Propped up on his bed, the great vidwan was passing through the last moments of his life. Turning slowly, he swept that gloom-enveloped room with an all-embracing glance. And, then at the behest of someone, his disciple, sitting huddled in a corner, got up and hesitantly approached the guru. The old man fixed him with a stare, beckoned him to come closer, and asked him to sing the passage, Hantakariki, from the kriti of Tyagaraja's "Entarani", in Harikambhoji. Though overcome with grief just then, the disciple duly rendered the composition and that with a rare fervour. On its conclusion the guru drew the fellow closer and patting him on the back, said: "Remember the plan! Do not at any cost forget or spoil it!".

And a few minutes after this, the man was dead.

The above composition significantly underlines the determination and the zeal of a devotee in overcoming all hurdles in the way of his longing for constant association with the Lord. And, to a remarkable degree, it also suggests the philosophy in the life of "Tiger" Varadachariar who asked his disciple, M.D.Ramanathan, to sing that kriti in his last moments on this earth.

"Tiger", as is well known, was very humble, almost self-effacing, in the other aspects of his life. But he was unswerving in his devotion to the art, undergoing untold trials and tribulations in the pursuit of his ideal. And, in the evening of his life, he found in young Ramanathan an ideal pupil-a pupil on whom he could bestow all his learning and art. In fact, to "Tiger" Varadachariar, this was as life's desire fulfilled.

An occasion remarkably representative of this is often recalled by Ramanathan.

"The year before the passing of my guru," says Ramanathan, "a function in the nature of an arangetram, to introduce me to the lovers of music in Madras, was arranged by Rukmini Devi at the Kalakshetra and the late, T.R.Venkatarama Sastri presided over it. My guru also addressed the gathering, and his words spoken then are still ringing in my ears: "Today I am transferring to this young man whatever learning I have in music, and pray that the rasikas should bring him up and keep the torch of our music tradition burning."

"I can never forget that moment, the occasion and above all, the very affectionate undertones in those few words!" recalls Ramanathan, with feeling. Apart from the ring of sincerity so unmistakable, it had all the indications of fulfillment of a cherished desire in life. I was thrilled and considered myself supremely fortunate to have a guru who found me so worthy of his confidence.

Ramanathan has numerous other such interesting stories to narrate about "Tiger" Varadachariar. These highlight not merely the depth of his guru's learning and artistry but also touch on the human side of his personality.

Ofcourse, it is not only Ramanathan who treasures these impressions of the noted vidwan. All musicians and rasikas to come in contact with "Tiger" Varadachariar hold a similar high opinion of him as a artiste gifted with an infinite creative sensibility and intensity of expression. And above all, they respect him as a great gentleman among musicians.

So deeply, in fact does Ramanathan revere his guru that, when I felt discussed the idea of writing about him, he asked, reapproachfully, how could I think of evaluating the work of a disciple before that of the master.

Inspired by this profound impact of "Tiger" Varadachariar on his musical presence, Ramanathan has striven steadfastly to mould his art, as also his mood and personality, on that of his guru. The imprint of his "Tiger" teacher is so pronounced here that it has often prompted people to wonder as to what it is that Ramanathan has inherited from his guru-the master's mantle with its substance or its superfluities, the music or the mannerisms? But a deeper study of his style reveals that Ramanathan has indeed grasped the essentials of his guru's art.

"This was true when he rendered the compositions of the Trinity, especially Tyagaraja. He seemed to grasp the subtlest nuances of the themes of his compositions, and could easily translate them in his interpretations of those songs. Though there are numerous instances when he stirred people by his rendition of those compostitions with their real bhava, I shall here mention just one to illustrate the point.

"In his composition, 'Aragimpave', in Todi, Tyagaraja beseeches the Lord to accept his offering as a naivedya, and describes the dishes he offers, which comprise all the shadrasas - the six tastes. He asks Rama to pray accept the butter and milk that have become sacred by the touch of Sita. The subtlety here, as "Tiger' used to explain, was that many people offered butter and milk to the Lord, but that which is offered by his consort seems to possess greater delicacy and will be dearer to his heart. Tyagaraja, in this context, has identified himself with the personality of Sita. The rendition of the composition should naturally evoke the feeling and affection of a consort rather than the ardour of a mere bhaktha.

"With such an instinct to probe the inner recesses of the composer's mind, "Tiger" used to feel completely at home in the rendition of the compositions of Tyagaraja. Naturally, therefore, his rendition always had intensity of feeling and depth of meaning. It is but meet that, under his treatment, they reflected the true rasikabhava, which did not merely skim the surface but penetrated deeper and touched the heart. It is in this context I consider my guru to be a great bhavajna. He was not only a music vidwan but a great soul.

"The influence of "Tiger" Varadachariar on his disciple is so marked that Ramanathan will obviously let pass no opportunity to invoke the name of his guru.

"The entire credit for it if there is any class of admirers of my art should go to my guru," said Ramanathan, when I asked what had contributed to such proliferation in votaries of his music. "In providing some variety, the style of singing I have adopted perhaps represents to listeners a change from what they have been fed on. In its contents, it may comprise the music of the veena, the violin and even the samkham, with the last-named predominant in my tanam. Also, my penchant for the older and authentic forms in exposition may have impressed them. I am unable to offer any other reason."

