Dr. Anoop Ranjan Pandey, who spent decades archiving vanishing tribal songs and 60 rare instruments across Chhattisgarh, secures India’s highest performing arts honour.
Raipur, 13 June 2026 — The Sangeet Natak Akademi just handed its 2025 national award to a man who spent his life chasing fading songs through the forests of Chhattisgarh. Dr. Anoop Ranjan Pandey didn’t build his legacy in air-conditioned recording studios. He built it in remote tribal settlements, archiving 143 indigenous narratives and rescuing 60 rare musical instruments from total extinction.
This isn’t just another trophy for a career artist. It’s a survival victory for the Bastar Band, the tribal ensemble Pandey forged in a region historically torn apart by armed conflict. The Akademi officially confirmed the award this week, marking one of India’s highest honours in the performing arts. For the 60-year-old archivist, who already holds a 2019 Padma Shri, the recognition cements a lifelong strategy of weaponising culture for peace.
But how do you convince a generation raised in the shadow of insurgency that they shouldn’t pick up a rifle?
Pandey answered that with a blunt ultimatum: “Choose the Drum, Not the Gun.” He didn’t just preach peace from a podium. He handed tribal youth the very artifacts their ancestors played, creating a traveling musical force that dragged Bastar’s heritage onto international stages. They’ve performed everywhere from local village squares to global festivals, forcing audiences to hear Chhattisgarh’s raw heartbeat.
The roots of this obsession run deep into the soil of rural Bilaspur. Born into a farming family on 21 July 1965, Pandey grew up surrounded by village fairs, oral storytelling, and harvest festivals. Most people didn’t look twice at these everyday rural rituals. Pandey saw them as the fragile, undocumented history of his people, and he couldn’t let them vanish without a fight.
He didn’t stop at casual fandom. He chased formal credentials, eventually securing a doctorate in Folk Music from the Indira Kala Sangeet Vishwavidyalaya in Khairagarh. Academic records show he used that rigorous training to launch exhaustive fieldwork across the state. When modern entertainment began swallowing village traditions, he hit the dirt roads to record oral histories before the elders who held them died off.
And then he met Habib Tanvir. The legendary theatre director changed Pandey’s trajectory entirely when the young researcher joined Naya Theatre in 1990. Tanvir didn’t just direct plays; he revolutionised how India viewed rural performers.
That collaboration threw Pandey into the deep end of stagecraft and community theatre. He didn’t just watch Tanvir blend raw folk energy with modern theatrical structures. He absorbed the method, taking Chhattisgarhi culture across borders and proving that indigenous art doesn’t need dilution to hold a cosmopolitan crowd.
So his work evolved far beyond mere performance. He functions as a human hard drive for Bastar’s disappearing audio landscape. When he noticed traditional instruments rotting away unused, he didn’t just write an academic paper about it. He tracked them down across isolated forest tracts, mastered their specific histories, and handed a massive personal collection over to state museums in Raipur so the public wouldn’t lose access. Museum curators credit this donation with keeping the physical history of tribal music alive for the next generation of scholars.
It isn’t an exaggeration to say his crowning achievement remains the Bastar Band.
The ensemble operates as a living, breathing museum. Cultural researchers note the group routinely deploys nearly six dozen rare instruments that modern audiences haven’t seen in decades. They don’t just play music. They resurrect dead sounds. Every performance serves as loud, undeniable proof of life for communities that rarely control their own narratives in mainstream media.
Under his leadership, the Bastar Band emerged as a powerful counter-narrative to regional violence. By focusing on cultural pride and community empowerment, Pandey offered an alternative path for young people. They weren’t just learning to play music; they were reclaiming their identity in a region long defined by external forces.
The Dau Mandaraji Lok Kala Samman and the Padma Shri already sit on his shelf. State cultural departments have long recognised his obsessive documentation of Chhattisgarh’s identity, funding his initiatives to keep young artists employed. This new Akademi award doesn’t alter his core mission. It just amplifies the volume on the 143 songs he saved from permanent silence.
Anoop Ranjan Pandey didn’t wait for the world to care about Bastar. He made them listen.
