When Mr. Gover wrote his book "Folk-Songs of Southern India," he included songs from several Dravidian languages but left out Telugu. He realized this was a problem, so he added a few verses from a poem by Vemana as an example of Telugu. But Vemana's poem is not a real folk-song—it's more like a serious religious or moral work, similar to the Book of Lamentations or Juvenal's Satires.
It's hard to say exactly what a folk-song is, but one thing is clear: Vemana's complex poems don't count. Real folk-songs are simple in thought and subject. The earliest folk-songs were mainly of three types: war songs for soldiers, drinking songs for feasts, and love songs that express deep feelings.
The author hopes that while people collect folk-songs from many languages, the sweet Telugu language of South India won't be forgotten. There are folk-songs among the Telugu people, and this writer wants to show that they exist. His own small collection isn't worth much, except to encourage others who are better suited to gather more.
The ballads shared here were made by country poets. They were collected from poor, uneducated men by the roadside—plowmen singing to their oxen, carters sitting between their bulls. These singers often didn't fully understand the words they sang, and they changed them into rough, local speech. The very roughness and boldness of the verses prove they are genuine, showing the simple thoughts of the singers and the patient ears of their listeners.
The first ballad is apparently a modern composition, sung by the family minstrel of a Poligar, or petty chieftain in the Ceded Districts. The man from whose mouth I wrote it – the singer himself – was a native of Bellary and belonged to the Boya caste. The name of the hero, Papadu, marks him as a member of the Nayadu or the Kapu caste – Sardar Sarvayi Papanna Goud of our Telangana traditions. Not only local traditions, but sober records and official history, preserve the memories of these turbulent Poligars. Their forts are now crumbling ruins; and their descendants have sunk upon the dead level of struggling farmers; but their stories live in the ballads that the family minstrel once sang at the little court, and which now linger in the memories of a whole country-side.
The minstrel tells us nothing of the hero's parentage except his mother's name, Saramma, but plunges in medias res at once with a kind of war-cry of the hero:
Then comes a description of his leave-taking, in which he tells his mother his ambition and his aims:
Talliki dandamuga nilichenu,
Yêru katti vyavasyamu, amma
Yengile munta yetta lenu.
Kottudunu Golkonda pattanam:
Dilliki mozur navudunu:
Mudu gadiyala Bandar kottudunu:
Mulakota Kandanura tsuchi;
Bangara kadiyalu pettudunu.
Manakanta bantrotu tana melu,
Manakulakai mana vaddu, ra!
Sarvayya Papa.
And lowly bent him by her side:
“Mother! to fix and drive the share,
The filthy household-pot to bear,
Are not for me. My arm shall fall
Upon Golkonda's castle wall:
I'll scorn the lord of Delhi's might;
To me shall Bandar yield this night;
Before Kurnool I then will stand,
And with gold jewels deck this hand.
Let not my followers miss the prize
That fortune holds before their eyes!”
Having thus announced his proposed expedition (which is perhaps somewhat vague in its directions, and rash in its expectations), Papadu proceeds to prepare for the war-path by arming himself with a wonderful assortment of swords and daggers, each of which is described with full detail. This being done, the hero appears in full armour, and one verse celebrates the terror that his noble presence inspired:
Kundêllu kurtsunda padenu;
Ledi-pillalu leva levu,
Pasi biddalu palu tagavu;
Nakkalu simhalu tokkabudunu.
Trembled the deer to leave their lair;
The tender babes refused the breast;
The fox and lion slunk to rest.
Papadu next goes to the rendezvous to meet his followers. They meet in a grove of date-palm trees, and there engage in an essential preliminary of robber-warfare, to drink up their courage. However undignified this may appear on the part of a hero of such pretensions as Papadu, this touch gives a great deal of local colour and reality to the description. No band of plundering Boyas would start on a dacoiting expedition without a good drink; and the bard has raised even this act of his hero above the level of an ordinary drunken debauch by the wonderful virtues he has attributed to the toddy that was drunk on the occasion:
Ye tati, ye tati kallu!