Ramanathan's art, in fact, consists broadly of two parts. The first of these, the visual aspect, consists of the gestures and the mannerisms suggestive of the various processes involved in the exposition. His broad vibhuti smeared forehead and the tuft of hair bound in a small knot symbolize his orthodoxy, while the squint eyes, their mischievous side-glances, his gestures of moulding a raga into shape, provide a touch of humor. When singing, Ramanathan, with closed eyes and an absorbed expression, so contorts his face that it seems to grasp a raga, spin and squeeze out various strands and coils of the musical phrases and passages, and weave them into a broad modal tapestry with appropriate abhinaya that is the delight of sections of the audience.

For instance, his exposition of Tyagaraja's "Ramakathasudharasa", in Madhyamavati, may aptly be recalled in this context. His relaxed mode of developing the composition, with broad sweeps and clever manipulation of the glides, no doubt unfolds the raga in all its linear grace and majesty. The feeling behind the singing readily evokes a near sublime atmosphere. The due stress on sahitya helps capture the loftiness of the theme and the enobling power of the ambrosial rasa of Rama's story as told by the great composer. The total effect is masterful and reposeful. One could enjoy here that ease and abandon of expression which identifies itself completely and supremely with the mood of the theme. Ramanathan's way of punctuating his tala, pausing in between words without affecting their padagarbha rather than on the lines dividing the various sections of the tala cycle, may, of course, be hard on the accompanists; but it, none the less, serves to make his interpretation of a composition profoundly meaningful.

Similarly, one remembers Ramanathan's rendition of such classic pieces of Tyagaraja as "Nannuvidichikadalakura", in Reetigowla, "Entaninne",in Mukhari, "Giripai" in Sahana and so on, and their pronounced stress on the bhava rather than on any studied attempt at a display of virtuosity. Apart from the spaciousness and massivity of his modal structures, the sentiment he infuses into each word and passage is a stand-out feature of Ramanathan's music.

In this, Ramanathan seems to have been unconsciously influenced by such mannerisms of his guru as were more the manifestations of his peculiar physique than being any predetermined pattern devised literally to entertain the audience.

Strangely enough, it is this visual aspect of his art that caught the popular imagination most when Ramanathan came into musical focus about two decades ago. Perhaps, in these gestures, the onlookers saw the image of "Tiger" Varadachariar, and most of them seemed to enjoy these superfluities rather than the substance in his music. But deeper than these visual digressions is the second and integral part of his art; the music itself, which has impressed the cognoscenti increasingly over the years and won him a growing circle of admirers. Here, one can instinctively sense that there is something different from what obtains in Karnatak music concerts today. There is a pronounced serenity, a vast spaciousness and, above all, an authentic flavour of classical Karnatak Music, all of which seem to bear the stamp of "Tiger".

An immediate striking feature of Ramanathan's music is the voice. It is strong, deep and rich in timbre, and it invests his singing with a massivity that often creates the illusion of a three-dimensional performance. It has a plasticity all its own, and it lends itself facilely to those characteristic modulations that are the signature of his music.His bass voice, his meandering mode of rendition, accentuate this effect and infuse a rare depth into his delineation of ragas, while his attention to the lower register lays a solid foundation on which he slowly raises a modal structure. And, then, his stress on the correct enunciation of sahithya helps most effectively to set off the mood of the theme. He readily drifts with the mood, and sings with a singular absorption, laying due stress on the bhava as much as the rasa of the raga, thus unfolding in all its richness the classical beauty and charm of Karnatak Music. This could be readily appreciated in his rendition of many a classical composition.

Though he can identify himself easily enough with the mood of the moment, Ramanathan seems to be in his element when interpreting the older ragas of Karnatak Music, and in compositions that are essentially devotional in theme and plaintive or suppliant rather than romantic or mood.

"The accent on bhava or the emotion," was Ramanathan's ready reply to my query on what he considered to be his strong point in music. "After all, you should know that the core of our classical tradition is nadopasana, and that bhakthi is its soul. The devotee or bhaktha, even as he is in the process of this nadopasana, enters bhava, which is best exemplified by such great composers of ours as Tyagaraja, while raga, tala and other technicalities are subjected to the essentials of bhava. Each musician can interpret songs of such luminaries only to his capacity, and he may not be able to enjoy the full bliss of that original bhava. My music, if I may say so, could be a blend of the bhava of the raga and sahithya, and its mood is conveyed through effective tonal shades, gamakas, and voice modulations. I strive to give a pleasure that is at once intellectual and aesthetic. But I do not know how far I am successful in this, because, on the concert platform, I am so prone to forget myself as to become all but oblivious of the audience. "Please do not for a moment think that these are my achievements," said Ramanathan, continuing, "I have not come across a greater bhavajna than my guru, the late "Tiger" Varadachariar, whose music was instinct with a depth of feeling and inner harmony that has left a profound impression on me. I have only endeavoured to cultivate as much of these musical traits of mu guru as has been possible for me."

