It was a relaxed Sunday morning. Mythreyi’s Tātā turned on the radio, and soon Śrī T. N. Seshagopalan’s rendition of Vandanamu Raghunandana in rāga Sahānā filled the room. Mythreyi hummed along as she sipped her morning dose of piping-hot filter kāpi.

“Did you notice the bhakti rasa in this composition, kaṇṇā?” Tātā asked her.

Mythreyi ventured a guess. “Tātā, judging from the opening words… does vandanamu mean vandanam?”

“That’s right, kaṇṇā. It may be understood as the offering of humble prayers, prostrations and reverential obeisance to the Divine. Through this composition, Tyāgarāja offers his salutations to Lord Rāma, who built the sētu across the ocean. Tyāgarāja composed another song in rāga Balahamsa, Daṇḍamu Beṭṭenurā, in which he pleads with Rāma: ‘I prostrate before You, O Kōdaṇḍapāṇi! Please look upon me with compassion,’” Tātā explained.

Mythreyi picked up the phone beside her and called Advait.

“Hey, Vaithu! Happy morning! What’s up?” she asked.

“Goooooood morning, Mythu! Just chilling with the family over our morning cups of elixir,” Advait replied with a giggle.

“What are you giggling about? You and your black coffee! I simply cannot handle its bitterness. Anyway, how is your Sunday looking?”

“I want to go to the Central Library later today. Would you care to join me?”

“Yeah, sure. But it is open for only half a day today, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Let’s leave in an hour and return by noon. Won’t you pack some breakfast for me and pick me up on your way?” Advait asked.

“Excuse me! Absolutely not! Since when did I say that I was at your service? I have to wash my hair and run a few errands for Ammā. You had better cycle to the library. I’ll meet you there,” Mythreyi replied with mock indignation.

“In the Punnāgavarāḷi composition, Tyāgarāja himself sings, tava dāsōham, tava dāsōham, tava dāsōham Dāśarathē—‘I am Your servant, O son of Daśaratha.’ Look, such a great saint embraced dāsya bhāva, yet you are not even willing to bring me breakfast and pick me up!” Advait protested with a theatrical sigh.

“In the mudra caraṇa of the same composition, Tyāgarāja sings, āgama-vinuta rāga-rahita Tyāgarāja-nuta Dāśarathē—‘O Lord extolled by the Āgama-s! O One free from attachment! O Lord praised by Tyāgarāja! O son of Daśaratha, I am Your servant.’ Are you free from attachment? You are not Lord Rāma, and I am certainly not Saint Tyāgarāja. Now, can you please hang up and get ready, my friend? I’ll see you at the library at ten,” Mythreyi retorted before ending the call.

While they were getting ready, they received a message from Abhaya-mā asking them to come for class at 11:30 a.m. They abandoned their library plan and decided to meet at her house instead.

As Mythreyi and Advait entered Abhaya-mā’s hallway, they were greeted by the resonant drone of a perfectly tuned tambūrā, the whistle of a pressure cooker in the background and the aroma of freshly cooked rice filling the air.

“Could you please switch off the stove, kaṇṇammā?” Abhaya-mā requested.

Mythreyi did as she was told. Then she and Advait prostrated before their guru and sat down to sing. They revised some of the compositions they had learnt earlier and practised a few manōdharma exercises.

“What would you like to learn today?” asked Ammā.

“Mā, we had a silly conversation about dāsya bhāva earlier this morning. Could we learn a composition based on that theme today?” Advait asked.

“All right, here we go: upacāramu jēsēvārunnārani maravakurā…” Abhaya-mā began, teaching them the pallavi of Tyāgarāja’s composition in rāga Bhairavi.

After several rounds of repetition, they proceeded to the anupallavi and then to the caraṇa, eventually completing the composition.

Abhaya-mā recited the lines:

vākiṭanē padilamugā vātātmajuḍunnāḍani,
śrīkarulagu nī tammulu cēriyunnārani,
ēkāntamunanu jānaki ērpaḍiyunnadani,
śrīkānta, parulēlani, śrī tyāgarāja-vinuta…

She then explained their meaning:

“Just because Āñjanēya, the son of Vāyu, stands guard at Your doorway; just because Your auspicious brothers remain by Your side; and just because Jānaki attends to You in private, do not think, ‘Why do I need anyone else?’ O Śrīkānta, praised by Tyāgarāja, do not forget me or the service I wish to offer You.”

“Another popular kṛti, often heard at an electrifying tempo in concerts, also expresses dāsya bhāva: Baṇṭu Rīti Koluvu. Tyāgarāja sings, baṇṭu rīti koluviyyavayya Rāma—‘O Lord Rāma, grant me the privilege of serving You as a royal guard.’ Here, baṇṭu means a guard or servant, rīti means ‘in the manner of’, and koluvu refers to service,” Abhaya-mā explained with a smile as the students listened intently.

By the time the class ended, their stomachs had begun to growl. As always, they sat down to enjoy a meal with their guru’s family. That day’s spread included veṅgāya vatta kuẕambu, kōvakkāy fry, rasam and a variety of homemade pickles: vaḍu māṅgāy, māhāḷi, mōr miḷagāy, takkāḷi tokku, āvakkāy and puḷi iñji—all made with love by Abhaya-mā.

While Advait and Abhaya-mā generously helped themselves to the vatta kuẕambu, Mythreyi and Ambarish, Abhaya-mā’s son, ate several small servings of tayir sādam, pairing each one with a different pickle so that they could savour them all.

After the sumptuous meal, everyone sat together and chatted for a while. Contented and satisfied, Mythreyi and Advait bade the family goodbye until their next visit—but not before receiving a warm, tight hug from Abhaya-mā.