Khusrau, Meera, Kabir: The Fluid Self
An essay contributed by the celebrated singer,writer and spiritualist Vidya Rao
I often ask myself the question why I choose, above all things, to sing, and then to sing a traditional gayaki like thumri. The images that are gleaned from its poetic texts are so often open to misunderstand: pining nayikas, heartless piyas, rakish Krishnas, divine Rams. I ask myself that question again today when tradition is in danger of being smothered by sectarianism, communal violence and a whole culture lies bleeding.
I turn to the music itself for my answer. It has never failed me before it does not fail me now.
I share with you then a few verses from lyrics that are part of this rich culture.
There is a poem by Amir Khusrau, an especial favourite of mine. Khusrau says:
Ze haal-e-miskeen makun tagaful, dorae naina banae batiyaan
Ze kalb-e-hijran, nadaram ai jaan, na lehu kahe lagaye chhatiyaan.
As is customary, the lyrics express the anguish of unrequited love. As is customary too, these romantic lyrics are read as a metaphor for a divine love, this birha is our birha from the One.
But I move from both the explicit meaning of these lyrics and their easily read metaphorical meanings to the many implicit meanings, the dhvanis, hidden between the lines.
It is no accident, nor is it a gimmick that Khusrau chooses to compose this poem so that half of each line is in Farsi, half in Brajbhasha. Certainly, like several writers of the time, Khusrau was experimenting with the textures of the languages available to him, forging a new bhasha, new sounds. But what is also interesting is that language and the choice of language is not just an empty container that holds lexical meaning. Language itself is full of meaning. For us, reading or singing this poem today, other meanings, meanings embedded within the sound of language itself become available. And becoming available, tell us something about ourselves and our lives, our heritage, and our futures.
Because of the given conventions of poetry in Farsi and Brajbhasha, this simple text becomes incredibly rich and complex. Khusrau, speaking Farsi, is an anguished man addressing an indifferent beloved mashooq; speaking Brajbhasha, he becomes the nayika, a lovelorn woman yearning for her absent piya. Suddenly, Khusrau, born male, transcends the frontiers of his body, he is in turn, man, woman, aspires to an androgyny perhaps? Gendered identities collapse. I am forced to question this most basic sense of identity that I carry. I am now simply human. Neither man nor woman, and simultaneously both.
The world of men comes closer, merges with the cloistered world of women. In doing so,
Khusrau collides spaces— the Farsi space of court, of politics, of written literary traditions, and the Brajbhasha space of field and home, of intimacy and nurture and everyday speech. I am coaxed out of my known spaces, into the vastness of Space, into the moment of simply Being.
The filigree of Farsi sounds flows into the earthy terracotta of Brajbhasha, delighting my ears. My tongue tastes these very different flavours and textures of sound. This is, I realize an extraordinary rasa!
The love that Khusrau speaks of is known to be his own devotion to his Pir. It is a divine love of which he speaks. But the words that he uses to speak of it are not so poor as to reject the truth of ordinary human loving– the love of women and men for each other romantic love, conjugal love. And, I hear it also as a love of one’s fellow beings – human and non-human.
This love of which he speaks– I see it in my own life as a love of and commitment to music, that most elusive Beloved. But for me it is also a love of the richness of the cultural traditions of this space I call my homelandâ€â€a culture which was then, as now, in the process of being made, and which, by his articulation, Khusrau has helped to make, just as you or I, living our ordinary daily lives, doing our ordinary everyday work, help to make. It is a making that has, moreover, to be done with love, with care and with humility.
This Khusrau, this fine soul who speaks to me across the centuries, my heart contracts with pain and fear to think that one day, some blind, misguided soul might declare him to be a foreigner, an invader. If Khusrau, beloved Khusrau, were to be banished, I know I would waste away like the birahini nayikas of one of my songs. I would be depleted.
At another time, in another part of India, a woman called Meera had sung:
Nahi aiso janam barambar
Ka janoon kachhu punya pragati,
Manusha avatar.
I think that what she tells me is this: There is an extraordinary good fortune that is mine, to be born here a woman, singer, Indian, to be heir to this shimmering tapestry that is my history and my culture. Where else but here, how else but being born who I am, could I claim as my birthright the songs of the Qawwals of the dargah of Hazrat Muinuddin Chishti and Hazrat Nizammudin Aulia, the chanting of hymns at Kashi Vishvanath, the silence of Sarnath. The heat of the rocks on Arunachala Hill, the icy cold of Himalayan snow. The blue of the western sea, the sentinel boulders of the Deccan. Were else could I claim the right to speak in a hundred languages, all mine, all deeply loved? Where else worship in a thousand different ways, where thrill to the touch of the charming Kanha, where lose myself in the complex metaphysics of Nalanda, where weep and mourn the martyrs of Karbala? Where else could I rejoice to see the flames of blooming tesu and semal, and the lace of kachnar blossoms, where fill my lungs with the scent of reborn rain-washed earth?
