Ustad Sharafat Hussain Khan & Rāga Megh Malhār
- Ramesh Shama Alvar
- July 28th, 2020
Rāga Miyan ki Malhār sung by Ustad Sharafat Hussain Khansaheb
Piano
Softly,in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
with the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
of childhood days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.
D.H. Lawrence
Piano
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.
BY D. H. LAWRENCE
In spite of myself, the “insidious” mastery of Miyan ki Malhār sung by Ustad Sharafat overcame me on that day of June last year even as the tones of the Piano did D.H. Lawrence. As you are aware ‘Miyan’ is the name of only one Musician in India and that is Tansen. He was the greatest singer and composer of Hindustani Music as agreed by all. The Raga Miyan ki Malhār was composed by Tansen as a sublime variation of the Malhār Ragas. The Malhār Group of Ragas are very closely bound with the Monsoon. The Malhār Rāgas were originally composed by our Rishis of old meditating upon Nature and the Universe. There is no single Rishi to whom the Rāgas are attributed.
What emotions and pictures do the Malhār Ragas convey? It is very difficult to explain. I can list some. For instance, when one listens to the Malhār Rāgas one begins to feel or imagine the dark heavily laden clouds, the rustling wind, the dust storms, the heavenly fragrance of fresh raindrops on the parched soil, the songs of the peacocks and the koyals, tweets of the parrots, the thunder in the distance, the billowing clouds in the rising swirls, the young girls dancing and swinging in the breeze, the promise of respite from the long spell of heat, the gladness of coming prosperity for all life, the poignancy of unrequited love and loneliness; the aroused spiritual yearnings of the Rishis, the Priests and the laypeople, the heralders of the arrival of Mother Nature herself; all these and more are woven into the Malhār Group of Rāgas. Of the Malhār Rāgas, Tansen’s Miyan Malhār is a masterpiece. Sometime after I had heard the Rāga that June day last year, I had to pen my emotions in the form of poetry. I reproduce that poem of mine below. It will give you an idea of my surging thoughts and emotions upon hearing Miyan ki Malhār sung by the celebrated Ustad Sharafat Hussain Khan of the Agra Gharana one day in June last Year:
LINES TO MIYAN KI MALHAR SUNG BY USTAD SHARAFAT HUSSAIN KHAN
The air is laden, heavy, down, down upon the grass,
as the dried leaves bid farewell to the hot afternoon.
The Shamianas in the landlord’s courtyard shiver a little
A spell binds the heart in freedom’s chords.
There the lovers of the spirit sit spellbound as with one ear,
this is Tansen’s Tryst with the Earth and Us.
This is the link and the way beyond ourselves,
only the singer knows the path and is leading
Sharafat is inexorable, the clouds are turning towards him,
ponderous wheeling, now sure where they must head.
The parrots are settling upon the mango trees amidst the dust,
crowding the inner canopies, noisy, heralding laden clouds.
Now only the large birds abandon themselves to the rising currents,
powerful wings conducting a rare cantata.
That maiden gathers the drying clothes in graceful curves,
hurrying indoors, a thrill coursing her veins.
Sharafat continues to paint with slow measured strokes,
unknown colours, deep light, some imperceptible hues.
No names, nothing for words, unseen, only heard,
a Peacock touches that canvas, enhancements Sharafat approves
The magical mantras effuse steadily upwards,
two boys exhilarate in the wind swinging higher, higher.
Two girls sway in the cooling breeze about them
Love is in the air, poignancy, and pathos infiltrating.
An old man ruminates in another Courtyard,
has he not heard it oft before intoned by others?
Each time the spell has been as new and as strong,
he wonders how, why it should be so.
The tempo has increased and the whole village senses it,
for somewhere a door rattles and two windows clap.
Here a twig part and there a tile dislodged,
tis all part of the same tapestry being woven.
In that creation of sound,
the invoking of freedom of the Self.
Nothing is out of place, nothing intruding,
Earth, sky, and we are all one.
We move into that tapestry Sharafat is weaving,
finding our long-sought places.
We become indistinguishable strands,
bathed in riots of colours and shadows.
Now we are all pining, our hearts aching,
and that maiden by the window hears the strains.
This infiltrating duet of a gifted fellow-man and nature,
her longing is unstoppable.
Nature has feelings and must give vent
before this powerful spell of the Rishis of Old.
The clouds darken, clearing their throats
Some tears hit the scorched earth and disappear.
I weep in joy, so much sublimity
I am cleansed, released, freed from myself.
As the music ends, reality intrudes but gently,
for it has to live with our new nobility.
Ramesh Shama Alvar
6th June, 2015
LINES TO MIYAN MALHAR SUNG BY USTAD SHARAFAT HUSSAIN KHAN
The air is laden, heavy, down, down upon the grass,
as the dried leaves bid farewell to the hot afternoon.
The Shamianas in the landlord’s courtyard shiver a little
A spell binds the heart in freedom’s chords.
There the lovers of the spirit sit spellbound as with one ear,
this is Tansen’s Tryst with the Earth and Us.
This is the link and the way beyond ourselves,
only the singer knows the path and is leading
Sharafat is inexorable, the clouds are turning towards him,
ponderous wheeling, now sure where they must head.
