athaney Khan, one of the leading folk singers of his time, rose to prominence despite a lack of deserved patronage and systemic neglect. His talent was noticed early but recognised late. The unfortunate pattern has persisted for decades. Some outstanding artists have either gone unrecognised or, if acknowledged, were inadequately rewarded. Still, with cyclical inevitability, new voices continue to emerge, lighting up the art scene.

Pathaney Khan lived and died in poverty, struggling throughout his life to provide for his large family. It is perhaps unfair to expect artists to live like bankers, accumulating savings and maintaining financial security. Though he was compensated for his exceptional talent, it was never enough to free him from the worries that burden ordinary people.

Despite the absence of formal infrastructure or institutional support, the folk tradition has remained vibrant. Vocalists, instrumentalists and poets continue to emerge, seemingly defying conventional wisdom. This resilience may stem from the sheer force of tradition or the unyielding independence of the human spirit, which refuses to be constrained by material concerns.

In some ways, Pathaney Khan was fortunate. Aslam Ranjha discovered him and introduced him to urban music circles. This coincided with the rise of the Pakistan Peoples Party in the late 1960s. With its socialist leanings, the party championed folk traditions over classical ones, dismissing the latter as an art form of the elite. Once in power, it focused on promoting artists who excelled in folk music, providing Pathaney Khan with a platform.

Regardless of the distinction between classical and folk traditions, Pathaney Khan devoted his life to musical excellence. 

Regardless of the distinction between classical and folk traditions, Pathaney Khan devoted his life to musical excellence. He found inspiration in the gaiki of Amir Ali, the uncle of Ustad Ashiq Ali Khan, and became his shagird (disciple), absorbing all he could from their relationship. He remained unwavering in his artistic vision, refusing to compromise his style, instead elevating the public’s taste to appreciate his craft.

The kaafi tradition flourished in both the Punjab and Sindh, with the poetry of Khawaja Ghulam Fareed gaining widespread popularity. His shrine became a refuge for vocalists who carried on the rendition of his kalaam. Over time, major Punjabi vocalists such as Ustads Ali Buksh and Fateh Ali, Ashiq Ali Khan and Baray Ghulam Ali transformed kaafi singing, making it more musically refined. After Partition, this evolution continued with Ustad Salamat Ali Khan and Iqbal Bano in Multan, leading to the emergence of a new generation of kaafi vocalists – including Pathaney Khan.

By temperament, he was a roving minstrel, moving from one shrine to another, from one mela to the next, carrying nothing but his musical instrument. He was the very picture of dispossession.

The dedication of such wandering artists often comes at a personal cost. Their wives and families rarely find comfort in their absence, as they neither bring in a steady income nor remain at home for long. Pathaney Khan was often away, performing across the land, returning home briefly before setting off again. At the height of his popularity, with energy to match his demand, he would sing through the night – so long that his tabla player would sometimes collapse from exhaustion. His audience, unwilling to let him go, demanded the maximum from each visit, only letting him leave at the break of dawn.

The writer is a culture critic based in Lahore