s (boatman from East Bengal) grief,’ if the boat sank. That is quite significant, and proves conclusively that songs from East Bengal were not confined to its borders. On the contrary, through the boatmen, they spread everywhere. That is how Bhatiali came to be known in West Bengal. The western part of Srihatta and the haaor region of eastern Mymensingh are considered to be the home of Bhatiali.

‘In the Bhatial region there was a merchant,

he owned a big factory, his name was Dhaneshwar.’

— Mymensingh Geetika, Dineshchandra Sen

Bhatiali chiefly comprises songs of separation and pain, which may be related either to separation from a loved one or lack of a spiritual fulfilment. The same aspects of nature described before that act as a backdrop to Bhatiali have led to the feeling of pain and helplessness. The melody in this music, therefore, is intrinsically linked to its natural background. It cannot be separated.

Although Bhatiali started as an expression of an ordinary individual’s love song, legends related to Radha and Krishna were added to it at a later stage, as were the spiritual thinking of Bengali philosophers. No other form of folk music offers such details of the lives lived by the riverside—the joy and grief, and the ups and downs of the people living there. This applies particularly to women. They meet by the riverside and exchange news; many domestic chores have to be completed by the riverside. Sometimes they come in groups; at other times, alone. The men in many families have to leave home for a long time, travelling in merchant ships. Their young wives are left to their own devices. Some of them are sad and lonely, so when they see another boatman, they tend to overcome the absence of their own husbands and offer their love to these unknown men:

Boatman, pull the boat ashore.

I will give you my love,

(there will be) just the two of us.

Please pull the boat ashore.

O boatman —

if you come to my house,

I will give you water

to wash your feet;

if all towels get wet,

I’ll give you fresh clothes.

O boatman —

pull the boat ashore.

In addition to songs sung individually, Bhatiali serves another purpose, which is to do with fairy tales. Everyone is aware that fairy tales are examples of prose writing, though there is a lyrical element to them. Where the narrative in a fairy tale gets full of pathos, or particularly lyrical, the narrator abandons the prose style and turns to music. Of course, such a thing happens only in certain sections in a story, not throughout. For instance, in the story of Madhumala, the following lines have almost spontaneously turned into Bhatiali:

I see Madhumala’s face in my dream.

If dreams were untrue,

could garlands be exchanged, people?

If dreams were untrue,

could rings be exchanged, people?

Madan Kumar set sail,

his mast broke and fell into the water, people!

Many other sections of the story of Madhumala, like this one, are more popular as Bhatiali. It is a story of eternal love. There is loss and pain in such a story, but at the end of it all there is the union of two lovers.

Bhatiali is not only the oldest form of folk music in Bengal, but also something that carries within it a number of original features which are found in such music everywhere in the province. One may even think, therefore, that most of the music that expresses similar moods is based on Bhatiali. At one time, there were five types of Bhatiali in Bangladesh and Bengal. But some of these forms have become extinct. The songs known as murshidi and bichhedi are also forms of the Bhatiali. In many instances the word Bhatiali is used in a song to point out the note of a specific verse. Usually, the pala or panchali, the first verse of the bandana, or hymn is referred to as the ujan (upstream) and the second verse as bhaital (downstream). For example:

‘In the east, I salute the sun god

When the sun arises from one side

Light penetrates all sides.’

North Bengal (Rajshahi and Cooch Behar) music, namely, Bhaoaia, is but a variety of Bhatiali tunes. Bhaoaia is sometimes called a song on Dotara. Both Bhatiali and Bhaoaia are free from religious bias. These songs depict longings and pathos or love, and some other similar feelings such as relationships of a woman with her mother-in-law and sister-in-law and so on. Therefore, softness and gracefulness are some of the important features exposed in the tune. Another dimension to these rhythmic songs of the Bhatiali group is sari, sung during the boat race in East Bengal. The song is initiated by a leader standing in the midst of a party of boatmen pulling the oars on the water rhythmically. A series of sounds in water with rhythmic strokes on the flanks of the boat in a quick tempo produces a wonderful beat to this genre of music. They repeat the leader’s loud songs in chorus along with beats. Occasional yelling very often follows this sequence of sounds in water and on the boat side. Therefore, Bhatiali maintains an individuality of its own in its various tune patterns. Further, some people have commented on the amazing similarities between Bhatiali and Bengali keertan and tappa. Other styles of folk music in East Bengal such as baul, dehatatva, mursheeda, marfati, etc. have all merged with Bhatiali. One remarkable feature in the developments of Bhatiali is that it is a type of folk music, which is completely free from religious and sectarian bias. No other music in rural Bengal has the power of Bhatiali to express highly philosophical thoughts and sensitive feelings.

