U Srinivas – Pancharatna Krithis Trio Mandolin
On the 1st of February, 2021, a scaled down 174th Thyagaraja Aradhana commenced in Thiruvaiyaru, a town near Thanjavur, Tamil Nadu. Every year, on the fifth day of the waning moon in the Hindu lunar month of Pushya, the aradhana is observed to remember Thyagaraja, a titan of Carnatic music. Over five days, musicians, aficionados, and devotees flock to Thiruvaiyaru both to pay their respects, and to participate and perform in katcheris. On the fifth day of the festival, thousands gather to perform Thyagaraja’s most revered composition, Pancharatna Krithikal, in unison. It’s an hour-long set of five krithis written in praise of the Hindu deity Rama. Previous performances have been led by such stalwarts as M. S. Subbulakshmi, Maharajapuram Santhanam, and Mangalampalli Balamuralikrishna. It’s a spectacle unparalleled both in its simplicity and its scale.
The Pancharatna Krithikal (pancharatna means five gems in Sanskrit, and krithi means song) are considered especial compositions in the Carnatic canon. It’s a set of five krithis in five ghana ragas (explained in this Hindu article as being special ragas whose uniqueness is brought out especially when played in medium tempo): Jagadanandakaraka (Raga Nattaj), Dhudukugala (Raga Gowla), Sadhinchane (Raga Aarabhi), Kanakana Ruchira (Raga Varali), and Endaro Mahanubhavulu (Raga Sri), all in Aadi talam (4/4 or standard time). Four of these were written in Thyagaraja’s native Telugu, while Jagadanandakaraka was written in Sanskrit. Each song alludes to Thyagaraja’s devotion to Rama and how that devotion informs his life.
I can’t recommend the late U. Srinivas’s interpretation of the Pancharatna Krithikal on the mandolin as anything more than a masterful technical display of incredibly soul-soothing music. I know nothing of the intricacies of the ragas, nothing of what the krithis would’ve meant were they to have been sung, and nothing about the religious myths on which they’re based. In some ways, (let’s face it, in almost all ways), that makes me no authority to recommend these compositions. But from the standpoint of a secular, musical layperson, which is the only standpoint I know, I can vouch for U. Srinivas’s expertise on the mandolin, and speak to the remarkable difficulty involved in breaking into the Carnatic music mainstream playing an instrument alien to its traditions. I can vouch for the tremendous peace of mind that comes with listening to his interpretation of the krithis: I’ve listened to the album five times today. And I can take you back to early-twenties evenings spent quelling my anxieties with a dose of this music.
