Remembering Chhannulal Mishra, voice of Banaras

Chhannulal Mishra was into his late 30s and an established Hindustani musician when he moved to Banaras in the mid-1970s. Yet the rest of his life’s association with the pilgrimage city defined his overall artistry so intensely that the vocalist went on to be acknowledged as an authentic voice of the Banaras gharana. Indeed, Panditji’s famed semi-classical songs resonated with core Bhojpuri culture. What’s more, his improvisations in thumri enriched the emotiveness of its Purab Ang tradition steeped in lyricism.

Mishra’s translocation saw him straightaway brush shoulders with stalwarts. Spring was in the air, and the heritage city’s ghats along the Ganga were sprucing up for an annual marquee event: Gulab Bari, with a flurry of free-spirited recitals. Among those dressed for the occasion in pink were shehnai piper Bismillah Khan and sarangi maestro Narayan Das Mishra. The elegant line-up, which wafted a scent of competition, facilitated quick blooming of Chhannulal’s creativities. In no time, his Chaiti renditions became a hit. Their folksy intonations amid the holy Ram Navami festivities served a fresh flavour to connoisseurs and lay people alike. His symbiotic relation with Banaras led Mishra to specialise in allied seasonal items such as kajari, hori and sawani, endemic to Uttar Pradesh, Jharkhand and Bihar, besides Nepal’s Terai lowlands.

After all, Chhannulal belonged to the region. His native Hariharpur village in Azamgarh was a mere 100 km north of Varanasi. The town that moulded his early youth was Muzaffarpur. Its Burhi Gandak is a tributary of the Ganga; so is the Tamsa flowing by Azamgarh. In his last leg, the maestro lived in south-east UP. His death, on October 2, took place in Mirzapur, which has nurtured the pastoral Birha songs that bemoan missing soulmates. The Padma Vibhushan awardee would have completed 90 next year.

Eastward gains

Unlike the faster Punjabi thumri that revels in patterned rhythmic intricacies emboldened largely by the Patiala gharana, the genre’s eastern school is leisurely and in constant pursuit of melodic nuances. The charms of the Purab Ang, equally high on romanticism and tonal ornamentation, lured Mishra right from his formative years. More systematically, he was trained in the khayal stream, known for its unhurried exploration of the raga with an eye for detail and colouring.

Chhannulal was five when his father Badri Prasad Mishra initiated him into the world of the seven notes. The child would be woken up at pre-dawn hours and made to sit in front of the harmonium. “I used to scale sa-re-ga-ma up and down, and cry at the same time, wanting to get back to bed,” Chhannulal used to recount. The routine went on for a good four years.

At the age of nine, the boy was taken to Muzaffarpur, 300 km eastward. Kirana gharana veteran Abdul Ghani Khan taught Chhannulal in the gurukul format. “I was the household’s boy for errands. Buy firewood from the local bazaar, run back again to return the odd log that would be damp,” he’d trail off. “By evening, just as my affectionate ustad would teach me Bhoopali, his wife would announce that the food was kosher. To this, my teacher would say: ‘Let it go cold. We’re just on with the class.’”

Such rigour did have its benefits. As Chhannulal’s Delhi-based brother Vishwanath Mishra would say, “On my breaks to Banaras, I’ll sit with Bhai. Always, there’ll be new things to learn.” A more formal disciple, Indresh Mishra, calls ‘guruji’ an “endless repository”. “Can’t forget Kabir’s Nirgun poems he taught me,” he says.

Futuristic forays

Into his 20s, Chhannulal’s virtuosity had begun to fetch him recognition. The Chandannagar royal family in Bengal offered him the court musician’s post, but the youngster’s father didn’t want the scion to leave the family. Back in their province, Chhannulal cleared the Akashvani audition and got the A-grade right after his debut recording at the Allahabad studio. His concerts became renowned for their stellar second half, dotted with endearing bhajan, tappa, sohar, jhula and tarana.

Not surprising, thus, that Mishra’s forays into the semi-classical segment were received with instant appreciation in Banaras as a newcomer. He went on to settle in that city, though his accommodation in Krishnapuri colony was modest. “We were anyway from a poor family. Half a roti with tamarind chutney was my lone meal while growing up,” the musician used to note, sitting cross-legged on his small terrace and teaching enthusiasts from far and near. “My initial music classes effectively helped me forget my hunger.”

Contrasting those days, offers came from cinema when Mishra was well into old age. In 2011, Chhannulal, at 75, sang with Shreya Ghoshal for Bollywood’s ‘Aarakshan’. ‘Kaun si dor’, sticking largely to dawn raga Todi, won praise from the composer trio of Shankar Mahadevan, Ehsaan Noorani and Loy Mendosa. So impressed was Amitabh Bachchan, who starred in the movie, that “he took me to his Mumbai residence four times to hear me sing it”. Later, Mishra did the title track for ‘Mohalla Assi’ (2015).

Top danseuse Sonal Mansingh describes Chhannulal as a ‘rishi’ for his wisdom gained through music. Mishra’s piety was evident also from his obsession around a clean Kashi: keeping the city free from litter and enhancing its image as a spiritual destination. Its cosmopolitanism inculcated an open worldview in Mishra. When his son Ram Kumar Mishra switched from vocals to the tabla, Chhannulal took no offence. His grandson Rahul Mishra, too, is a promising percussionist.

As a lifelong devotee of Ram-bhakt Hanuman, Mishra believed that music was essentially a search for the almighty. “As a kid, my mother Rani Devi initiated me into the ‘Ramayana’. I was impressed by the noble heroics in the epic’s ‘Sundar Kand’,” he would say.

Chhannulal Mishra took prudent tips from his past to surge in life, and seldom sought refuge in nostalgia.

— Thiyyadi writes on music

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