Velu pettitě velu tegunu;
Diviti pettitě bogguna mandunu;
Tagetappudu tiyaga vundenu;
Taginavanni leva-nivvadu;
Lechinavanni ponivvadu.
On earth before was never seen.
The finger dipped therein became
Withered with secret fire;
The same rustic singer who recited the Papadu epic also gave the following short songs – illustrating the rich poetic tradition of 19th‑century Telangana.
Yeduru gummi nidalaina
Dudavadu mogadaina,
Vunda valè konda nadama.
2. Yedurinti yerra Papa
Tsutum'anna, kana radu:
Papishti tallidandri
Bail' ella nivvaru.
3. Yettu gubbalu yerra danni,
Kora gubbalu yevvani palu
Alu leni baluniki
Aru nelala aranam istun'.
4. Gubbalunde tiru tsuchi
Guddikonte tiru nanto
Gunde-gala bantu aytê
Gundlapalle kanama-ku-ra.
The bamboo copse gives cool retreat.
My husband dear, my love, must stay
Among the hills far, far away.
2. Fair Papa in my neighbour's house
I cannot see, she's kept too close;
Her good-for-nothing parents say
“No gadding out for you to-day.”
3. Fair maiden with the swelling breast
Who on thy bosom shall be blest
In six short months a spouseless boy
This wedding gift shall crown with joy.
4. He who thy bosom's charms might scan
Would be a beauty-blinded man:
A hero bold of heart must come
To sue thee in thy mountain home.
Rachi gandamu tisi vuntini,
Ratriki nivu ra ledu,
Rachina gandamu riti tappenu.
2. Kantsu gubbala karu-kodi
Manchi nillaku chelimiki vacche',
Tsuchukoni Boya bidda
Kantsu gubalu kadala mite.'
3. Vadulu koppu biguvu ravike.
Vangi nillu chêde' Papa
Vagalakari Raugadu vacchi
Biguvu ravike pikkatille.'
4. Dinne mida jilledalalo
Mallâdâdi mudut sukonte
Modugu mânulu morugu ayye'
Mukku naku tsupum' amna!
5. “Vanka nunti potunnad' ante'
Jinka muti yerra padutsu;”
Yegu tsuchi etinadu
Monnagadu Mallappa Nayadu.
I the sweet powder ready made;
You came not at the evening hour,
And that sweet powder missed its power.
2. The forest-hen with bosom fair
Came down to gather water clear:
The Boya saw, and that bright breast
With amorous touch the youth caressed.
3. With flowing locks and jacket tight
Came Papa, stooped and water drew;
At Ranga's touch, the roguish wight,
That swelling jacket open flew.
4. Among the bushes on the mound,
With many a kiss they sported round
In shelter of the leafy grove:
Show me thy pretty face, my love!
5. “See from the brook she goes,” he cried,
“The maiden fair with nostrils wide;”
Then peeped and spied and followed keen,
Mallappa Nayadu, I ween.
Bavi nillu' ella toli;
Kanno padutsu nilluku vachche'
“Kadava munagadu' emi chetunu.”
2. “Kani kani-Kapadani,
“Kankulu ivvaka potiv,” ante,
“Vontiga nillu doruku, lammidi!”
Vollu yella vasantam ayye.'
3. Niv' akka, naku dakken' ante,
Sukkalaku mukkukonti'
Niv' akka naku dakka ledu,
Sukkalaku mukka ledu.
4. Bavi gaddana vunda vale'
Nillu lotu kana vale'
Damaraku parupu mida,
Dani metta kana vale.
The bullocks drew the water pure;
A maiden came to the water's brink,
“Alas!” she cried, “my pot won't sink.”
2. “Wait, maiden, wait; you would not deign
To give,” he cried, “those ears of grain;
A hussey gets no help from me;” –
Her painted form was fair to see.