One of the chief features of Bhatiali is that it is sung without any accompaniment. There is no need for percussions or rhythmic cycle of beats of accompanying instruments. Unlike other forms of Bengali folk music, Bhatiali uses no accompaniment at all. Only the voice of the singer is heard loud and clear. As a result, it is very easy to follow the various scales to which the voice either rises or falls. An occasional break in the voice and in syllables pronounced with rhythmic breaks in the tune make these songs colourful and vibrant. The subject matter with specific themes based on definite tunes and modes of performance is familiar to a section of composers and artistes of the urban areas. The singer begins with a plaintive note addressing his love from a distance on a high pitch up to a crescendo and gradually descends over the seven notes until the tune stops at a point. A simple and plain voice with full-throated ease can create wonders in this type of music. One thing in particular must be remembered here: it is not possible to produce a perfect and totally flawless score for any form of music, be it classical or folk. Therefore, Bhatiali songs, where the beat and tempo are not strictly governed by any set rules, cannot be captured in a written score. Yet, if a subject has to be studied and practised, it is necessary to find a few simple ground rules. That is why the score that is usually written for Bhatiali music is produced to make matters simpler for those who wish to learn and practise it in an urban society. It does not, and cannot, reflect the pure and undistorted form of rural Bhatiali.

Since Bhatiali is sung by a lone singer, and the presence of a listener is not essential, it is not possible to bring it within the confines of our domestic lives, or even at a musical gathering. Bhatiali has to be sung under an open sky in a boat sailing leisurely down a river following the flow of the water. When the boatman has little to do except sit at the helm, he may feel tired of the monotony that comes with his job. That is when he may break into a song to create a diversion for himself:

O boatman —

good boatman, I still haven’t found the shore.

Dark clouds have gathered; I can’t help feeling scared.

Take my boat closer to the shore,

don’t let it sink, O boatman.

Within minutes, the lilting melody of his song will echo through the sky, the woods and meadows by the river, as if each wants to embrace the other. In addition to establishing this close relationship with nature, a boatman’s song can make something else happen. Another boatman may hear his song from a different boat nearby and pick it up, responding by singing the next few lines. A Bhatiali song can travel for miles down the river in that manner, passing from one boatman to another.

Structurally, Bhatiali is always short and simple. In fact, Bhatiali songs are the shortest in Bengali folk music. The reason is that the tune in a song is more important than the words. The following song may be seen as a perfect example of Bhatiali:

O Subal, my good brother,

show me quickly, Subal,

the goddess of Braj, Radha.

Place a hand over my heart, Subal,

and see the fire that burns in it, without any fuel.

There are some songs in folk music that embody a spirit of renunciation, and advocate detachment from all material objects. They are known as vairagyamoolak sangeet. The higher octaves which are used in Bhatiali songs fit in very well with the spirit of these vairagyamoolak songs. That is why in East Bengal such songs are always set to Bhatiali tunes. Various spiritual thoughts are expressed through Bhatiali, using lyrics that connote deeper meanings. In the following song, for example, the singer is addressing his own heart, i.e., his inner being, and addressing it as a boatman (majhi):

Take back your scull, O boatman,

I cannot row any more.

I have rowed all my life,

(now) the boat is stuck

at low tide, it doesn’t float any more.

It is easy to see, therefore, that Bhatiali does not merely provide the joy that music can bring; it also provides glimpses of philosophy.

Of late, a new type of ‘urban’ Bhatiali has come into being. Its main feature is that it is sung to the accompaniment of various instruments. As a result, it does not reflect any of the special qualities of the rural Bhatiali. Even the language is modified to suit the tastes of urban people. When there are references to the body, particularly the heart, an urban Bhatiali song can easily be mistaken for an ordinary love song, whereas in traditional Bhatiali, such references merely convey deeper philosophical implications. Presumably, straightforward love songs hold a bigger appeal for urban listeners, hence the need to change the language. In traditional Bhatiali, the raised voice of the singer seldom carries a tremor in it. However, in urban areas Bhatiali is influenced by other forms of music, so the rise and fall of a voice acquires a totally different pattern. The true spirit of traditional Bhatiali can never be captured in its urbanised form.

