It was the summer of 1970. I had taken off on the Great European Tour, after having messed around in Karachi for two years after high school, at Lintas. The kindly tyrant, C. A. Rauf, head honcho at Lintas, had granted me a month of leave so that I could assuage my wanderlust. I visited my sister in Paris—but that summer's escapades are another story.
The immediate point was that my mother was in the throes of loneliness with none of her brood at home. Amanat and Fateh were visiting Karachi from Lahore to perform at PTV. She saw the televised performance [1] and, in order to distract herself, asked my father to have them over at a music session at the house the next day. He managed to contact them through intermediaries, to ascertain that they were free that evening. However they asked for a fee of five hundred rupees—a princely sum those days for a government servant. Abba conveyed his thanks and declined the concert saying that the price was a bit steep. The concert would not have taken place had they not called, an hour or two later, saying they would sing for whatever remuneration Abba could afford. The probable reason for this concession is that they knew our family, since they hailed from the Patiala Gharaana. Our family hails from Patiala and was, for generations, aficionados and patrons of some of the (minor) musicians of that tradition. My maternal grandfather and Abba had maintained contact with Amanat and Fateh, post-partition. Ammi and Abba cobbled together an audience of friends and family who could come at short notice.
They sang from about nine in the evening until dawn. It was due to the heightening of the emotions that caused Amanat to break down while singing the closing notes of Bhairavi.
Amanat and Fateh were the sons of Ustaad Akhtar Husain Khan and grandsons of Ustaad Ali Bux Khan, a founder of the Patiala Gharana. In a display of their unique militaristic style, the Maharajas of Patiala awarded Ali Bux the rank of Jarnail (General) and he was referred to by that appellation. Ali Bux hailed from Kasur, I believe. The soil of that district must have something in it, as Kasuri musicians (Ustaad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan being another great scion of Kasur, and the other major figure of the Patiala Gharana, and Nur Jehan its best known musical daughter) are legendary throughout the subcontinent. Kasur found its rival in Shaam Chaurasi (a curious name that translates in English to 'evening eighty-four') in Jullundar and in Kirana, near Delhi, both districts are also renowned for their musicians, and for the musical traditions they endowed. Today, in Pakistan, the Kasuris are prominent in sending politicians to Islamabad. It would have been altogether more benign had they stayed with the music.
Amanat and Fateh, by training and talent, were perfect complements. Amanat, with his slightly nasal yet sweet melodic voice, held the high notes while Fateh had the heavier voice and a mastery over galakari.
That evening Amanat and Fateh were accompanied by Ustaad Hamid Husain on the sarangi and by Ustaad Allah Ditta on the tabla. Hamid Husain, also a master of the sarangi, was diametrically opposed to Nathoo Khan. Both his appearance and music were of a controlled serenity, in contrast to the manic effort of the other. Despite his rustic rural name, Allah Ditta was the personification of dignity. Dressed in an immaculate sherwani and with an aristocratic visage, he would furnish a subtle rhythmic backdrop for the lead artist. In those days, the tabla had not gone through the Zakir Husain Revolution and had not evolved from a rhythmic accompaniment into a melodic instrument in its own right.
The recordings of Saakh and Bageshwari are all that remain of the memory of that evening. In typical Patiala Gharana style, the alap is brief, the jor contains the substance of the expose, and the jhala presents an electrifying crescendo with its taranas. What never ceases to amuse is the earthy Punjabi used in their asides to the audience. It stands in stark contrast to the pristine Urdu/Purbi used for the bandishes of the song being sung. Four reel-to-reel tapes were produced off an Akai deck that evening, but three of these were stolen when the family moved residence in 1974. This tape survived only because Abba had lent it to a friend. Amanat died in the early seventies. Fateh, in shock after Amanat's death, did not sing for many years. After Amanat's death Fateh contacted Abba for a copy of the tapes. He was overwhelmed when informed that most of the music was lost.[2]
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Footnotes:
[1] An early 1970's PTV performance by the duo of Raag Saakh is available on YouTube. This gorgeous performance could well have been the one that my mother watched on TV leading to the private session that is the subject of this post. Watch the PTV recording in three parts: one, two, three. Such a pity about the damage to the video and loss of quality!