3. “Yes, sister, once your love I sought,
And to the stars I made my vow;
Now, sister, love avails me nought,
No vows of love the stars hear now.
4. Ay, stand you there on the well's bank steep
Till heaven send you water deep:
Where lotus leaves make floating bed,
There may you lay your haughty head.”
Chinnadana nalla chinnadana
Ni vuri per 'emi ni per 'emi.
Nizamuga cheppite
Ni venta vastanu nalla Chinnadana.
She:
Na vuru yela ra,
Na peru yela ra?
Gartuga Gudibanda peru Penngonda, andamu Palkonda
Akkada vantanu tsakkani chinnadana.
He:
Penugonda, Lepakshi, Peddapalem gattu
Tsanugonda, Lalanka, Santa Narasapuram Cheruvu
Dharmavaram Bukkapattanam
Vurindlu mavi, nalla Chinnadana
Adngo ma vuru Tatimakulapalle.
Stalamaku ra nulla chinnadana.
O maiden, fair maiden, come tell in my ear
What village you dwell in, the name that you bear.
And maiden, dear maiden, I pray tell me true,
For maiden, fair maiden, I would fain follow you.
She:
Why ask me my village? Why ask me my name?
Gudibanda the name is of the place where I dwell.
Penukonda's high fortress, Palkonda the fair;
'Tis there I await you – oh, come to me there.
He:
Sanugonda, Lepakshi, Peddapalem the steep,
Bukkarayadu's city where the waters lie deep;
Lalanka the lonely, Narasâpuram's grove:
All these are my dwellings, my maiden, my love.
See yonder's my village, mid the shady date grove.
Let that be our dwelling! Come thither, my love!
Yeti mida kaungili yenni nallaku
Anduno? sanda mama!
Vosamma, neti vela vontiga vunda lenu.
Na prayamu mogavani paluka todu
Ampavê, sanda mama!
Chikiti intlona chinnadan' unnanu!
Na prayamu chinnavanni paluku todu
Ampave, sanda mama!
Vani mollalona vunnadi mohambu
Pidibaku, sanda mama!
Na mollaka kuchamula paina
Mopina tsalamma, sanda mama!
Vani palaka rommuna mida
Pusina Gandamu, sanda mama!
Na ariti nallala mida
Ralina tsalamma, sanda mama!
Vani sikha-lona vunnavi chikku
Taitamulu vani kuruvulu maikunda
Na kanugu etla parutunu?
Sanda mama!
Muddala Rangadu mukkera' ampinadu
Namukkera kada tisi mudd'etla peddudunn?
Sanda mama!
And shall my love's arms clasp me never
Beside the river, mother mine?
This day alone I cannot live:
A youthful husband, mother, give,
To say he loves me, mother mine!
In this dark house my youth is spent;
Ah! were a youth in pity sent
To say he loves me, mother mine!
Love's arrows lurk his form within,
My budding breasts may surely win
And bear that burden, mother mine!
'Twere sweet his manly front to deck,
And dash my bead-encircled neck
With sandal sweetness, mother mine.
Can I caress his tresses bright,
Those locks with silver wealth bedight,
Nor mar their beauty, mother mine?
He bound a jewel on my brow,
Ah! could I change that jewel now
For his dear kisses! mother mine!
These poems – collected from a single illiterate farmer in the 1870s – are the same kind of songs that preserved the legend of Sardar Sarvayi Papanna Goud for over a century and a half. The epic of Papadu, though only fragmentarily recorded by Boyle, confirms that the hero of Telangana was already a celebrated ballad figure within living memory of his death.
Today, government tributes and statues honour Papanna as a Bahujan hero. But his truest monument is the oral tradition itself – the voice of the farmer drawing water, the lover singing at dusk, the children dancing under the moon. That voice, recorded by J. A. Boyle in 1874, is still alive in the villages of Telangana.
🔗 Digital access: Internet Archive – The Indian Antiquary (1874)
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