By Yousef Kohzad
Translated from Dari by Aziz Ahang Herawi
January-March 2000
Lemar-Aftaab
We go back about half a century [1920s] and enter one of the old
streets of Kabul. If one looks down from the tip of Asmai or
Sher-Darwaaza Mountains on to the city, the old Kabul seems like a
sleeping dragon laying on the chest of these two mountains. Its sweet
memories seem to converse confidentially with a river that looks like
the dry and thirsty artery of this dragon.
Houses with muddy roofs and colorfully sectioned windows are so
close and almost attached to each other that it seems like no power
on earth can separate them. Winding streets between broken walls
that appear ready to fall, look like basements through which only
unknown ghosts would wander.
The districts of this city is known as Shor Bazaar, Muraad Khani,
Chendawol, Baagh-e Ali Mardaan, Baaghbaan Kocha and Deh Afghanan.
Each has its own protective fortification.
A first-time visitor entering the city encounters hundreds of problems
trying to find his relatives and friends. Although the body of the city
[because of wars] has received plenty of wounds throughout history, it has
kept its national pride.
Shor Bazaar used to be one of the main areas of this old city. It had
become the most crowded center for trades. Fashionable gentlemen,
peddlers, poets and working people lived in the mazes of this district
and kept in touch with each other.
If outsiders contemplated entering one of these streets for the sake
of cultural curiosity, they would have to observe its local traditions.
Now, in light of this curiosity, we will enter this district where our
main goal lies.
As we stand at the entrance at first glance, a skinny man with a black
mustache and beard appears. He is deep in thought, sitting beside his
bins of snuff, watching passers-by.
On the colorless walls of the store, there are crooked writings that
are hard to decipher and that raise the curiosity of the newcomer.
This tiny man, Sufi Ashqari, is a witty and good-natured poet who
although illiterate, has friendly relations with such famous poets as
Ustad Betaab, Shaayeq Jamaal and Ustad Hashim Shaayeq.
Time after time, these great men have kept in touch with their colleague
and spent some time in the quite shelter of his store.
These visits are beneficial to his poetry and are always remembered
with reverence. Ashqari has risen from the lowest depths of society
and has portrayed the deepest secrets of his people in his writing.
This man is a symbol of the Shor Bazaar district and is respected by
everyone.
Although his faith has locked him up in the dark corner of his store,
from time to time, his thoughts brake the strings of this cage and rise
above the noises of Shor Bazaar. Today, a perceptive observer can
still hear the poet's famous words:
"With this dignity that the cup-bearer fills up the cups with wine
By the time our turn comes, this tavern will turn into a shrine"
It seems that Sufi Ashqari is still sitting in the corner of his small store
and reciting a poem complementing the tobacco dip. If a diamond falls
in the dirt, it would be Sufi Ashqari who lived in the arms of Shor Bazaar
until the last moments of his life. His store was the beginning of many
interesting sights in this historical district.
If we go a few steps further, we come to a narrow street to our right
and enter the maze of this street. This muddy area is always full of
water running down from the gutters of houses, and was the pinnacle
of hope and happiness of weddings for the citizens of old Kabul. It's
residence were of the Kharabatis (musicians, singers and performers)
and was the most famous part of this region.
From every window, the boisterous voices of artists like Ustad Qasim,
Ustad Nabi Gul, Ustad Natoo, Ustad Ghulam Hussain and the tunes of
musicians such as Ustad Chacha Mahmood, Ustad Qurbaan Ali Rabbani,
Ustad Nawroz and Ustad Muhammad Omar fill the atmosphere and
seem as though the sorrows and pains of life no longer exist. As if it is
safe from every human tragedy.
These talented personalities brought
music to its peak but also had students so that after their deaths, the
doors of Kharaabat would not close in the face of their fans and classical
music wouldn't disappointingly run away from its birthplace.
These great hearts had much patience and with their endless love,
tried to provide pure and authentic Afghan music to their listeners.
A world of happiness and hope sprouted in every turn of Kharabat.
Passers-by would spend long moments sitting in a corner listening to
these songs and for a few moments, forget problems from their daily lives.
Day and night, Kharaabat would beat like the heart of this historical
city and kept newlyweds warm-hearted.
