Qawwali, the mystical music of the Sufis, is an art form with deep roots where the Muslim historical experience in the subcontinent is concerned. It would not be wrong to say that this form of devotional music has — for centuries — been a part of life for the subcontinent’s Muslims.
There are clear reasons for this, primarily because Islam in this part of the world was introduced and popularised mainly by the Sufi silsilas (or brotherhoods), particularly the Chishty/Chishti silsila, which has an unabashed attachment to qawwali, as opposed to, for example, the Qadris, who generally oppose it.
Qawwali itself is the subcontinental manifestation of sama, which means ‘to listen’ in Arabic, an umbrella term covering various Sufi practices of chanting, singing and repeating various sacred formulae, or dhikr/zikr. Sama perhaps has been personified most famously by the Whirling Dervishes of the Mevlevi silsila, which traces its lineage to Hazrat-i-Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi. However, it should be clarified that sama is not just limited to the whirling Mevlevis, but covers a range of practices across the Muslim world, including qawwali.
At its core, qawwali tries to link the listener with a higher state of consciousness through the hypnotic, repeated chanting of sacred formulae. As the highly regarded Iranian scholar Dr Seyyed Hossein Nasr has stated in his book Living Sufism, when referring to the Sufis’ attachment to mystical music and other arts: “The Sufis have been the cultivators of the arts, not because this is a goal of the Sufi path but because to follow Sufism is to become ever more aware of the Divine Beauty which manifests itself everywhere. …”
The Sufi mystics, particularly of the Chishty School, seemed to have this definition very much in mind when they used qawwali as a tool to propagate the faith in this region eight or so centuries ago.
Regarding the origins of sama and qawwali, as scholar Dr Tanvir Anjum notes in Chishti Sufis in the Sultanate of Delhi 1190-1400, quoting Fritz Meier: “…[T]he practices of sama and dhikr were developed” in the eight century. However, in the subcontinent, qawwali can be traced back to at least the Delhi Sultanate (1206-1526AD), when, in the early days of the Sultanate, the Chishty Sufis started establishing themselves in northern India.
Dr Anjum adds that “The use of music in spiritual practices of the Chishtis, known as sama, was their characteristic feature from the earliest days” and that “Chishti Sufis earned immense popularity among the people owing to their practice of sama.”
Of course the originator of the Chishty order in the subcontinent is Hazrat Khawaja Moinuddin Hasan Chishty, whose tomb lies in Ajmer, Rajasthan. Khawaja Sahib, as he is also known, helped establish the Chishty silsila at the end of the 12th century in the subcontinent.
It is believed that Khawaja Moinuddin Chishty approved of sama at his khanqah — today’s dargah where the saint’s tomb is now located. In fact the performance of qawwali continues at the dargah to this day, adhering to many of the traditions Khawaja Sahib is believed to have established in his lifetime.
However, the devotional art form would further develop in Delhi, centre of the Sultanate, under one of Khawaja Sahib’s spiritual successors, Shaikh Nizamuddin Auliya, popularly known as ‘Mehboob-i-Illahi’, particularly under one of Shaikh Nizam’s gifted mureeds, Hazrat Amir Khusrau.
As noted by scholar Khaliq Ahmad Nizami in his masterful work The Life and Times of Shaikh Nizam-u’d-Din Auliya: “The Shaikh was extremely fond of music (sama) as a form of spiritual nourishment. The khanqah often resounded to the mystic songs recited by the disciples as well as the professional musicians.”
But as Prof Nizami observes, attending the sama gathering was no freewheeling affair, as there were certain rules that had to be observed: “The Shaikh had strict rules regarding the participation of like-minded people, a ban on musical instruments, and the timings of audition parties. He did not agree with the view of the ‘Ulema that music as such was forbidden and tried to argue his position in light of the Traditions of the Prophet [PBUH].”
In fact, even today, especially at sama gatherings associated with traditionalist silsilas and khanqahs, those present are expected to adhere to certain etiquette, such as separation of the sexes etc.
Interestingly, the fact that many orthodox elements today do not approve of qawwali has an ancient precedent: even in the early days of the Sultanate, members of the orthodoxy tried to disrupt sama gatherings.
Prof Nizami points out that Sultan Ghiyasuddin Tughluq, with whom Shaikh Nizam did not enjoy good relations, tried to place curbs on sama, which the Shaikh resisted, while Dr Anjum observes that Shaikh Nizam’s sama gathering was once attacked by troops loyal to the Sultan.
But Nizamuddin Auliya’s attachment to sama was not something even the power of the state could break. Prof Nizami says: “When the Shaikh heard mystic songs he went into ecstasy and tears flowed from his eyes” and that he was particularly fond of the verses of Shaikh Sa’adi.
According to Dr Anjum “Maulana Fakhr al-Din Zarradi, a disciple of Shaikh Nizamuddin, had written a treatise on sama titled Usul al-Sama” as a reply to the objections raised by the darbari (court) ulema of the time, while she cites Al Kindi, Al Razi, Al Farabi, Ibn Sina, Al Hujwiri [Data Ganj Bakhsh] and Al Ghazali, amongst other Muslim thinkers and divines of the classical age, who approved of sama.
All of the above clearly indicates that qawwali has a rich history in the subcontinent, intertwined with the religious and cultural history of the Muslims of this part of the world. Its contributions to Muslim culture are considerable; for example, even modern qawwalis — at least the ones performed under the aegis of silsilas — preserve centuries-old poetic traditions, such as the earthy Hindvi verses found in Amir Khusrau’s compositions, or the impeccable Farsi kalaam of Maulana Jaami or Maulana Rumi.
In fact, qawwali is an apt art form that encapsulates the Muslim cultural experience in the subcontinent: the cultural expressions of ‘outsiders’, such as the Arabs, Turks, Iranians and Central Asians, who arrived in India centuries ago, mingle with that of the ‘native’ inhabitants of this region to produce a beautiful synthesis.
And what of qawwali today? Though the more commercial performers have vulgarised it to an extent, some of the silsilas are endeavouring to retain the more traditional rendition of sama. Though what we hear on TV or the radio may be less than palatable to the traditionalist ear, what one hears at the dargah in Ajmer, at Nizamuddin Auliya in Delhi, and at Pakpattan, at the dargah of Baba Fariduddin Masood ‘Ganj Shakar’, still carries somewhat the scent of the unadulterated sama.
Speaking to this writer during an interview some years ago, the late Bahauddin Qawwal, one of the finest exponents of qawwali in Pakistan, denounced efforts to commercialise qawwali as ‘nach kood’ (song and dance) and ‘disco qawwali’. While it is impossible to retain the essence of what was performed at the khanqahs centuries ago, it is indeed true that the use of garish music and pedestrian lyrics has brought commercial qawwali far from its lofty origins.
What of qawwali’s future? Perhaps it is safe to say that as long as the silsilas and khanqahs continue to patronise the art form, much of its original essence can be maintained. Extremists have tried many times over the centuries — and are still trying — to silence sama. But something with roots so deep within the subcontinental Muslim psyche will be difficult to extinguish completely.
From the stirring Qaul (Man Kunto Maula) to the moving Rang (Aaj Rang Hai), these soulful renditions have been part of this region’s culture for centuries. They have introduced laymen to the Sufi path, one of esotericism and introspection, of compassion and brotherhood. The externalist and extremist tide may well be rising, but the Sufis — and their beloved sama — have weathered much stronger storms over the centuries.
The Harmonium vs. The Guitar Why do I, being a millennial, choose to sway to Sabri’s masterstroke compared to the majority who plays Atif’s rendition on repeat?
By Rabia Mazhar