An Eternal Beat

Photo: Prabir Das

Popularly known as Dashrath Dhuli, he plays dhol, a double-sided, barrel-shaped indigenous drum, melding the infectious rhythm of folk and expressing its spirit through improvisation and explosive stage performances.
Last year, at a show in New York, he showed up with his drum slung over one shoulder, beating out furious rhythms, leaping and bending his body to accent the momentum of the music.  The spectacle and the sonic onslaught left the audience enrapt.
A year before he went to an international contest in Bhutan where artists from South Asian countries gathered in the capital Thimphu.  He won.
“I don't feel well if I don't play it,” the 60-year-old drummer with long, curly hair says over lunch at a local café on a dark and rainy afternoon.  He looks unhappy with the weather outside.
The dhol which has the tubby resonance of the tabla and the kinetic force of a Cuban conga dates back to the 15th century. It was probably introduced to the Indian subcontinent via the Persian dohol. There are variations of it in different parts of India, Pakistan, Iran, Armenia, Afghanistan and central Asian countries. One who plays the dhol is known as a dhuli.  

Dashrath Dhuli plays dhol to the rhythm of his being. Photo: Prabir Das

Dashrath had serious non academic training as a child. His father, Laxman Das was a drummer.  He recalls playing dhol under a bridge near his home to get away from relatives who complained he spent too much time on his drum. “One day, late Rashid Sarker with whom I played for thirty years, discovered me under this bridge.”
Whenever he felt the urge to play, he got away. “On moonlit nights, I went to the paddy fields. During the rainy season, I took a boat.”
He draws heavily on Manikganj—about an hour's drive from Dhaka—where he was born and grew up—much like SM Sultan or William Faulkner who used Narail or Mississippi as setting for their work.
The little boy whose powerful musical blasts then echoed the open fields, the vast skies and the mighty rivers of Manikganj now has the world as his stage.  “I have toured Japan, China, Sri Lanka, Bhutan, Korea, Uzbekistan, India and Africa with prominent Bangladeshi artists.” 

He has played with singers who are on folk music's cutting edge among them Momtaz Begum, Nakul Biswas, Chandana Majumder, Mataal Rajjak and Rajjab Dewan. “It was noted folk singer Kiran Chandra Roy who introduced me to the international audience.”

Despite all the adulation, he hasn't forgotten his roots.  At national days like  Independence Day and Victory Day he makes it a point to perform at the programmes organised by the district administration. “The local officials love me. Ramjan Ali Chairman, the mayor is a mentor. I am much thankful to them.”

Dashrath's family possessed many dhols, some more than a hundred years old. “During the war of liberation in 1971, they were burned,” he says matter-of-factly. Then he shows the one he plays now. Carved from mango wood with leather inlays, he had it custom made which took three days.  Afterwards, he applied a paste made from clove, cardamom, ginger juice, green tamarind and green turmeric to it. Twice a year, he treats the wood with pure mustard oil. The pampering seems to be paying off. “If you beat on it, it goes dhum dhum. But when you play one from the market, it barely manages a dead 'thak.'

The sky is dark and Dashrath looks worried.  If it does not stop raining, his dhol will get wet. “When I ride a bus, I buy two tickets—one for my dhol and one for myself,” he says with a chuckle.

His drum is not an object; it is an extension of him.  “My wife Joya is very supportive of me. My sons are getting good education. I have a modest home. I owe everything to my dhol. I have been to many countries.  I think music thrives in peace and harmony.”  

Although mainly a folk artist, he feels at home playing with different genres of music.   Kiran Chandra Roy with whom he has been working for the last ten years says, “He is well versed in the grammar of music. His presentation is unique.”  

Ayub Bachchu, an iconic Bangladeshi rock star and guitarist is an admirer.  “I was very lucky to play with him once on a channel i programme.  A truly great musician.”

He seems unfazed by the accolades. “Through playing dhol I connect with my people and my country.”  
Dashrath Dhuli has taken an instrument that belongs to the common man and played it to win the world.  That puts him on a par with dhol legends like Sunny Jain of the US or Pappu Sain of Pakistan.

“If I don't see my dhol in the morning, nothing feels right. I play it first thing in the morning. Before I go to bed, I play a few beats,” he says, quiet and sanguine.  

The sky has cleared up. In an hour, he has a performance to give at a posh hotel. Dashrath will play to the rhythm of his being, to the rhythm that yearns to be released from control. Or, maybe it's the other way around.

The dhol will play him.