Songs of the Soul

There are many other sarangi players who have kept old tunes alive. Echoing songs sung by their ancestors, relating events passed down through generations.

by ROMA ARYAL

FROM ISSUE # 159 (March 2009) | IN THIS ISSUE
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Image: Image: Roma Aryal

The air was filled with discussion about intangible heritage last month during the three-day festival 'Music of the Gods' organised by UNESCO as part of an effort to safeguard intangible heritage. Throughout the program, was the shadow of the foreboding possibility that we are losing almost 20 bhakas (tunes) per year, which die with the last generations that learn them.

Under UNESCO's lead, Gandharva's, Dalit's and Badi's from all over Nepal came together in the capital and played their instruments and sang songs that would otherwise be lost in the hills. At the closing ceremony, one of the organisers asked an important question: should we preserve something because of its historical value or because of its sheer beauty?

When you listen to 22-year-old Barta Gandharva (below right) play her sarangi, her eyes half closed, her beautiful voice that resonates a startling tone of pain, you feel that it must be both.

Barta used to travel from one village to another as a child, singing and playing her sarangi in order to carve out a living. Her father was absent and she had to help her mother raise five other siblings. She has come a long way from her village in Bhojpur. Now, Barta has become a house-hold name, regularly performing at events in the capital and touring internationally.

Image: Nayantara Gurung Kashapati

There are many other sarangi players who have kept old tunes alive. Echoing songs sung by their ancestors, relating events passed down through generations. Many hop from bus to bus with only a sarangi in their hands, still facing discrimination for belonging to a musical 'lower caste'. But there are other stories like that of Barta's, of those who have changed their own and other's lives.

Whenever 18-year-old Rubin Gandharva (bottom right) even touches his sarangi, there are tears in the eyes of his audience. He has made the likes of Girija Koirala cry. At political gatherings, the show is incomplete without Rubin's youthful exuberance and his songs that reflect a passionate nationalism, and hurt as much as hope.

Originally from a small village in Gorkha, Rubin's life started out like Barta's. He used to go from place to place in Kathmandu, singing songs. Only later did he start to learn how to play the sarangi on his own. Rubin gained popularity when he sang in beautiful imagery against the imperialistic regime, raising his voice for a republic during Jana Andolan II: "Fascistka banduk kukkur jastai bhuke," sings Rubin. 

image:anup prakash

Anil Gandharva (right) is as old as Rubin. He is a member of the Gandharva Cultural and Art Organisation in Thamel that has over 150 members who are wandering minstrels. Besides him, there are only six other members of the organisation who are less than 30-years-old.

"We put ourselves down," he says sadly. "There are so many young people who know how to play the sarangi, but don't." Originally from Tanahun, Anil came to Kathmandu after he finished his SLC. Now, he is majoring in English and plays every evening at the Northfield Café.

Young people like Barta, Rubin and Anil continue a history that must be preserved for both its importance and beauty. A generation that forgets will have lost the link forever.