Hailing from Kerala, Manjapara Ramanathan literally inherited a legacy of music. His father, Devesa Bhagavathar, and his uncle, Krishna Bhagavathar, were very good musicians, with the one also playing on the violin and the other on the veena. Ramanathan thus naturally had an aptitude for music right from the beginning, and he divided his time between singing lessons and academic education in his early days." I was so absorbed in music even as a Physics student in Palghat's Victoria College that I virtually ignored sports and other social activities! I was even considered to be haughty and stand-offish by my friends. This is apt to put me in an awkward situation whenever I am greeted by an erstwhile class-mate residing where I happen to go for a concert engagement, because I am often at a loss to 'place' the man!" says Ramanathan, ruefully.

A predilection for the art, combined with hearing eminent musicians perform whenever they visited Palghat, no doubt whetted young Ramanathan's apetite for music. But more than all, as Ramanathan puts it, he had deep down in him an overpowering urge from those days itself to take to music, in fulfillment of a call from his inner self, and choose it in preference to other more rewarding and less exacting vocations. This made him look round for a guru who could help him improve his musical knowledge and technical equipment. So, as a freshman from college, he naturally set his sights on the degree courses in music that were being successfully conducted in Madras and Annamalai Unniversities. And it was thus that he met "Tiger" Varadachariar.

Describing the big occasion, Ramanathan says: "I had the privilege to meet "Tiger' Varadachariar first when I went for an interview to join the Sangita Siromani course, in Madras University. There, when I come face to face with him I instinctively felt that I was in the presence of a very great man. Apart from his music, I felt magnetically attracted to him and in him I found my ideal conception of the greater musician.

"It will, of course, be sheer impertinence for me to attempt to evaluate the qualities of my guru", said Ramanathan, when I asked what aspects of "Tiger" Varadachariar had left a deep impression on him. "But any one of the people who intimately knew him will readily testify what a noble soul he was - great in art and in temparement alike, and, above all considerate. He was as much noted for his profoundity in the Karnataka sampradaya as he was respected for his humility in its exposition. There were no pompous airs or pretensions about the man. He disliked vanity in any form.

"Similarly, I have had many a memorable experience of the vastness of Tiger's manodharma and also of the innate goodness of his heart, particularly towards his confrers and the young and up-and-coming musicians. In the vastness of his creative flights of imagination, "Tiger" I feel was unequalled. He reveled in singing the modes through free-flowing and seemingly endless alapana, neraval and swara. His tanam, with its wonderful tonal variety, was as amazing as the spaciousness and almost unlimited variations of his pallavi. But, as the late T.V.Subba Rao put it, "Tiger's' music had more meaning than what reached the ear.

"Popular" is a very misleading word, according to Ramanathan, vis-à-vis my query whether he had given any thought to ways of promoting the popularity of classical music. "It is a word used in various contexts. If you mean by it that classical music should be dispensed on a mass scale, I do not know whether it is possible, or feasible. On the other hand, if you mean that it should develop a larger following, I believe it has already accomplished this, with music concerts drawing increasingly bigger audiences.

"However, you should remember that the classical arts can never be brought to the 'popular' level, because, after all, there is only a section in any society that has any taste for the intellectual pursuits of life that has trained and informed itself to appreciate the serious aspects of art. Even here, apart from the large section of concert goers who treat music as more a form of relaxation and entertainment, there are very few who could readily grasp and enjoy the finer points of the art and derive from it any aesthetic pleasure and intellectual satisfaction.

"For instance, take the pallavi part of a concert, it is at this point of that the musician is supposed to attain the peak of his powers, and all the positive elements of his art come out to provide the very quintessence of spiritual and intellectual fare. But, currently, we find that this part of the concert is treated more or less perfunctorily, ending, more often than not, as a display of some sort of mathematical jugglery.

"The blame for this should be equally shared by the musician, who stoops to pander to the ephemeral 'popular' demand, and an uninitiated audience inclined to be satisfied with some musical titbits and pyrotechnics that need not, according to its lights, necessarily belong to the realm of art.

"More than everything else, I must say that the 'climate' too has changed. At present, I find it is not very conducive to or stimulative for the pursuit of any intellectual and serious aspects of our culture, let alone an art so exacting as music. This seems to be an era of speech rather than song. And, till the position changes, all classical and enduring aspects of our culture must face a temporary setback."

"Indian music is best in the immediately communicative aspect - in the communion between the audience and the artiste, and between the guru and his disciple," said Ramanathan, when asked whether the traditional values and methods could be reconciled with the needs of the changed times. "But I should say that, right through the ages, the tradition has been promoted and preserved through such intimate relationship between the people, on the one hand, and the exponents and the scholars, on the other. But I agree that changed times also require a slight modification in the process, which, besides satisfying the needs of the time, should also preserve the spirit and essence of the tradition.

"I must pay, in this context, a tribute to Rukmini Devi, who has been a pioneer in this direction, and has been able to bring out a harmony between the apparently irreconcilable two: tradition and the need of the times. The Kalakshetra, for indeed, has blazed a trail for the future."