Songs for the Gods

Shye Ben Tzur (centre), a poet and musician from Israel, performs alongside Johnny Greenwood, guitarist Anchor of the UK rock band, Radiohead, THE SOUND OF MUSIC a brass band from Ajmer and the Manganiyars of Rajasthan Songs For The Gods The World Sacred Spirit Festival reveals delightfully contrasting aspects of Jodhpur—juxtaposing the loud, chaotic town with mellifluous music under starlit skies. Words HARINI SRIRAM Photography ARUN SARIN 38 MARCH 2015 MARCH 2015 39 (Previous page) Mukhtiyar Ali sings Sufi poetry with an ensemble of musicians (This page) Cherifa (left, in white), a poetess and musician from Morocco, sings of stars and skies as she dances with the rest of the musicians onstage azi Khan Barna clinks two wooden blocks. festival travels every year from Nagaur to Jodhpur, with the The crowd erupts in cheers. He is dressed lineup remaining pretty much the same at both venues. The in traditional Rajasthani attire complete Nagaur leg of the festival is meant only for guests at the fort, with a colourful turban. His weathered but the performances in Jodhpur are open to the public. face looks radiant, there’s a hint of a Part of the magic of the festival lies in the setting. smile on his lips and his eyes glow like Because, when it comes to festival venues, few can trump Gamber. He is now in some sort of trance, swaying gently as Mehrangarh both in terms of heritage and the sweeping he plays his khartal. Barna is part of Divana, an ensemble views it offers. The fort is steeped in history and legend. It is of Manganiyars, nomadic musicians from the deserts of believed to have been built in 1438 by Rao Jodha, who ruled Rajasthan, who are performing at the Mehrangarh fort in Marwar then, and the city of Jodhpur was named after him. Jodhpur as part of the World Sacred Spirit Festival (WSSF) The story goes that when Jodha decided to build a fort atop to an audience that is clearly getting goosebumps at the hillock in the region, he had to evict its sole occupant—a this stage. hermit, who cursed the land with water scarcity. Though I’m in Jodhpur primarily for two reasons—to understand efforts have been taken to harvest water within the fort and the essence of ‘spiritual’ music, and gorge on pyaz kachoris in the city, the area is generally arid and drought-prone. For and mirchi wadas. But mostly for the former. Organised history and architecture enthusiasts, there’s a fabulous audio impeccably by the Mehrangarh Museum Trust (established tour around the fort that you might want to take. There’s by Maharaja Gaj Singh II of Jodhpur), WSSF celebrates also a ziplining tour (in the fort) run by Flying Fox that gives the sacred—an idea, a theme that finds resonance in the you a different perspective of the city. voices of the Rajasthani Manganiyars as much as in the The lazy evening sun gently lights up the fort, and I exuberance of the Moroccan Berbers. This is the eighth follow the chords of what sounds like a sitar. It takes me edition of WSSF; while the first few editions of the festival past gardens in full bloom, with sunlight streaming through were held at the Ahhichatragarh fort in Nagaur, since 2012 bougainvillea flowers as if they were stained glass. I walk the courtyards of Mehrangarh have also been reverberating up a flight of stairs and see the Blue City sprawled in front with the strains of Sufi poetry and Persian chants. The of me like a miniature set made of Legos. I try to count 40 MARCH 2015 (This page) Mathias Dulessy, a French musician, doing what he does best (Next page) Sabir Khan weaves magic with the sarangi; Gazi Khan Barna plays his kartal Part of the magic of the festival lies in the setting. Because, when it comes to festival venues, few can trump Mehrangarh both in terms of heritage and the sweeping views it offers the number of blue houses but soon realise I’m being silly. simplicity that makes these musicians endearing, and their Occasionally, a bunch of blushing kids would emerge from music—though unfamiliar to a novice like me—makes me one of the houses and wave to us. From where I stand, I feel weightless for a few seconds. see the calm and sparkling Ranisar lake; on the banks of It’s time for Nour Ensemble, a group of French and the lake, a group of people lie arched on the grass, their Persian musicians who, along with the Manganiyars, serve heads resting against bolsters. Some of them are perched up music so delicious you want to bite into it and let the precariously on steps leading up to the top of the fort, taste linger forever. Elsewhere, in the massive