Dancing, singing rebel of Telangana

His feminine grace, the ghunghroo on his feet, a black and red woollen blanket falling lightly on his shoulder gave Gummadi Vittal Rao, aka Gaddar, an iconic, unforgettable appearance. He constantly broke his own image at historic moments in India’s political scenario, while seeking his relevance towards the issues of the times. Within a socio-economic and political context, he sometimes made compromises with the system, but it was in his deeper self as a poet-singer that one can find his affinity with the oppressed, as well as his engagement with the Telangana culture. Gaddar believed that his pen was meant to sprinkle the seeds of revolutionary transformation.

Here was a poet, for instance, who warned the working class thus, in a song picturised on him in B Narsing Rao’s film, ‘Rangula Kala’ (1983): “Bhadram koduko, na koduko Komaranna zarra, pailam koduko… Rickshaw ekke kaada, dige kaada … Idi patnam koduko… Pallello pedda doarala, baadalalato yegaleka… potlam cheta pattukoni patnam ochchaamuro… Pallelllo pedda dorala, patnamlo pedababulu… Vaalla veella… okate.” [Be careful, my boy; while getting on, or off the rickshaw; this is a city, where we came with a bundle in our hand, unable to bear with the excesses of the landlords; (but) the village lords are the same as the big babus in the city, my boy, careful now]. The song ‘O Poleesanna’ shows empathy to the constable coming from the poorer sections.

In an interview he had given me many years ago in Hyderabad, he mentioned the important roles his mother, sister and wife (Vimala) played in his life. He remembered his mother’s songs and was fascinated by the idioms and metaphors of the folk traditions of Telangana. He found the oggu katha storytelling format to be most evocative. During his engineering college days, inspired by the Srikakulam peasant struggle, he entered the movement. Later, as he worked briefly in Canara Bank, he continued his activism. He returned to his passion full-time and, with Vangapandu Prasad, started the Jana Natya Mandali, using art in radical politics.

The lyrical imagery of Gaddar’s songs came from his being alive to the smells, colours, touch and feel of nature. It was almost as if they chose him to convey their feelings, which he then placed within a contemporary social context. For example, the beautiful song on female infanticide, ‘O Laccha Gummadi’: “Nindu amasanadu, o lacha gummadi; Aada bidda puttinaadi, o laccha gummadi, Chetta gampa lecukoni o laccha gummadi, chettakundileyabote…, Kukkapilla… natta occhi… akka akka ceyyakondo… Battalalla chuttukoni…, Baviloi padeya bothe… Gangamma kongujaapi….Chelle daana veyyumando o.” [On Amavasya day, a girl child was born… I took her in a garbage bag to dump her in the garbage bin when a dog came by and asked me not to; I went to throw her in the spring-well, and Gangamma said, dear sister, do not do it].

The woman makes other attempts to kill the baby, but is prevented by the elements of nature (plants, snake, trees, water springs, etc). Finally, clinging to her child, the woman sings: “I won’t throw you in the garbage bin, nor in the spring, now will I strangle you… I will make you a Sammakka, a Sarakka (the Adivasi warrior legends of Medaram), I will make you Rani Rudramma, Shobhakka and Kumarakka. The last two were women martyrs in Telangana. In yet another song, the crops cry in search of their farmer, who has perhaps left farming in pursuit of another path. “Vari chelu adiginai, Neeru daape rythemaayi,… avvi Pattukunni edustunnayyo, enduko, emogaani” [The rice fields asked, where is the farmer who stopped water (for us)… they are holding on and crying, wonder why… the spinach plant wondered where is the farmer who poured life into me]; “Avi edchi edchi vaadi poyeyyo” [they cried and cried and shrivelled up, wonder why]; “Paccha chelu erravadinayo” [the green fields have turned brown]; “Korannala daari nadichinaarayyo, enduko, emo gaani” [as the farmer walked the path of the Koranna, wonder why].

From taking five bullets in his body and escaping death at the hands of the State he revolted against, to being disillusioned and falling out with the Maoist movement in 2012, he finally found his cause in the programme, ‘Save the Constitution’. He believed that it was no longer useful to be in the agyatavasam (underground) and it was necessary to come out amid people to change the system. His fascinating public life began with the ‘sayudha poraatam’ (armed struggle) and ended with what he referred to as another kind of armed struggle, armed with the Constitution, with the vote as the gun. He also has a song to this effect (“Jai Bhim bolo”). In a TV interview, Gaddar pointed out as to how the BJP, instead of taking the Constitution to Parliament, chose to bring in an ancient religious symbol of ruling classes. Of course, intermittently, he also sang about village gods and goddesses, and Shiva, who he considered a rebel. He courted controversy when he attended a public meeting addressed by PM Modi, saying he wanted to hear his views on state and national politics. Towards the end, he aligned himself with the Congress.

Prof Kodandaram of the Telangana Jana Samithi says: “Gaddar’s songs reflected the Indian social and economic reality. He influenced three generations of youth across Telangana. At some point, the cases against him (not withdrawn until his demise) felt like a Damocles’ sword for him and he tried to meet leaders across parties to get those withdrawn. It did not seem to have helped him. But more recently, he decided to carry on his activism on issues of unemployment, saving parliamentary democracy and he even came with us for the Telangana Bachao meet recently. By 2018, he had moved closer to the Congress. He told me he was not joining it, but wanted to work for democratic change and chalk out a programme.”

— The writer is author of ‘When Godavari Comes: People’s History of a River’