For the Bengali nestled snugly in Bengal, the Mahalaya daybreak arrives with all the subtlety of a Broadway overture, courtesy of that unmistakable baritone crooning, “Ashwin-er sharad praate…”. It’s not just a greeting, it’s an announcement – the celestial trumpet call that ushers in the grand spectacle of Durga Puja.

Through the edifices and avenues, Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s resonant voice narrating the saga of Durga’s earthly advent and her triumphant vanquishing of the demon Mahishasura rides on sunbeams, infiltrating our abodes and even our slumbering forms.

Birendra Krishna Bhadra has become the unofficial mayor of Mahalaya, a title he’s held with great aplomb for as long as anyone can remember. His name and this auspicious day are now inseparable in the world of radio broadcasting. As dawn tiptoes in, Bhadra’s voice swaggers in like a maestro taking centre stage, and the airwaves practically roll out the red carpet. Bhadra, like a magician, conjures the spirit of Durga Puja with each resonant word.

From the dusty archives of time, his legacy emerges, a glorious tale that even the annals of history can’t help but applaud. His voice is the thread that stitches together the fabric of tradition, uniting generations in the collective anticipation of Mahalaya.

Genesis of Mahishasurmardini

Picture this: it’s the 1930s, Calcutta is aglow with gas-lit charm.

In the midst of this, a casual brainstorming session at All India Radio leads to the birth of what we now know as Mahishasurmardini, thanks to the creative sparks flying between the AIR programme director, Nripen Majumdar. Mahishasurmardini was first broadcast over the radio in Akashvani, Calcutta. Pankaj Kumar Mallik, Birendra Krishna Bhadra, and Raichand Boral orchestrated the event, with Bani Kumar penning the scripts. The initial production, titled ‘Basentesori Champu’, graced the stage in March. However, it underwent a metamorphosis, emerging as the inaugural ‘Mahishasur Bodh’ broadcast in 1936, this time taking place on Shashti, marking a new tradition.

On 21 October 1937, Mahishasurmardini was first broadcast on Mahalaya.

Despite being the quintessential voice of Mahishasurmardini, Bhadra in his day job, played the role of an unassuming railway clerk in his late twenties, moonlighting as an amateur playwright. Come Mahalaya, he’d gracefully step into that sedan, whisked away to the local All India Radio (AIR) headquarters. There, he’d join a motley crew of about 30 friends and colleagues, each a living legend of contemporary music in Kolkata and all of India. Together, they’d engage in eleventh-hour voice rehearsals and fine-tune their musical instruments, all for creating that magical Mahalaya broadcast. It was a symphony in the making, an auditory masterpiece crafted by these musical mavericks of the era.

In this meticulously choreographed dawn spectacle, you’d find a diverse crew of musicians, looking nothing short of impeccable. The men, all decked out in starched white dhotis, and the ladies, elegant in their crisp red and white sarees, appeared ready to steal the show. But before they embarked on their auditory journey, there was an unwavering tradition to uphold – a pre-performance bath that ensured they were as pristine as their music.

Then, right on the dot at 4 a.m, the magic commenced. The opening act: the sonorous conch shell, its resonant call ringing through the air. Following this, a brief Sanskrit chorus set the stage for the main event, “Ya Chandi, Madhu Kaitabhaadi Daitya dalani…”

But the pièce de résistance was yet to come. In the spotlight, taking his place among this eclectic gathering of classical maestros, was none other than Birendra Krishna Bhadra. With his baritone voice that could make thunder sound timid, he initiated the first verse of a live musical voyage, using words that would go on to symbolise the commencement of Bengal’s grand festive season and extend their influence far beyond: “Ashwiner Sharad Prate Beje Utheche Alokomonjir…”

Bhadra and his crew comprising Pratima Bandopadhyay, Dwijen Mukhopadhyay, Supriti Ghosh, Shipra Bose, Manabendra Mukhopadhyay, Shyamal Mitra, Arati Mukhopadhyay and others, crafted an 85-minute extravaganza, aptly named ‘Mahishasurmardini’ (The Slaying of the Demon), which weaves together a tapestry of narration, orchestral splendour, harmonious choruses and Sanskrit hymns. This masterpiece recounts the genesis of the Hindu Goddess Durga and her valiant quest to vanquish the malevolent buffalo demon king, Mahishasur, who had unleashed unimaginable horrors upon the Earth.

Thanks to the enchantment spun by Bhadra’s vocal prowess, this creation transcends the confines of ancient scriptures, standing tall as a cultural touchstone. Year after year, it’s broadcasted across India, ensuring its message of virtue’s triumph over vice reverberates not only nationally but across the globe. This isn’t just a recital; it’s an epic narrative of cosmic proportions, a timeless tale that bridges continents and cultures.

Mahishasurmardini– It is part ballad, part oratorio and all-around uplifting. For more than nine decades, it has been the clarion call that rouses millions of listeners from their cosy slumber or gathers them around the trusty, crackling radio, coaxing the embalmed darkness to gracefully cede to the dawning light.

In its initial three-decade run, Mahishasurmardini was the unrivalled star of live broadcasts from the lively AIR studios in Kolkata. It wasn’t until 1963 that it embraced the comforts of pre-recording.

Such was the gravitational pull of this program that in 1976, AIR made a seemingly audacious move by enlisting Bengali film legend Uttam Kumar and an ensemble of singing maestros like Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhonsle and Hemanta Mukherjee to replace the original rendition. The public response? Let’s just say it was a veritable uproar, teetering on the edge of a statewide revolt. The then Indian information minister, LK Advani, found himself cornered and had no choice but to issue a public mea culpa, reinstating Bhadra’s version to its rightful place in 1977. Mahishasurmardini: a legend that’s not to be trifled with!