Zenana Deodi listening with rapt attention to Pandit Kushal Das, a courtyard, Shye Ben Tzur, a Jewish Israeli qawwal, is singing distinguished sitarist from West Bengal. He plays a piece songs about love, faith and gratitude, and the dais is filled in Maand, a raag that has its roots in Rajasthani folk music. with seemingly disparate musicians—Johnny Greenwood I’m now in a cocoon, a bubble, smiling to myself, foolishly (guitarist for UK band Radiohead), Manganiyars and a brass reassured that all’s well with the world again. band from Ajmer. No words can do justice to the music they Later in the evening, at Daulat Khana Chowk, in the create together. fort, I find myself absolutely captivated by the haunting The air is nippy, there’s a strong chill wind spewing dust Andalusian hymns of Francoise Atlan, a French-Jewish and sand. Night descends like a huge inky canvas clustered singer, complemented by Sukhdev Prasad Mishra on the with a million stars. We are perched some 400 feet above Carnatic violin. Purists might cringe at this rather bizarre the city, the high walls of the fort sealing off sights and pairing, and dismiss it as yet another experiment in fusion, sounds from outside. I’m sure these courtyards have seen but then they should have been there because, in all blood—you can still see battle marks on some of the gates honesty, it works like a dream. After a particularly soulful —yet, sitting under the stars, wrapped in a shawl, with some violin and tabla jugalbandi, Atlan says, “It’s difficult to new friends and great music for company, I feel strangely sing after what they just played, but I will try.” It is this peaceful and at ease. MARCH 2015 43 (This page) Francoise Atlan, an Andalusian singer, collaborates The following day, I set out to explore the city and its and lehriya dupattas, kurtas, saris, mojris, bags, jewellery. with Sukhdev Prasad Mishra (left), markets. The afternoon sun is merciless and I’m now at the However, most shops have fixed price tags, so don’t even a vocalist and violinist from the main market near the clock tower. The area is chaotic, to bother bargaining. Alright, maybe just a bit. Benaras Gharana say the least; vehicles zip past from all directions, honking Back at the fort, I meet Li Daiguo, a US-born Chinese (Facing page) Listening to the relentlessly. The road is choc-a-bloc with buildings, each musician who performed earlier at the festival. He tells me music of the Langas of Rajasthan uglier than the other. This could be any town in India at he’s been performing since he was five, and is trained in at the break of dawn the moment. Women in brightly coloured saris—fluorescent both Western and Chinese classical music. Li is a maverick orange, fuchsia, bright green—walk down the roads, musician, a prodigy of sorts, who dabbles in multiple musical unmindful of the noise and clutter. Perhaps these colours styles and instruments. He does beatboxing, plays the pipa make up for the otherwise barren landscape of Rajasthan (a four-stringed Chinese musical instrument), ethnic flutes, and the blank expressions on their faces. The streets are the cello, violin, viola; he works with musicians across genres choked with garbage and green-and-yellow autos that are and geographies, from jazz to beatboxing, from Zimbabwe piled up one behind the other. These autos are slimmer than to Japan. He speaks of physical spaces and energies, adding the ones in other cities, and I’m told that they are designed that an artiste who is truly free (liberated), has the power to that way simply to negotiate the narrow, congested streets create that energy in any situation, in any space. that the city is rife with. Later that evening, I soak in the songs of sexuality by I’m at the famous Janta Sweets Home with two other Chaar Yaar and Madan Gopal Singh, a Sufi singer from India; friends and we sink our teeth into crispy pyaz kachoris and sway to the Mongol rhythms of Mathias Duplessy, a French spicy mirchi wadas. The kachoris are filled with mashed musician, and Mukhtiyar Ali, a Sufi singer from Rajasthan; potatoes and onions; they are tangy probably due to the dance to the beats of Midival Punditz, a fusion electronic addition of aam choor (dried mango powder). We wash our duo from Delhi. Li’s words make sense to me. Of course, the heavenly snack down with paper cups of steaming hot fort is marvellous, but it’s the free-spiritedness and depth masala chai. MV Spices in Sardar Market, near the clock of these musicians that make the festival what it is.

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