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KAZI NAZRUL ISLAM'S 36TH DEATH ANNIVERSARY

Melody across time

Nazrul's flute eternal

Sadya Afreen Mallick
It is said that sometimes when nature plays its own mysterious tune, poets sense it first.
Kazi Nazrul Islam was no exception. Someone who marvelled at nature's everyday beauty, Nazrul was insatiable when it came to capturing nature's magnificence with his pen. As if penning poetry was not paying enough homage to nature, Nazrul was also an avid lover of the bamboo flute — one of the simplest musical instruments, seemingly born pure from nature’s midst itself.
Nazrul was often seen walking the brick red road in Raniganj (now in West Bengal, India), his bamboo flute on his lips, playing a Santal tune. A boy of hardly 11, he would lead a leto group — of poet musicians. The genre was very popular among the village folk. With a basher banshi clasped in his hand, the young genius would sing verses of myths or even a lighthearted tune that would quickly draw a crowd.
In fact there are numerous instances where Nazrul uses flutes in his songs and poems. In his work, he often refers to the flute as bashori, banshi, benu, benuka, muroli, bongshi and more. The flute came to represent a symbol not only of love and grief but a full spectrum of emotions in between.
In the concluding stanza of the popular folk song “Padmar dheu re”, the words "O shey premer ghatey ghatey banshi bajaye” draw an image of Krishna on a riverbank playing the tune of eternal love on his flute. Even the elusive Radha cannot resist asking: “Ke bideshi bon udashi / Banshero banshi bajao bon-e”.
Again, in “Ke duronto bajao jhorer byakul banshi” in raga Hindol, the melody from the flute reflects an uncontrollable desire awakening to the sound of cracking thunder.
Hum to yourself the Santali song, “Orey deke
de, de io, mohua bone-e phul phutato bajiye banshi ke”, and you can imagine yourself gliding across the hilly area surrounded by wild flora and fauna. A vision takes shape in your eyes — a boy, mischievous at heart, playing a rhythmic tune on his flute while his soulmate desperately searches for him among the Mohua fields in full bloom.
“Kar bashori baaje Multani shurey", in Raga Multani presents the grandeur of the raga sung between afternoon and evening. This is a sandhi-prakash raag or evening raga; a smooth transition from afternoon to an evening raga. Imagine listening to the flute played by a stranger beside a river as evening descends. Here the flute beckons the splendours of a dark and lonely night.
“Okey udashi benu bajaye” is Nazrul's creation of the raga Udashi Bhairab. Here the raga epitomises an emotional tune by a grief struck lover.
In the thumri aang “Beshur binaye” hum the line “Byadhero haathe shunbo shadher bongshi shur”, the poet elaborates on the flute, bongshi, played by the hunter, as he is on the lookout for a prey and yet plays a melodious tune on his flute.
“Bashi bajaye ke kodom tolaye ogo lolite”, another Santali song, expresses Radha's longing for Krishna, as she catches whispers on Krishna’s flute and casts her eyes over the distant hills.
In the raga-based song, “Dur benu kunje murali baaje", Nazrul uses the synonym murali for flute. The benu kunje signifies the bamboo grove from which the flute is crafted.
Now move on to raga Nirjhorini created by Nazrul in “Rum jhum rumjhum ke bajaye”.. .Nazrul uses the word "banshi rakhaliya” or the flute of the shepherd. The monsoon song blends with the bhajan, "Tumi benuka bajao”, recorded by Mina
Bandyopadhyay in August 1941.
"Mohua bon-e bon papiya, ekela jhurey nishi jagiya”, creates a vision of the Papiya bird who awaits her mate at night, deep in the Mohua forest.
The list could go on. In all the songs, the flute seems to draw out emotions both familiar and unknown. A gentle blow of air onto the flute, and it is as if one's deepest emotion is conjured up along the flute's stalk to be carried by the wind to all corners of the world.
Nazrul, in his last speech said, “Jodi ar banshi na baje” meaning (translated by Sajed Kamal) — “The Power from the joyful crimson sky which nourished me, as I have told you, also periodically turns into Mahashshweta, deeply absorbed in meditation. With it, I too turn silent, my flute doesn ‘t play any more, my blood flow freezes into ice, my spirited body turns into a statue of stone. It's not death, but it's more joyless than death. Isay this to you now, the Power has once again risen, but it's still not out of its meditative trance. If the power of Anandamoyee in me does not go back to its meditative state, does not dissolve me by carrying me away into the Supreme Void, then I will once again sing the songs of love, songs of equality, of the kind that this world has not heard fora long time. But if I do not get this love from my Eternal Lover, then I'll have to understand that my play has ended for this time. I will leave behind my flute on the bank of the river of separation. If someone picks up the flute from the dry sandy beach and can play it again, then my flute will be blessed."
With such emotive words, one can almost sense on the eve of his 36th death anniversary, Nazrul looking down longingly, almost willing his flute to rise from the sandy riverbank, so it can join him once more beyond the clouds and faraway...