Everything that meets the eye in this street is old: grounds,
doors, walls. The sky looks like a thin thread from the intersection
of the walls of multi-story buildings. It seems like a song has escaped
from under the strings of a musician flying around and above.
If we keep walking a few more steps, we approach a house with raw
brick walls. As we enter this house, we notice a more modern green-colored
window on the third floor belonging to the capable and experienced singer
Ustad Qasim. This artist is one of the more renowned residents of this
street and is known as Pir-e Kharabat (the Sage of Kharabat.)
His artistic presence has made Shor Bazaar twice as famous throughout
the country. Ustad Qasim, with his talented sons and students, has turned
this house into a small Kharaabat in the heart of big Kharaabat. All of
his pupils have had extensive artistic education and nourishment. From
its walls, the poems of Bedil could be heard which only meant that
gnosicism and art had shaken hands with each other and created this
artist named Qasim.
It didn't take long for this house to make its way into the court of
King Amanullah Khan (r. 1919-1929). It tied a knot through the immense
talents of Ustad Qasim. Through this link, the music received attention
and Kharaabat became the foundation of hopes for all the residents of old
Kabul.
New and original Afghan songs spread their sounds throughout
Kharaabat and the royal palace. They illuminated the dark nights of the
city with the torch of music. Yet, although Kharaabat received this
pride, it did not become deluded from its extravagant ambitions. Instead,
it made closer relations with ordinary citizens-- even the poorest of
them. Any hand that extended towards them for help was not turned away
empty.
On the other corner of this street, Ustad Ghulam Hussain, with his
special school, chose a different path for music and was busy teaching a
few new singers. Ustad Chaachah Mahmood, Ustad Qurban Ali and Ustad
Muhammad Omar would accompany Ustad Ghulam Hussain and Ustad Qasim,
the masters of music, and would return with handfuls of gold coins.
With all these comings and goings, the market of peddlers and
shopkeepers was becoming lucrative and attracting new customers.
When the darkness of the night fell on the city, this street with its oil
lamps, illuminated like the sun in the arms of tranquillity. The songs
that symbolized the assionate feelings and sacrifices of the Afghan
people, would caress the ears of listeners until sunrise. These songs had
become a relieving medicine for sleepers who had more and more interest
in hearing them.
Although music had its special value in the time of Kharaabat, some
people did not welcome the music of Kharaabat as a respected art. There
was still religious bias in some people's minds, and those people
considered Kharaabatis as lower class and did not associate with them in
any way including marriage. Later this golden era of music passed by with
time and today's music together with the growth of social matters,
appeared as a different style of art form.
But we must remind ourselves that yesterday's music,
although distinctively different, and today's music originate from the
same roots. They are inseperable. The ever-powerful classical music still
lives, and the place that it has in the heart remains. The lazy eyes of
people did not open up to the true sunshine of music that was shining
in the songs of yesterday's Kharaabatis and how it fulfilled the tastes
from its light. Today, these eyes have opened up, and this music has
risen to the top as art.
Traditional music is going through very harsh times because it has not
been able to compete through modern media (i.e. radio, television and
cassettes) with the Western music that has taken over Eastern countries.
In fact, this attack is similar to a virus attacking a human body.
We must
find a way to recover and not let this traditional music be left in
galleries and museums like dead mummies. Something should be done, so
that this manifestation of art comes to life as a powerful movement. It
should be given the chance to succeed and block the path of destructive
elements as soon as possible.
God forbid that history break up its relationship with us, shut down
the hatch of its heart that is full of much sweet and sour memories in our
faces and give our thoughts to the moments of today and tomorrow. We
have a need for old memories. We should not allow anyone to tear up
this series of our history which is an audible mirror from our beautiful
pages and our worse deeds of our history.
We have unbreakable ties to this
phenomenon. By using our history, we get to know ourselves fuller.
There was a time that our nation was similar to other countries: hungry,
raped and ravaged. But with excellent national pride, it saved itself, and
among mankind it has risen its head again and has courageously started
an honorable life.
(Acknowledgment: a special thank you note for the magazine Farda for forwarding the original Dari article.)
The following is a selection of musical performances by various Ustads of Kharaabat:
Related Links:
![[By Amanullah Parsa]](images/thestreet.jpg)
