How Partition Affected the Rababi Tradition of Muslim Musicians in Sikh Gurmat Kirtan

In the August of 1947, as the subcontinent convulsed with partition's birth pangs, something profound was lost beyond the human tragedy, a musical tradition that had flourished for centuries was severed at its roots. The Rababi tradition, an integral part of Sikh devotional music, became one of partition's lesser-known casualties, its practitioners scattered across newly drawn borders, leaving behind centuries of musical heritage.

The tradition's origins stretch back to 1500 CE when Guru Nanak, the founder of Sikhism, established what would become known as gurmat kirtan. The term "Rababi" itself derives from the rabab, a plucked stringed instrument with Persian origins that had proliferated throughout West, Central, South, and Southeast Asia. Guru Nanak rechristened the Muslim singers formerly called "mirasi" as "rababi" because they played the rabab, fundamentally transforming their role from court entertainers to spiritual practitioners.

The foundational moment came when Guru Nanak famously declared to his companion: "Mardaneya! Rabab chhed, bani aayee hai" (Mardana, play the rabab, sacred verse has occurred to me). This partnership between Guru Nanak and Bhai Mardana, a Muslim musician, established not just a musical tradition but a model of interfaith spiritual collaboration that would define Sikhism for centuries. These Muslim rababis became known as "Bābe ke"—"those of Baba Nanak"—signifying their special status within the emerging Sikh community.

The Ancient Harmony

The Rababi tradition's institutional development spans nearly five centuries, with documented succession through the lineage of Bhai Mardana. After Mardana's death, his descendants continued serving subsequent Sikh gurus: Sajada served Guru Angad at Khadur; Sadu and Badu worked under Guru Amar Das in Goindwal and later Guru Ram Das in Chak Ram Das Pura (now Amritsar); the renowned duo Balvand and Satta served both Guru Ram Das and Guru Arjan; Babak accompanied Guru Hargobind; and Chatra served the later gurus.

As Professor Surinder Singh of London's Raj Academy, which teaches Sikh Gurmat Kirtan tradition, explains, the tradition's evolution was methodically planned: "This tradition of Rababi starts in 1500 at Sultanpur, which is in Punjab, and that was at that time residence of Guru Nanak and Bhai Mardana." The original rabab was "a very different Rababi, the Rababi of Baba Mardana," specially commissioned from a craftsman named Bhai Faranda in the village of Pharwaha.

The tradition continued evolving under subsequent gurus. Professor Singh elaborates: "At the time of the third guru, his grandson of the third Guru, Guru Arjan Dev, the fifth guru, invented another instrument called sahranda." The tenth Guru, Guru Gobind Singh, further enriched the tradition by introducing "two majestic instruments" - the taus and dilruba - creating a comprehensive musical system designed for what Singh calls "emotional agility and their mental health, how to have a sound life."

By the early 19th century, Muslim rababi families had established themselves as an integral part of Sikh religious practice. Notable figures included Bhai Sain Ditta, who flourished in the early 1800s and performed regularly at the Harmandir Sahib (Golden Temple). The tradition received patronage from various Sikh states including Nabha, Patiala, and Kapurthala, demonstrating its widespread acceptance and importance. Even into the early 20th century, families like those of Bhai Chand, Bhai Taba, and Bhai Lal maintained regular performances at the Golden Temple.

The Great Disruption

For centuries, this musical tradition embodied the religious fluidity that characterized pre-colonial South Asia. Haroon Khalid observes that there was "pre-colonial religious fluidity in South Asia, where it was common for Muslims to be devotees of Sikh Gurus, a tradition exemplified by the Rubabis." However, this changed dramatically with British colonization, which led to religions becoming "more rigid and categorized."

The partition of 1947 delivered what Khalid describes as an almost fatal blow: "The partition almost destroyed the Rabbabi tradition overnight due to the displacement of Muslim Rubabis who had performed Sikh scripture for generations." He shares a poignant example of this disruption: "A Muslim Rubabi family, who had practiced at the Golden Temple for centuries, being forced to leave and finding no active gurdwaras in Pakistan where they could continue their profession, forcing them to reinvent themselves."

