f there ever was unanimity among the practitioners of classical music in this country about the stature of a vocalist, it was for Roshan Ara Begum. Whenever she performed, live on stage or on the radio, she was deservedly applauded for her virtuosity.

It was an era when the taste in music was changing. The focus was increasingly more on the song format and the lyrics that accompanied it. For classical musicians, no numbers could be played, as the real test lay in the rendition of a raga – its alaap and the subsequent expansion through various stages of tempo. The entire raga could not be performed, especially with the emphasis shifting towards ever shorter durations of a number.

Classical musicians, responding to popular expectations, often sang or played numbers that were closer to the song format than to the traditional kheyal. These numbers could include forms like thumri, dadra and ghazal, as was the case with Roshan Ara Begum. It is important to note that many classical singers were, at some point, either persuaded by famous composers or tempted by financial incentives to sing for films.

In some films centred on classical musicians, the songs were performed by renowned ustads. For instance, Amir Khan and DV Paluskar sang together in Baiju Bawra, dramatising an imagined musical competition between Tansen and Baiju Bawra. Similarly, Baray Ghulam Ali Khan lent his voice for Mughal-i-Azam as Tansen after being offered a sum of money by K Asif that far exceeded his initial demand.

In Pakistan, Ustads Amanat Ali Khan and Fateh Ali Khan sang for films on rare occasions. Ustad Salamat Ali Khan contributed his voice to Satyajit Ray’s Jalsaghar, and Ustad Bismillah Khan worked his magic with the shehnai in Goonj Uthi Shehnai.

Roshan Ara Begum also sang for some films in the early years of her career and, even after Partition, at the insistence of Firoz Nizami, who belonged to the same Kirana gharana as her. However, film numbers, occasional ghazals, or thumris and dadris were not the best representatives of her talent as a vocalist.

Everything transformed once the tanpuras were tuned and her voice harmonised with the sonic note. 

Roshan Ara Begum lived and passed away in Lalamusa, where she was regarded as little more than a housewife. This was a significant comedown for someone who had been the leading kheyal vocalist in undivided India and highly sought after by connoisseurs of music. Her real forte was not the lighter forms of singing. Even the semi-classical numbers she performed were often on popular demand by audiences familiar with her Ustad Abdul Karim Khan’s thumris.

Singing these thumris was, in essence, a way for her to remember the genius of Abdul Karim Khan and pay tribute to him. She was aware that she was not the greatest thumri singer and certainly no match for her great Ustad.

Kheyal is the elaboration of musical notes in a specific pattern that adheres to the tonal structure of the raga. Roshan Ara Begum’s mastery of raga expansion, her command over taans and her subtle manipulation of rhythmic cycles (laikari) were exemplary. These aspects cannot be viewed as isolated displays of virtuosity; rather, they must be understood within the context of a gradual musical build-up that a vocalist or instrumentalist strives to achieve.

This level of artistry cannot be realised within a song format, where one asthai and two antaras are confined within an orchestral arrangement. Such music was never popular at the street level among the general public. Instead, it was crafted for the initiated, where connoisseurs could truly appreciate the finer nuances and complexities of the music.

An unassuming and quiet person, she was the epitome of humility. In her presence, when she was not performing, it was difficult to imagine that she belonged in the league of the greats of the classical music. However, everything transformed once the tanpuras were tuned and her voice harmonised with the sonic note. From that moment until the end of her performance, she seemed almost otherworldly, displaying a rare ability to transport the listeners to another realm.

It was as close to pure music as one could experience, devoid of reliance on lyrics or the topicality often associated with them – transcending relevance and worldly connections.

The writer is a culture critic based in Lahore