Just Like That | Bismillah Khan and the shehnai: A legacy of innovation in music
From his early days in Benaras to leading the nation into Independence with his shehnai, Khan’s legacy is a testament to his musical genius
On the eve of August 15, 1947, Jawaharlal Nehru was very keen that Bismillah Khan’s shehnai should be an important part of inaugurating our first Independence Day ceremonies. Badruddin Tyabji, a senior Indian Civil Service officer, was the joint secretary in charge of preparations. He was instructed to trace Khan saheb and locate him in Mumbai, where he had gone for a performance. He was flown to Delhi in time for the flag hoisting at the Red Fort. Pandit ji reportedly told him: “You will walk ahead and lead the way. We will follow behind you. But we want you and the shehnai to lead us into this joyful and historic occasion.” And so it happened that Bismillah Khan’s raga Kafi ushered in India’s Independence.
On the border between Bihar and UP, was a small princely state, Dumraon. Bharat Ratna Bismillah Khan was born here on March 21, 1916, into a family of traditional shehnai players working for the royal family. He showed exceptional talent even as a child, and his father decided that he needed a bigger stage to display his talents. That is why he moved to Benares, also known as Varanasi and Kashi, and began to live with his mamu, also his guru, in the crowded locality of Benia Bagh.
In those days, Benares was the hub of classical and semi-classical music. Musical giants like Gauhar Jaan, tabla maestro Kishen Maharaj, Kathak legend Birju Maharaj, Siddheshwari Devi, Girija Devi, Naina Devi, Rasoolan Bai and Jaddan Bai (whose daughter Nargis became legends in Bollywood) — all renowned experts in light classical vocal forms such as the thumri, tappa, sawan, kajri, hori and chaiti — were from Benares, a city whose wealthy and aristocratic raesees, including the Raja of Benares, were great patrons of music and the arts.
The young Bismillah Khan was completely devoted to his music and spent hours doing riyaz. His place for doing this was a small room next to the Balaji mandir, overlooking the Ganga, 508 steps above the ghat. He describes his morning routine thus: “Every morning, at 3:30 or 4 am, I would go to the Balaji Temple; nearby, there was the Mangala Maiya Temple. In between these two temples, in a small place, a babaji had set up another temple. Every morning, he and his wife would come to perform the puja and aarti there. I would listen to their aarti. It was sung in perfect sur and when they finished, I would take up the same melody on my shehnai. This would please Babaji and he would give me some prasad — a little panjiri or a peda — which I would happily eat!”
Bismillah Khan’s seminal contribution was to elevate the shehnai, considered low-brow by classical music pundits, to the level of the other well-accepted instrumental genres. This required not only great mastery of the nuances of classical music but also changes to the instrument itself. As Juhi Sinha writes in her evocative book, Bismillah Khan: The Maestro from Benaras (on which she has also made a widely acclaimed documentary), Khan saheb gave the reed instrument ‘precision and perfect modulation’. The traditional shehnai was noted for its sharp tone and resonant quality, Bismillah brought to it what later came to be known as the gayaki ang, the kind of tonal variation, range and sensitivity that had its roots in the vocal traditions of Bismillah and his family. This enabled it for use on stage, especially after the advent of the microphone. The shehnai, in its original form, produced a shrill, sharp sound and offered little scope for delicate interpretation. According to one legend, it was banned by emperor Aurangzeb — whose aversion to music is well known—because of the loud “unpleasant” sound it produced. It was labelled napili, which was a distortion of the word “napaak” meaning unholy’.
It was Bismillah whose genius single-handedly made the shehnai an instrument of global recognition. His fame spread slowly but surely. In the beginning, he gave performances for as little as ₹5 or 20. Later, his charges ranged from ₹5 to 10 lakhs. But what he really loved were the smaller mehfils, where among a small group of music lovers he could play, chat and laugh. He became famous too for his jugalbandis, where his recordings with legends like Ustad Vilayat Khan, Pandit Ravi Shankar, Vidushis Girija Devi and Naina Devi, mesmerised audiences. His personal favourite was sitar maestro Ustad Vilayat Khan. The two shared a well-known friendship and musical resonance.
For all his earnings, including from a few Bollywood films, the most famous of which was Goonj Uthi Shehnai, he lived simply and unostentatiously in his house in Benia Bagh looking after a large extended family with memorable generosity, and never even owned a car.
He died on August 21, 2006, in his beloved Benares, at the ripe age of over 90 years, a perfect example of the genius of India’s great ganga-jamuni syncretic culture, and of the remarkable musical legacy, our civilisation is heir to.
Pavan K Varma is author, diplomat, and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). Just Like That is a weekly column where Varma shares nuggets from the world of history, culture, literature, and personal reminiscences. The views expressed are personal
Continue reading with HT Premium Subscription
