With the demise of Dandamudi Ramamohana Rao, a couple of months ago, the world of percussion has lost an eminent son. His survivor: student, wife and co-artist Sumathi says with a tinge of pathos, “Personally, I have lost a mahapurusha . My world has come to a standstill. But for our child, to whom I owe the duty of parenthood, I have no desire for life. Being in his presence was enlightening like the steady glow of a lamp. He was one of his kind as far as the art of percussion goes.” Coming from someone who shared her life of 45 years with him, it is not surprising. But, to others whose lives he touched, the beacon is no more.
The septuagenarian has been ailing for some time. The deft fingers that played relentlessly on the mridangam turned listless. Yet, the aura emanating from his countenance drew daily guests to greet him and spend some time in his presence. Sumathi recalls, “I hail from a family that was into music, not he. But as God ordained, my father-in-law, a motor mechanic of repute, was able to identify the artiste in his son at the tender age of three. He sent the boy to Kondapaturi Ranganayakulu to learn percussion. No sooner than he turned six, Ramamohana Rao was packed off to Palani Subramaniam Pillai in Madras. He turned out to be a young wizard. Trained in the Pudukottai sampradayam, he defined his guru's style with his own ingenuity and creativity making for the Dandamudi style much later in life.”
The Pudukottai style had a certain smoothness, clarity and a left-right ‘sandanam' with a beautiful left ‘gumki' (a sort of fold of the hand while playing the beat), which produced a special effect. Dandamudi's expertise created waves in his own state where he not only excelled but left an indelible mark in the field of percussion. Awards and accolades were not far behind. Among his many disciples, Sumathi was perhaps the only girl during her times (1968) to learn the very masculine mridangam.
“He was a perfect symbol for the definition of a guru. He would teach as per the requirement of the pupil. His patience was phenomenal.
He had all the navarasas except anger. He loved his pupils. In those days, I was eligible for Central scholarship of Rs. 250 which was actually divided as Rs.100 for the guru and Rs. 150 for the student. Sensing the financial background of his students, he would teach free of cost. I was at the crossroads of my life, wherein I had to give up my passion to learn mridangam and take up a job at the music college due to the untimely death of my father; it was my guru who decided that a job was vital for me at that juncture. He promised to pay back the scholarship amount to the government as I had discontinued. That was him,” Sumathi recollects with a lump in her throat.
Dandamudi Ramamohana Rao's repertoire was vast and deep. While his taniavarthanam (solo) would be a powerhouse performance, he would be his mellowest best while in accompaniment. Clarity was the hallmark of his technique. “All the speeds in a kriya would be visible in his agile handling. There was never a repetition of a muktayi . His muktayi would be so pronounced that if his pupils played their percussion elsewhere, it was easy to detect them only on account of the way we play the muktayi ,” explains Sumathi proudly.
Discipline, diligence and dignity marked his life all through. “He was an early riser (5 a.m.) no matter what. Two hours were taken in puja prior to mridangam practice. Till ten years ago, he spent not less than eight hours in sadhana. Everything had to be on time. Punctual to the dot, his dress sense for a concert was a well-thought out thing. His personality would simply glow. It defies description,” says his better half. They were the only couple to have won the national Sangeet Natak Akademi award for mridangam so far.
Dandamudi continues to live through his myriad students whose mridangam resounds with his name.