[2] Text taken from "Notes on the Music" by Asif Mamu.
The immediate point was that my mother was in the throes of loneliness with none of her brood at home. Amanat and Fateh were visiting Karachi from Lahore to perform at PTV. She saw the televised performance [1] and, in order to distract herself, asked my father to have them over at a music session at the house the next day. He managed to contact them through intermediaries, to ascertain that they were free that evening. However they asked for a fee of five hundred rupees—a princely sum those days for a government servant. Abba conveyed his thanks and declined the concert saying that the price was a bit steep. The concert would not have taken place had they not called, an hour or two later, saying they would sing for whatever remuneration Abba could afford. The probable reason for this concession is that they knew our family, since they hailed from the Patiala Gharaana. Our family hails from Patiala and was, for generations, aficionados and patrons of some of the (minor) musicians of that tradition. My maternal grandfather and Abba had maintained contact with Amanat and Fateh, post-partition. Ammi and Abba cobbled together an audience of friends and family who could come at short notice.
They sang from about nine in the evening until dawn. It was due to the heightening of the emotions that caused Amanat to break down while singing the closing notes of Bhairavi.
Amanat and Fateh were the sons of Ustaad Akhtar Husain Khan and grandsons of Ustaad Ali Bux Khan, a founder of the Patiala Gharana. In a display of their unique militaristic style, the Maharajas of Patiala awarded Ali Bux the rank of Jarnail (General) and he was referred to by that appellation. Ali Bux hailed from Kasur, I believe. The soil of that district must have something in it, as Kasuri musicians (Ustaad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan being another great scion of Kasur, and the other major figure of the Patiala Gharana, and Nur Jehan its best known musical daughter) are legendary throughout the subcontinent. Kasur found its rival in Shaam Chaurasi (a curious name that translates in English to 'evening eighty-four') in Jullundar and in Kirana, near Delhi, both districts are also renowned for their musicians, and for the musical traditions they endowed. Today, in Pakistan, the Kasuris are prominent in sending politicians to Islamabad. It would have been altogether more benign had they stayed with the music.
Amanat and Fateh, by training and talent, were perfect complements. Amanat, with his slightly nasal yet sweet melodic voice, held the high notes while Fateh had the heavier voice and a mastery over galakari.
That evening Amanat and Fateh were accompanied by Ustaad Hamid Husain on the sarangi and by Ustaad Allah Ditta on the tabla. Hamid Husain, also a master of the sarangi, was diametrically opposed to Nathoo Khan. Both his appearance and music were of a controlled serenity, in contrast to the manic effort of the other. Despite his rustic rural name, Allah Ditta was the personification of dignity. Dressed in an immaculate sherwani and with an aristocratic visage, he would furnish a subtle rhythmic backdrop for the lead artist. In those days, the tabla had not gone through the Zakir Husain Revolution and had not evolved from a rhythmic accompaniment into a melodic instrument in its own right.
The recordings of Saakh and Bageshwari are all that remain of the memory of that evening. In typical Patiala Gharana style, the alap is brief, the jor contains the substance of the expose, and the jhala presents an electrifying crescendo with its taranas. What never ceases to amuse is the earthy Punjabi used in their asides to the audience. It stands in stark contrast to the pristine Urdu/Purbi used for the bandishes of the song being sung. Four reel-to-reel tapes were produced off an Akai deck that evening, but three of these were stolen when the family moved residence in 1974. This tape survived only because Abba had lent it to a friend. Amanat died in the early seventies. Fateh, in shock after Amanat's death, did not sing for many years. After Amanat's death Fateh contacted Abba for a copy of the tapes. He was overwhelmed when informed that most of the music was lost.[2]
--
Footnotes:
[1] An early 1970's PTV performance by the duo of Raag Saakh is available on YouTube. This gorgeous performance could well have been the one that my mother watched on TV leading to the private session that is the subject of this post. Watch the PTV recording in three parts: one, two, three. Such a pity about the damage to the video and loss of quality!
[2] Text taken from "Notes on the Music" by Asif Mamu.
