I heard the sannai’s haunting notes and the distant clink of bells from a Gangireddu, that familiar sight of festival days. As I waited, the decorated bull moved closer, rhythmically nodding its head, draped in a spectacle of colour and texture. Finally, the Gangireddula duo — Ramudu the bull and Mallesham, its owner — stood in front of my house. I could have just handed over some money and sent them on their way, but there was something magnetic about this pair and their ritual. So, I stopped them for a chat, hoping to understand the lives behind this iconic yet fading tradition.
Mallesham, a man in his fifties from Toopran, looked every bit the part of a keeper of heritage. He appeared to compete with his bull in a white shirt, dhoti, and a dark red turban with a shawl draped over his shoulders. His eyes sparkled with pride as he introduced Ramudu, his trusted companion through countless seasons.
Every Sankranti, Dasara, and Diwali, Mallesham sets out with Ramudu, a bull so well cared for it gleams in the sunlight, adorned from horns to hooves in striking colours and ornaments. Usually, there’s another person carrying the dappu, a drum whose unique beat is as integral to their act as the bull’s nodding head. Together, they bring a touch of magic and nostalgia to each house they visit, filling the air with festival spirit and blessings.
When I asked why the percussionist wasn’t with him, Mallesham explained that, with or without the dappu player, they’d still be paid the same — so where was the need for him?
Blessings, beats and nods
As Mallesham started to play the sannai, a traditional wind instrument, his cousin struck the dappu, and Ramudu began his part. Trained to respond to questions, Ramudu nodded along as Mallesham playfully quizzed him in Telugu: ‘Will the owner of this house get a promotion? Will his children excel in their studies? And what about marriage proposals for the young girls in the family?’ Each nod brought smiles and chuckles, while the bells on Ramudu’s horns jingled — a musical affirmation of good fortune.
Mallesham told me how he and his three brothers fan out across villages in Telangana during the festival season. For them, life as Gangireddulu is not about wealth but rather the satisfaction of carrying forward a heritage that once enthralled entire villages. They gratefully accept whatever gifts people offer — money, grains, sarees, or blankets — any of which are added to Ramudu’s display, making him appear even more regal as they move from house to house.
A heritage at risk
However, the proud glint in Mallesham’s eye dulled slightly as he admitted that their generation might be the last to carry on this way of life. His sons, like many young people today, aren’t interested in the nomadic lifestyle or the hard work of maintaining tradition. Instead, they look for jobs or work on the family’s small patch of farmland. ‘They want stability,’ he sighed. ‘Who can blame them? But it’s a shame because we’re losing more than an occupation; we’re losing an identity.’
Indeed, the lives of Gangireddulu have long been bound to a heritage that blends livelihood, artistry, and faith. For centuries, these families have roamed the Telugu-speaking regions, venturing as far as Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, carrying blessings on their bulls’ backs. Their performances are echoes of a time when art and faith were woven together, and kings and landlords would eagerly await their arrival. In the past, a visit from the Gangireddulu was an occasion to behold, with lords and common folk alike gathering to witness these decorated bulls and their keepers.
