Sayani Chakraborty

large_01-15-SC-Birbhums_fading_sounds_of_jal_jangal_jameen.jpg

medium_01-15-SC-Birbhums_fading_sounds_of_jal_jangal_jameen.jpg

small_01-15-SC-Birbhums_fading_sounds_of_jal_jangal_jameen.jpg

thumbnail_01-15-SC-Birbhums_fading_sounds_of_jal_jangal_jameen.jpg

01-15-SC-Birbhums_fading_sounds_of_jal_jangal_jameen.jpg

The music is as earthy as the walls of the houses along the route to the centre of Chhatina. And the streets of this Adivasi hamlet in West Bengal’s Birbhum district once rang to the distinct, sonorous sounds of the banam and the gabgubi, both played by Santal Adivasis.Now, the tunes and melodies are fading.“We mostly play these instruments at our parabs [festivals],” says Ganesh Soren, 42, a resident of this mainly Santal hamlet of Gulalgachhi village in Rajnagar block. An agricultural labourer and banam player, he actually created the particular version of the double-string gabgubi that he also plays. The single-string banam is a much older musical instrument of great historic and cultural significance to the Santals and other Adivasi groups too.

“We have played the banam at the Sidhu-Kanhu festival,” says Hopon Soren, 46, also an agricultural labourer in Chhatina. The festival is named after Sidhu Murmu and Kanhu Murmu – Santal leaders who spearheaded the great hool (revolt) against the British in 1855.  That the British offered Rs. 10,000 for their arrest – a huge sum at the time –speaks to how serious their challenge was. The rebellion was drowned in blood, with at least 15,000 of the 60,000 bow and arrow wielding Santals slaughtered by British guns. The banam invokes their memory at the festival in their honour.“In our childhood,” says Hopon Soren, “there were famous banam players who we heard on radio. We learnt to create and play the instrument by observing them and following the sounds and melodies they made.”Ganesh Soren’s gabgubi also harks back to history. For him, the sounds of his creation reflect the Santal struggles for freedom and jal, jangal, jameen (water, forest, land) – issues still alive today. Both Ganesh and Hopon work in the fields of the local mahajan (landowning moneylender). Though the official daily wage rate in the region is Rs. 240, and remains so on paper, they have for months been getting only around Rs. 100-200 a day. They can get up to Rs. 260 on the rare days they find work as masons. The MGNREGA rate for West Bengal is Rs. 240, for which, in practice, they get Rs. 182-202, and they find, at best, only 25 days of such employment in a year.

The (non-MGNREGA) wage rate within the region, locals tell me, used to be higher but has declined over the years. It was set at Rs. 240 around or just after 2011. And the already falling rate took a huge blow with the pandemic and the accompanying lockdown. However, with a good monsoon and the present agricultural season underway, they could be getting Rs. 240 daily again – for some days or weeks.Every single banam and gabgubi is custom-made and reflects the individual creativity of the artist. So the look and structure varies with the character of the person who creates and plays it. The banam of Hopon Soren is intricately carved out of wood with tools like a basley (something like an adze, or an axe with arched blade) and ruka (chisel). The banam of Ganesh Soren has a whimsical beauty and is built of random components drawn from coconut shells, animal hide – and even an umbrella stick.According to tribal musicologist Dr. Nibedita Lahiri of the Rabindra Bharati University, Kolkata, “The banam is a single string instrument which probably belongs to the violin family, that can be played with a bow, and which has a percussive sound. It’s a chordophone which cannot be played directly with the hands like a plucked instrument. It can only be played with a chhaar [bow] made with strings or with the hair of certain animals. You can find many types of banam across Bengal – including fantor banam, bele banam and more – as their makers create them in their own, unique style.”

Ganesh Soren’s gabgubi is a tribal variant and ancestor of khomok, a popular instrument of Bengali folk music. He used a dhol (drum) and, oddly enough, one of his son’s toys to make it. Its tune, he says, reminds him of the cheerful innocent giggles of his son and the beat reminds him of the jungle. “I have been playing both instruments for 15 years now, in order to keep my mind fresh” he says. “There was a time when I would play them all evening after a day full of hardship and people would come to listen. But today they have so many options and no one wants to listen to this old fellow.”Many men from their village work as masons, or daily wage labourers in various towns, and some of them still carry the banam along with them. But not many care to learn this musical tradition any longer, say Ganesh and Hopon. “There are very few people left in the village and community,” says Hopon, “with the knowledge and craftsmanship to create this unique sound.”“There must be some eager students in our local school, in order to be able to teach there,” says Ganesh. But, he says, the generation is ruled by streamed music and mobile apps, all at the click of a button. How could they be made interested in the banam?Neither Ganesh nor Hopon owns or can afford a cellphone.Both Ganesh and Hopon also link the decline of their beloved banam to their own economic situation. They are poor agricultural labourers working more hours for less money. “If I want to play banam,” says Ganesh, “my entire family would remain hungry for days.”  “The sound can’t feed our hunger,” says Hopon.

