It begins not as a sound you hear, but as a vibration you feel—a deep, resonant pulse that travels through the ground, into your bones, and finally to your ears. This is the voice of the Thamate, the centuries-old drum intrinsic to the Dalit communities of Karnataka. Far more than a musical instrument, it is a living repository of history and memory. In today's digital cacophony, its organic, primal beat cuts through, reminding us how rhythm is woven into the core of culture, identity, and spirit.
From Painful Legacy to Personal Reclamation
For Bharath Dingri, a theatre practitioner from Ashapura village in Raichur district, the Thamate's story was initially one of personal trauma. His father, Dalit activist Dingri Narasappa, had taught him to play the drum as a child. A painful memory from his school days, however, severed that connection. "When I was in Class 8, I was teaching a young boy to play. His uncle saw us, dragged me out, and forbade me from their home," Bharath recounts. Humiliated, he broke his drum that night and vowed never to touch it again.
That vow led him to explore tabla, theatre, and journalism, yet a void persisted. The turning point came when theatre director Lakshman KP invited him to join the production ‘Daklakatha Devikavya’. "That production changed me forever. I embraced thamate again," Bharath says. Now, through his collective ‘Halagi Culture’, he facilitates workshops that transform perception. "People join to learn a drum," he observes. "They leave with newfound respect. They learn its history, the voices it represents, and begin to understand Dalit aesthetics. We reframe it from an object to a storyteller."
Sixteen-year-old Suvvi, a workshop participant, experienced this shift firsthand. Encouraged by her mother, she attended a session. "It was my first time playing one," she says. The workshop covered the Thamate's history, craftsmanship, and playing techniques through notes, demos, and hands-on practice. "Now I have basic knowledge of how to play it and I haven't forgotten a thing!" she adds.
The Drum as a Doorway to Heritage and Protest
Lakshman KP, who also serves as a resource person for Halagi Culture's workshops, views the Thamate as a portal. "I view thamate as a doorway to a vast bank of knowledge and heritage," he says. He emphasizes that it is an ecosystem holding more than just resistance—it carries enduring cultural histories. Lakshman also highlights the historical context of Dalit artists: "Dalit musicians and artistes were never honoured for their craft. They lacked the luxury of time to refine their art, unlike classical musicians. They laboured to survive, played as societal demands required."
But why are workshops needed for a drum that was historically prevalent? Bharath explains the journey: "For ages, Dalits played thamate at festivals, funerals, and for announcements. It was imposed, then associated with oppression. Now, we have reclaimed it. It's a mark of our resistance as well as of our identity." This reclamation is multi-layered. The drum is now a badge of honour, turning stigma into strength. Its powerful, unsettling rhythm has become the soundtrack to rallies and protests, symbolizing a community's demand to be heard. It also acts as a crucial counter-narrative, asserting the validity of Dalit folk art in mainstream cultural spaces.
Mainstream Evolution and Essential Work
Author and academic Hulikunte Murthy notes a significant evolution. "There was a time during the Dalit movement that youngsters refused to play the drum on socio-religious occasions, in protest," he says. "Now, thamate is part of musical bands. It is used in film scores. We even have fibre versions of Thamate that have found ‘acceptance'." While acknowledging that full mainstream credit is still evolving, Murthy affirms the growth is undeniable.
This revival is seen as essential work by cultural activists. Kotiganahalli Ramaiah, a renowned author, poet, and founder of the cultural space Buddi Deepa in Therahalli Betta near Kolar, hosted a Halagi Culture workshop in early December. "In a way, the work by Bharath and his friends to elevate thamate, considered ‘untouchable,' is an essential, revolutionary work," Ramaiah states. Following the workshop's success, he is considering efforts to revive more traditional instruments.
For participants like Geetha M, a 36-year-old research scholar from Karnataka, the experience is profound. Having attended a workshop in April, she says, "It was my first instrument, so I was nervous. But the experience was powerful, and an eye-opener."
Bharath Dingri continues to innovate, creating performances like ‘Thousand River Blues' and planning drum-making workshops. His journey mirrors the Thamate's own evolution—from a conduit of folk religion to a keeper of social memory, and now, to an unapologetic symbol of justice and pride. The beat that once marked duty now drums in a defiant, proud, and ever-evolving future for Dalit culture in Karnataka.
