Open the heavens

Pushpesh Pant

The opening verse in Kalidasa’s lyrical poem Meghaduta (The Cloud Messenger) evokes the magic of monsoon. As the rain-bearing clouds gather in Ramtek (near present-day Nagpur), the yaksha, who has been separated from his beloved and banished from his home in the Himalayas, becomes inconsolable. Standing amid arid hillocks in Central India, he knows that the clouds are no more than a whiff of ephemeral water vapour, but still can’t stop himself from beseeching them to take his message to the one who awaits his return in Alkapuri.

Jayadev’s Gita Govinda, written in the 15th century, too opens with a dramatic depiction of the onset of monsoon. Meghairmedurmambaram vanabhuvah shyamataladrume... Darkness suddenly descends in the thicket of Tamala trees and a naughty Radha feigns fright. She requests Krishna to escort her home; a thinly disguised invitation for a tryst in the woods... Several Odissi dancers, including Indrani Rahman, Samyukta Panigrahi and Sonal Mansingh, have rendered the scene wonderfully on stage.

And, how can one who has had the good fortune of listening to a live recital by Amir Khan Saheb forget the rendering of Miyan ki Malhar by the Ustad who could summon the Nimbus clouds at will as his regal voice soared Umad Ghumad Ghan Garjan Laage. And then there is the legend that when Miyan Tansen had become febrile after mishandling Raag Deepak, he was relieved of his agony by two sisters’ rendition of Megh Malhar that healed his tormented body and soul.

Folk music too is replete with genres dedicated to welcoming the showers that rejuvenate the parched earth, burnt and bruised by the sun. In Rajasthan, women sing joyously as they celebrate Teej and, in Punjab, giddha celebrates the onset of rains. Teej is also celebrated with great fervour in parts of Gujarat and Telengana, as also in Nepal. It celebrates the marriage of Lord Shiva to Parvati, daughter of Himalayas. Giddha is a style of folk dance, which is believed to have descended from primordial rain dance. Women in villages participate in it with great gusto. It is energetic like bhangra, but also provides ample space for display of feminine grace and lyrical improvisation. In Uttar Pradesh, the styles of singing termed as light classical include Kajari, Saawan and Jhoola celebrate the season. Girija Devi and Savita Devi from Varanasi are peerless exponents of such songs.

To those living in the scorching desert, blue-black clouds that battle like rogue elephants in the sky are like a mirage. To beat the heat, perchance to dream (of lightening and thunder...), the palaces in Rajasthan have ‘Badal Mahals’. From Bikaner to Kumbhalgarh, the pavilions are so painted by gifted artistes that they create the illusion of monsoon. Rajput and Pahari miniatures too perform a similar sleight of hand. Who is bothered by the lack of depth in perspective when silver shafts of lightening illuminate the frolicking or love-lorn nayak and nayika? You can almost smell the fragrance of moist earth that the ittar called gill strives so well to capture.

Mirabai, the saint poetess from Rajasthan, paints another moving picture of streams in torrential flow after the rains as she wails: Nisdin barsat nain hamaare, sada rahat pawas ritu hum par jub ton Syam sidahre!

It is not surprising that there are a number of Hindi film songs that celebrate the season which is associated with both the agony of separation and the ecstasy of reunion. But there is more to this music than playing on the erotic mood — viyog and samyog shringaar. Perhaps the most poignant of these melodies is from Do Bheegha Zameen directed by Bimal Roy: Hariyala Sawan Dhol Bajata Aaya/ Mann Ke Mor Nachaata Aaya/ Mitti Mein Jan Jagaata Aaya! 

What has made millions of peasants exuberant across generations is the promise of a new lease of life for their barren fields that the monsoon brings along. And this is what we are reminded of in the haunting and heart wrenching plea from Guide:  Allah Megh De, Rama Megh De, Megh De, Pani De! And once the land dons a verdant garb, one can relax and think of trysts and reunions: O Sajana, Barkha Bahar Aayi, Ras Ki Phuhar Layee. Saawan Ke Jhoole Pade Hain is another film song that portrays the plight of separated lovers from the movie Jurmana where the heroine plaintively pleads her lover to return as soon as he can.

Monsoon declares definite closure of the distressing summer. Sluggish appetite is bid goodbye and the palate begins pining for hot, fried stuff. This is the season to indulge guiltlessly on pakora, samosa, tikki, mirchi vada and assorted bhaaja. Not all the fare is vegetarian. Amritsari machchi, egg and chicken pakora have a dedicated following. If you are partial to snacks from the region south of the Vindhyas, you may splurge on bonda, vada and paniyaram. A steaming cup of masala tea is sheer bliss to hold in the hand and sip from.

The health conscious are scared of the deep fried stuff, but can’t stop drooling when others more prone to risk taking, gobble up the taleva. They can treat themselves to baked hot and spicy stuff or settle for translucent batter coated tempura.

For some reason — something we have not been able to fathom — savouries are more in demand than sweets in the rainy season; anarasa and malpua being the exceptions.

All along the eastern and western seaboard, fish is the staple. But getting fresh catch from the tempestuous sea becomes impossible during the rains. Thus, dried or pickled fish is substituted in the menu. In Bengal, it heralds the coming of Arandhan, a day to give cooking a break and partake ritually prescribed stale food. It is believed that this age-old custom tested the hygienic conditions in the kitchen to ensure that people at home did not fall prey to stomach infections that are common during the rainy season.

The seductions of monsoon are many. The nursery rhyme where a little kid wanted the rain to go away seems so out of place. We say, let the rain come down.