Birbhum’s fading sounds of jal, jangal, jameen

বীৰভূমৰ জল, জংঘল, জমিৰ হেৰোৱা সুৰ

बीरभूम से लुप्त होते जल, जंगल, ज़मीन के सुर

بیربھوم سے غائب ہوتی جل، جنگل، زمین کی آوازیں

ಬಿರ್‌ಭಮ್‌ನಲ್ಲಿ ಮರೆಯಾಗುತ್ತಿರುವ ನೀರು, ಕಾನು, ಭೂಮಿಯ ಮಧುರ ಸ್ವರ

பிர்பும்மில் குறைந்து வரும் நீர், காடு, நிலம் என்ற சப்தங்கள்

बीरभूममधले जल-जंगल-जमिनीचे विरते सूर

ବୀରଭୂମର କ୍ଷୀଣ ହୋଇ ଆସୁଥିବା ଶବ୍ଦ ଜଳ, ଜଙ୍ଗଲ, ଜମି

ਬੀਰਭੂਮ ਦੀਆਂ ਧੁੰਦਲੀਆਂ ਹੁੰਦੀਆਂ ਜਲ, ਜੰਗਲ ਅਤੇ ਜ਼ਮੀਨਾਂ ਦੀਆਂ ਅਵਾਜ਼ਾਂ

বীরভূমের জল, জঙ্গল, জমির হারিয়ে যাওয়া সুর

Gulalgachhi

At present, we can only accept donations in Indian rupees by Indian citizens. All donations made to the CounterMedia Trust are eligible for exemption under Section 80G of the Income Tax Act, 1961. Here is a copy of our exemption certificate.


India is bigger than New Delhi. And people need to know more about the rest of this vast nation.


Younger, media-saturated generations are growing up knowing little about their country, but a lot about the elites of a few metros and towns. For a narrowly-owned, commercially-driven media, the dumbing down of a nation is part of standard operating procedure. The last available data of the Centre for Media Studies (CMS, Delhi) show us that reports from New Delhi account for 66 per cent of news on the front pages of major dailies. The CMS data also found that just about 0.24 per cent of front page news came out of rural India. The TV channels are not much better.PARI exists to change that.We are a non-profit organisation. We publish under creative commons, and do not charge readers a subscription fee or put-up advertisements. Nothing is behind a paywall and we are completely free-to-access by anyone. We guard our independence and receive no direct grants from governments and corporations, nor any funding that could dictate our content. So, we are dependent on volunteer labour, donations from individuals, foundations and institutions that see value in independent and free media.PARI is changing the way Indian journalism reports and documents the rural.India is more than the elite of a few metros and towns. We report on rural lives and livelihoods, languages, communities, migrants and more. We need your help to pull off this most ambitious of Indian journalistic endeavours. The scale of this effort costs money. Donate generously - and spread the word about PARI.&nbsp;

Donate FAQs


Let’s get you acquainted

Welcome to PARI

All our content is, and will forever be free to consume. If you enjoy our work, you can support us by becoming a volunteer or by donating to help fund our work.

Want to republish this article? Please write to <a href="mailto:zahra@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">zahra@ruralindiaonline.org</a> with a cc to <a href="mailto:namita@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">namita@ruralindiaonline.org</a>

Birbhum’s fading sounds of jal, jangal, jameen

Musical instruments popular with, and rooted in, Adivasi societies are in decline. And the reasons for this in West Bengal’s Birbhum district go beyond the cultural

Related stories

A rain-scented walk in Sivagangai

Living on ravaged land

Biswas and the bamboos on his bike

Recycling energy, Godda style

Bhadels of Goa

Pookadai: still throbbing with morning life

Koli Kadlas

Malnourishment high among children of migrants: study

Wheels of the rural Indian West

Living Under a Red Cloud in Bellary

Vedla – earrings of the Maher community

Dreaming of water, drowning in debt

Kali: the dancer and his dreams

Farmer's diet worse than a convict's

In Yavatmal, life goes on

Suicides are about the living, not the dead

Death of a carpenter

Hoisa Shigmo!

Women farmers: weaving a life in Anantapur

Defiant in Dhinkia

Spice and all that's nice

Kerala's Green Army

The ‘jugaad’ not-a-mobile

Health as someone else's wealth

Calibrating in a Kudumbashree assembly unit