During the Second World War, the people in the Bhati region were introduced to the aeroplane. Its appearance in the sky caused great agitation. Men ran back into their houses to keep themselves safe; women, in sheer terror, dropped their pitchers on their way back from the river and ran towards homes. Over a period of time, however, people got used to the aircraft flying overhead frequently. Then it reminded them of the mythical pushpak rath (flying chariot) and so reverence replaced terror. Every time a plane appeared in the sky, it was greeted by women ululating, blowing conch shells and ringing bells. Men and women, young and old, stared at the aircraft with eyes filled with wonder and respect, until it disappeared from sight.

Oh, what am I to do?

I can hear an aeroplane.

All the wives and young maidens,

who go to fetch water,

drop their pitchers and

cast sidelong glances.

Similar songs were written about ships and sailors. So it is evident that everything that was visible in real life—be it machines or vehicles—had a place in the folk music of Bengal.

In the recent past, another interesting and, perhaps, inevitable genre that has surfaced from the Bhatiali form of music is its popular rendition in records and cinema.

O boatman sailing down the big river,

Tell my brother to take me back to my father’s house.

This is a popular Bhatiali song, presented by Abbas-ud-din Ahmed. The picture that emerges from it indicates that a woman, doing some household chore by the river, is eager to send a message to her own family through a passing boatman. It is not unusual for a male singer (boatman) to express the anxieties of a married woman who has not seen anyone from her own family for a long time. Similar scenes are described in Bhawaiya music, sung in northern Bengal. Many years later, Sachin Dev Barman echoed the same thoughts in his own song:

Who goes down the Bhati river?

Tell my beloved brother to take me home.

Who goes down the river?

One singer born with a voice made for singing Bhatiali is Amar Pal. He can sing every Bhatiali song with perfect ease, without distorting a single note. In one of his songs, he sings:

Boatman, row my boat

down the river,

I cannot see the shore.

Row my broken boat,

Boatman.

O boatman —

I filled my broken boat

with precious jewels

and came to this world

to start a new trade.

O boatman —

The six deadly sins

make such mischief,

they’ll make this boat sink.

O boatman —

lock up your jewels, there’s not much time.

Or you’ll lose all your life’s earnings.

The singer who took Bengali folk music—especially Bhatiali—to an international level is Nirmalendu Choudhury. This discussion will remain incomplete if no mention is made of his songs that have enjoyed enduring popularity:

Boatman, O good boatman,

I could not find the shore.

Dark clouds have gathered,

in my heart there is fear;

help me cross over to the shore,

don’t let my boat sink, O boatman.

If a song is picturised, a special dimension is added to it. When a listener hears a song on a record, he usually conjures up an image of that song in his mind. When it is picturised, the overall audio-visual effect is controlled by the director. At times, the song thus produced works very effectively; at others, particularly in the case of well-known and popular songs, the picture that already exists in the mind of the listener may be at variance with what is shown on the screen.

In Indian films, too, Bhatiali songs have been used to highlight a specific mood. For instance, Satyajit Ray used such a song in Apur Sansar (The World of Apu). This is how he described it in his screenplay:

Night. A scene by the river. The winding river looks like a picture drawn in moonlight. In the distance is a sailing boat, from which emanate faint strains of a Bhatiali song:

O my friend —

I left home, snapped my ties with my country,

night and day I weep, sitting by the river.

O my friend —

The good boatmen sail down the river,

I, a hapless woman, must sit

on the steps, with my broken boat.

The whole world knows of our love,

so why should I get a bad name?

O my friend —

no woman must go to the river,

a pitcher under her arm.

If the smooth Krishna can lay his hands

on her, he’ll never let her go.

If I knew he’d leave me one day,

I ’d have tied him to my saree.

O my friend —

bees hum around flowers,

the nectar remains inside them,

(the bees’) mouths dry up.

This song provides background music for one particular scene which shows Apu and Aparna’s wedding night. Anyone who has seen the film knows about the dramatic and unforeseen circumstances that lead to their marriage. The lyrics of the Bhatiali song capture the mood of uncertainty most appropriately.

The influence and use of Bhatiali do not stop at films. In todays world of fusion music, popular rock bands—both in India and Bangladesh—are ready to experiment with their regional music and mix it with its counterpart from the West. While their musical influences range from rock’n’roll, jazz, blues, hard rock and regge to Caribbean calypso, their repertoire also includes Bengali folk music, of which Bhatiali is, naturally, an important component. The two are skilfully blended together to bring out a wonderful combination of sound, beat and melody.

In view of this fusion music, it seems as if Bhatiali—in spite of the changes made to it—is still following its ancient traditions. Once it had travelled from one boat to another, from one region in Bengal and Assam to another. Now, it has crossed international borders and is captivating audiences all over the world.