The story of Bhai Ghulam Muhammad Chand (1927-2015) exemplifies this tragic disruption. Born in village Raja Sansai, Amritsar, he learned music alongside his father Bhai Sunder Giani and uncle Bhai Chaand, who "were the last Rababis who performed at the Golden Temple before their migration to Lahore in 1947." Their lineage traced back to Bhai Sadha and Bhai Madha, who sang during the lifetime of the last two Sikh gurus.

After partition, "Bhai Chand had a difficult life here in Lahore and he lived in anonymity, accompanying qawwali singers or reciting Naats or singing Punjabi Sufi classics," recalls his son-in-law Nadeem. From the Partition until 2005, Bhai Chand lived in rented houses, struggling to make ends meet—a stark contrast to his family's centuries-old prestigious position at the Golden Temple.

Professor Singh traces the systematic erosion that preceded partition, explaining how British colonial policies gradually undermined traditional practices. He notes that by 1919, "February, 20 or 22nd February, when very first time the harmonium was launched in Darbar Sahib," marking a significant departure from traditional string instruments. This shift was part of what he describes as a "very beautifully strategically planned operation by East India Company" that fundamentally altered India's musical landscape.

The loss went beyond mere musical instruments. Khalid emphasizes that "this fluidity was lost due to British colonization, which led to religions becoming more rigid and categorized, culminating in partition as a product of this 'crystallization' of religion." By the time of partition, he explains, "Muslim Rubabis were already an exception to the changing cultural landscape, making them victims of that evolving period."

The tragedy was compounded by the fact that these weren't merely professional musicians but carriers of centuries-old spiritual traditions. As Khalid notes, "The culture that sustained the Muslim Rubabi tradition is 'almost finished' and cannot be revived to its former state, as the modern world does not appreciate the fluidity of religion in the same way."

Contemporary Revival Efforts

Despite these challenges, revival efforts are underway, though they face significant obstacles. Professor Singh points out that "today, 35,000 gurdwaras throughout India, historic and non historic, and none of those are following what's written in Sri Guru Granth Sahib, when it comes to Rababi tradition, when it comes to gurmat kirtan."

However, there are encouraging developments internationally. Singh's Raj Academy "has 30,000 people, non-diaspora people—Germans, Americans, people from Arab" participating in these programs. He emphasizes that "all of these people have a humanitarian angle, not a religious angle, not a cultural angle."

Recent initiatives by the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC) to reintroduce traditional string instruments at the Golden Temple represent institutional recognition of this lost heritage. Yet Khalid remains cautiously pessimistic about large-scale revival: "Any current revival of the Rababi tradition is symbolic and happening on a very small scale, as the contemporary understanding of religion has become increasingly crystallized."

Does Rababi Have Any Future Left?

The challenge of revival extends beyond technical musical training. Singh poses fundamental questions: "Why should we revive something which died ages ago? Why should we bring it back?" He argues that successful revival requires understanding the deeper purpose: "It is not what we do. It is how and why we do it."

The Rababi tradition was never merely about entertainment—it was, in Singh's words, "a very considered, very strategically planned program for humanity, what we call it, the mastership of their mental health." This holistic approach to music as spiritual practice, rather than mere performance, remains central to authentic revival efforts.

Today's practitioners face the challenge of maintaining authenticity while adapting to modern contexts. The tradition's revival depends not just on teaching techniques but on understanding its original purpose as what Singh calls "sound life and smile program"—a comprehensive approach to human wellbeing through devotional music.

The severed strings of 1947 may never be fully rewoven, but the efforts of dedicated practitioners like those at Raj Academy and other institutions worldwide suggest that while the tradition's original form may be irretrievably lost, its essence—the pursuit of spiritual harmony through music—continues to find new expression in our fractured modern world.