The parrots are settling upon the mango trees amidst the dust,
crowding the inner canopies, noisy, heralding laden clouds.
Now only the large birds abandon themselves to the rising currents,
powerful wings conducting a rare cantata.
That maiden gathers the drying clothes in graceful curves,
hurrying indoors, a thrill coursing her veins.
Sharafat continues to paint with slow measured strokes,
unknown colours, deep light, some imperceptible hues.
No names, nothing for words, unseen, only heard,
a Peacock touches that canvas, enhancements Sharafat approves
The magical mantras effuse steadily upwards,
two boys exhilarate in the wind swinging higher, higher.
Two girls sway in the cooling breeze about them
Love is in the air, poignancy, and pathos infiltrating.
An old man ruminates in another Courtyard,
has he not heard it oft before intoned by others?
Each time the spell has been as new and as strong,
he wonders how, why it should be so.
The tempo has increased and the whole village senses it,
for somewhere a door rattles and two windows clap.
Here a twig part and there a tile dislodged,
tis all part of the same tapestry being woven.
In that creation of sound,
the invoking of freedom of the Self.
Nothing is out of place, nothing intruding,
Earth, sky, and we are all one.
We move into that tapestry Sharafat is weaving,
finding our long-sought places.
We become indistinguishable strands,
bathed in riots of colours and shadows.
Now we are all pining, our hearts aching,
and that maiden by the window hears the strains.
This infiltrating duet of a gifted fellow-man and nature,
her longing is unstoppable.
Nature has feelings and must give vent
before this powerful spell of the Rishis of Old.
The clouds darken, clearing their throats
Some tears hit the scorched earth and disappear.
I weep in joy, so much sublimity
I am cleansed, released, freed from myself.
As the music ends, reality intrudes but gently,
for it has to live with our new nobility.
Ramesh Shama Alvar
6 Jun 2015
LINES TO MIYAN MALHAR SUNG BY USTAD SHARAFAT HUSSAIN KHAN
The air is laden, heavy, down, down upon the grass,
as the dried leaves bid farewell to the hot afternoon.
The Shamianas in the landlord’s courtyard shiver a little
A spell binds the heart in freedom’s chords.
There the lovers of the spirit sit spellbound as with one ear,
this is Tansen’s Tryst with the Earth and Us.
This is the link and the way beyond ourselves,
only the singer knows the path and is leading
Sharafat is inexorable, the clouds are turning towards him,
ponderous wheeling, now sure where they must head.
The parrots are settling upon the mango trees amidst the dust,
crowding the inner canopies, noisy, heralding laden clouds.
Now only the large birds abandon themselves to the rising currents,
powerful wings conducting a rare cantata.
That maiden gathers the drying clothes in graceful curves,
hurrying indoors, a thrill coursing her veins.
Sharafat continues to paint with slow measured strokes,
unknown colours, deep light, some imperceptible hues.
No names, nothing for words, unseen, only heard,
a Peacock touches that canvas, enhancements Sharafat approves
The magical mantras effuse steadily upwards,
two boys exhilarate in the wind swinging higher, higher.
Two girls sway in the cooling breeze about them
Love is in the air, poignancy, and pathos infiltrating.
An old man ruminates in another Courtyard,
has he not heard it oft before intoned by others?
Each time the spell has been as new and as strong,
he wonders how, why it should be so.
The tempo has increased and the whole village senses it,
for somewhere a door rattles and two windows clap.
Here a twig part and there a tile dislodged,
tis all part of the same tapestry being woven.
In that creation of sound,
the invoking of freedom of the Self.
Nothing is out of place, nothing intruding,
Earth, sky, and we are all one.
We move into that tapestry Sharafat is weaving,
finding our long-sought places.
We become indistinguishable strands,
bathed in riots of colours and shadows.
Now we are all pining, our hearts aching,
and that maiden by the window hears the strains.
This infiltrating duet of a gifted fellow-man and nature,
her longing is unstoppable.
Nature has feelings and must give vent
before this powerful spell of the Rishis of Old.
The clouds darken, clearing their throats
Some tears hit the scorched earth and disappear.
I weep in joy, so much sublimity
I am cleansed, released, freed from myself.
As the music ends, reality intrudes but gently,
for it has to live with our new nobility.
Ramesh Shama Alvar
6 Jun 2015 4.50 pm
Watch the peacock sing and dance and the arrival of rains in these excerpts from the documentary “When the Peacocks Sing, A Prequel to the Monsoons’.
Acknowledgments:
The poem could not be complete without the beautiful Peacock and the lovely Peahen photographed by my granddaughter Aranya Karighattam when she was 8 years old.
We thank Shaz Syed for kindly permitting us to share clips from his documentary “When the Peacocks Sing: A Prequel to the Monsoons” filmed in Rajasthan.
Acknowledgments:
* The poem could not be without the beautiful Peacock and the lovely Peahen photographed by my granddaughter Aranya Karighattam when she was 8 years old.
* The video is a clip from the award-winning film “When the Peacocks Sing: A Prequel to the Monsoons” by Shaz Syed, filmed in Rajasthan. We thank him for his kind permission.