Poets, artist, singers, dancers, mystics, ordinary men and women have, over the centuries, filled in the stitches of this beautiful fabric of my culture. Like Kabir I take it in my hands and sing:
So chaadar sur nar muni odhe, odh ke maili keeni chadaria
Das Kabir jatan se odhe , jyun ki tyun dhar deeni chadaria.
First published in the journal, Equality.
Sar-zameen-e-hind pay awaam-e-aalam kay ‘Firaaq’
Qaafilay bastay gaye, Hindustaan bantaa gayaa
It takes a thousand years of nurturing for a culture to form… In comparision the harvest of hatred grow very fast. In my view, Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru and Sarojini Naidu represent the FINEST in Hinduism… while Amir Khusrau and Maulana Abulkalam Azad represent the FINEST in Islamic Tradition. This reality has to be faced. Whenever tried to push under the carpet it sprang with devastating force. India’s 2 major communities and cultures., the Ganga-Jamuni have great beauty. Both complement each other., and add to India’s beauty. Hinduism is closest to Islam., as there is the concept of MARYADA. Islam in its essence is nothing but HUSN-E-AQLAAQ. (Good behavior towards fellow-human beings and even creatures.. the first lesson in environmental studies was given by Islam). I must confess, that there is a certain strictness associated with Islam. That is because IT was needed to plant the seed of TAWHID or UNITY of GOD strong enough. Imam Ghazali gave the philosophical exposition to Islamic thought .. various ideas and views came forth with time. Sufism is one of it. Prophet Mohammed (Peace be upon him) was also “Teacher of Humanity” [Moallim al Insaniyya] (and not just teacher of muslims…) !
Vidya Rao has written wonderfully and with her heart on the delicate issue, which is at the core of India’s Soul. Indic civilisation is secular in essence., and is under threat of evil forces who indulge in hate-speech, divide society, incite mob violence and rise to political power !
If Indic Civilisation is secular, and if India is such a great nation of great idealism. how do we explain the barbaric events, the news item we see / read. Therein lies the reality. Hate-Factories are flourishing inside India. Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru had identified these Hate-Factories. These Hindu-Taliban and RSS and VHP and the narrow-minded people (from other religions / persuasions) will destroy Indian Culture. Religion teaches love. No religion (islam or hinduism) encourages violence…
What is happening today is that “religion” is used as a banner, to incite mob violence… They are doing this to feed their egos. This has nothing to do with religion, per se. Unfortunately hatred has been drilled continuously for the past 80 years… and that is the reason, why the average indian is so full of hatred and narrow-minded… inspite of being the inheritor of a great civilisational culture… such great beauty of languages, poetry, architecture, painting, divine music…
Love is the Mantra… but power-brokers pour cyanide continuously (on a daily basis) on the feeble plant of love. Mohammed is “Mohabbat”, and all else is commentary. Hindu Philosophy, Vedas, Upanishads, Gita… is full of great wisdom. Sri Krishna shows the full-ness of the personality of man… and the Rasa-Leela is “Maya” or worldy-affairs.
It pains the heart terribly to see such great culture.. such great heritage.. going to dogs. Such fine music… such fine artistes… such fine poets.. such fine sufis.. such fine writers… such fine souls… and their contribution over centuries… all gets washed away…. by a hand-ful of evil people … the merchants of hatred !
India can be a land of peace and freedom for 1 billion people, if the freedom of 1 thousand individuals is curtailed. They must be under house-arrest. The freedom of 1 thousand people is endengering the freedom of 1 billion people. They are using freedom wrongly… Freedom for one-self does not imply HATRED for another. There is a fine line…
I have not heard Ms. Vidya Rao’s music… i hope some day i can. She has written wonderfully… there are subtle hints in her essay… the mixture of Persian and Braj… and the simile of “filgree and earthen pot” that she has used is wonderful and written from the heart.
The essay is a tribute to India’s multi-ethnic richness… Diversity is God’s way… we have to understand that. The Government of India must introduce something about “Humanism” and “Respect for Diversity” in the school sylabbus ! Some states may NOT accept that… That is the main question… Are these states part of India… or have they seceded… mentally / ideologically ?
India’s constitution was drafted with great care and deligence. The foundation of india’s constitution, its diversity, its SOUL is under threat. India has to be saved from “hatred” if it is to survive. Iqbal had written with pride…
” Yunaan-o-Misr-o-Roo`maa…. Sab Mitt gaye jahaan se !
Ab tak magar hai … Baaqi ! Naam-o-nash`aan Hamara…”
Saare Jahan Se Ach`cha… Hind`ostan Hamara… Hamara…
If Hind`ostan is poor economically, that is perfectly fine…. but let us not get impoversihed spiritually… and philosophically.
Spirituality and Philosophy are the Core of the Indian Mind. That should not be destroyed by Trishuls, Swords, Acid Bombs, Guns and Lathis.
God Bless Vidya Rao., for the fine tribute she paid to the SOUL of Mother India.
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