Poresh Das has been making this annual trip to Mumbai for three decades now. He is 75, looks utterly frail, and has lost all his teeth. But give him his dhaak and he is a transformed man. He can carry the large and heavy drum on his shoulders, sometimes for an hour at a stretch, beating on it with an energy that matches his younger colleagues.
No Durga Puja is complete without the quintessential dhaak or drum that accompanies the worship and is as much a part of the Puja experience as the fragrance of frankincense. So, when large numbers of Bengalis settled down in various parts of the country and started off Durga Puja committees, of course they arranged for the dhaakis to arrive each year from Bengal to their adopted cities. And Mumbai is a favourite, with its promise of grand pandals, large remunerations and glamorous audiences.
“I have played the dhaak all through my childhood and youth in Kolkata, so I am happy to come here every year. The money we get is better,” says Das. He is prepping for an evening performance at the North Bombay Sarbojanin Durga Puja that takes place on the grounds of Tulip Star Hotel in tony Juhu.
Across the pandals of Mumbai, the thundering sound of this traditional drum, made of mango wood and leather skin, along with the clanging of bronze cymbals and plates, begins to reverberate from Mahalaya day, observed a week before Durga Puja, and goes on until bisarjan, when the goddess is submerged in water and bidden adieu. The slow, rhythmic beating of the dhaaks begins at morning prayers or prabhati, followed by at least two other times during the day. Often, the drummers are accompanied by dancers — men who serenade the goddess with an acrobatic and skilful lifting and offering of the dhuna or clay bowl of simmering frankincense. There is a frenzy to the rhythm as the dhunas are transferred intricately from hand to hand and often even held by the mouth as the dancers bend over backwards. This tumult of sound, sight and smell is what makes Durga Puja complete.
Das is in Mumbai with his son-in-law Babloo, 50, his son Mahadev, 35, and 14 others. The organising committee or host of the Durga Puja takes care of the troupe’s travel and food expenses, and the men often sleep in the pandal itself. A lucky few take the chance to tour Mumbai after their tiring five days of performance. Then, they are sent by train back to Kolkata one day after Dussehra.
The dhaakis claim to receive meagre payments for their work in West Bengal, but in Mumbai, they average Rs. 25,000 per person. The accompanists playing the cymbals usually receive lesser money. “The trains coming to Mumbai from Kolkata are full of us dhaakis so it feels like a community trip. It’s the same when we return home,” Babloo.
That this art is passed on from father to son is evident when you see several male members of a family performing together. However, many of them learn from a guru. Prafulla Ghodoi, 40, and Khudiram Raj, 35, from Purba Medinipur, learnt to play from the same guru. They have been coming to the Banga Maitri Sansad Durga Puja at the railway colony of Santacruz station for five years now. The committee’s puja turned 69 this year. “Our teacher showed us how the sound of the drum with leather skin is sweeter than that with any other material. But leather is expensive, and we have to handle the drums carefully while travelling by train,” says Ghodoi. Both their drums are decorated with colourful feathers and a bright cloth covering.
Back home, the dhaakis perform at other festivals at different times of the year. The rest of the time, they work on other people’s farms. It’s no wonder that the younger generation wants to study and get jobs to escape the poverty.
Astha Rai, 60, has been performing at one of Mumbai’s oldest Durga Pujas — the one at Bengal Club Shivaji Park — for 35 years now. He says his son travelled with him twice to play the cymbals. “But he is studying Science in college now. He wants a job and I cannot force him to become a dhaaki. ”
Bipul Hazra, 56, a cymbalist who plays in Santacruz, says, “People consider orchestras more fashionable than dhaakis .” That dhaakis have traditionally been people from the Scheduled Castes is another reason why the younger generation wants to move up the social and economic ladder.
Despite the possibility that their art might die out, the dhaakis haven’t lost hope. Panchu Rai, 65, is at the Shivaji Park pandal. He says, “My elder son manages our farm, while my second son travels across Bengal as a dhaaki . If we all are able to get one son educated so that he can get a job, then the other son can definitely continue to keep our art alive. This is, after all, our legacy.”
Priyanka Borpujari is anindependent journalist.
