Bakavli’s bloom

Dr Omer Adil

Mention Epiphyllum oxypetalum and only a chaste botanist will nod in familiarity. Now mention its lay version ‘Gul Bakavli’ and a lot more eyes will light up in recognition. Eyes of votaries of classic sub continental literature and cine’ buffs. This nocturnal blooming flower has indeed gained enduring fame by lending its name to an epic romance and it cinematic adaptations.

Gul Bakavli is a popular medieval romance, of which exist various versions both in verse and prose. Literary historians trace 17^th century version of this fantasy epic in Urdu and Bangla. The Bangla version in verse by Nawazish Khan is perhaps one of the earliest versions. In the early 18^th century Sh Izzatullah wrote a prose version in Persian titled ‘Taj-ul-Mulk Gul Bakavli’. Over the past two centuries various Bengali authors such as Muhammad Muqim, Muhammad Ali, Munshi Ibadat Ali, Umacharan Mitra, Abdul Shakoor, Bijaynath Mukhopadhya etc have narrated the central theme of the story with personal variations of style. At least five Kashmiri writers: Able Sheikh, Lassa Khan Fida, Naimatullah Sopore (Nama-i-Sopori), Ali Shah of Harril and Asad Parry have also penned it. At the beginning of the 19^th century, Munshi Nehalchand Lahori wrote a prose version titled ‘Mazhab-e-Ishq’(The religion of love). This was actually a translation of Izzatullah’s original Persian work under the Fort Williams’s translation project. 

The popularity of the story made Urdu poets also set it to meter. Thus Daya Shakar Nasim wrote a ‘masnavi’ titled ‘Gulzar e Nasim’ (1835). A poetic disciple of Khawaja Haidar Ali Aatish, Nasim died young but his masnavi is his claim to lasting fame.

The voluminous literary works based on the myth of the divine flower of Bakavli, the fairy, have a fairly simple story line derived from folk lore of Arabia, Persia, Central Asia and South East Asia with generous lashings of religious, spiritual and philosophical subjects.

The plot goes thus: Gul, the fabled flower of Bakavali is endowed with miraculous vision restoring healing powers. It grows in the ‘hauz’ (reservoir) of Bakavli’s garden, in ‘Koh e Qaaf’, the abode of superhuman & supernatural beings. Zainal Muluk the king of eastern lands is forewarned by his court astrologers to keep himself away from his youngest son, Taj ul Mulk for twelve years as a particular stellar trine will otherwise make him loose his eyesight. Unfortunately this does happen. Taj is excommunicated and sets out to fetch the healing flower. The story then narrates his steadfast determination in the face of all odds, natural as well a supernatural that he has to overcome during his labyrinthine wanderings before reaching the garden of Bakavli, where he plucks the flower but looses his heart to the ravishing Bakavli who sleeps in all her splendor. On awakening Bakavli discovers the absence of her flower and sets about to avenge the theft. In the process she falls in love with Taj. Thus start the trials and tribulations of their romance which is beset with oppositions, woes and impediments. Taj is conspired against by his unscrupulous brothers but he not only outwits them but also rescues them (very reminiscent of a sub plot of ‘Ahsan-ul-Qasas’ detailing the malice of ‘Baradaraan-e- Yousaf’). In the end all is restored, healed and won over.

The Masnavi Gulzar e Nasim is a veritable feast for the imagination. It is Homeric epic poetry ala Odyssey meet Ms Rowling’s characters from Hogwarth in a medieval Persianised world hugely infused with exotica, erotica and enchantments of the India sub-continent. The unctous couplets are interpolated between romantic situations, spiritual sermonisation, high fantasy and surreal sensationalism.

The core of this yarn was spun by generation of storytellers and it attracted readers and legions of followers. An ornate edifice was thus created to which was appended each writer’s own take, twists and turns.

The reader ‘enters’ the masnavi and meanders through a narrative focused entirely on action and rooted firmly in absolute notions of good and evil, beauty and ugliness, love and loyalty. It lusts after the triumph of good and settles for nothing less than a thorough devastation of evil. Add to it a highly stylised verse form is Persian lashed Urdu with no cap on meter and an innate rhythmic melody and you have unparalleled reading pleasure.

The tale like all great tales consumed whole generations of readers but remained hungry -- ravenous in fact, for more. This appetite was satiated in the early 19^th century by the silent cinema. The silent movies of the 20’s and 30’s remained a solely visual medium sans sound. They relied on visual feasts as themes. ‘Mythologicals’, ‘historicals’ and ‘stunts’ were the rage. A dominant set of influences were the ancient Indian epics (Mahabharata and Ramayana) and adaptation of classical Urdu ‘qissaas’, ‘dastaans’, ‘masnavis’ and dramas. The magical fantasy epic was a smashing success with the early film producers due to the ample room available for camera trickery, special effects and editorial ingenuity. The tales rose to glory with their ornate ambience, cataclysmic wars, coquetries of lovers, a dazzling array of fearsome sorcerers, heroic protagonists, and their miraculous devices and ingenious plots. The cinematic adaptation of there tales played on the imagination of the viewers and extended the fantasy to hitherto uncharted heights. The advent of sound in 1931 was yet another boost for this genere. A blend of realism and fantasy, music and dance, narrative & spectacle, thunderous dialogues and melodious songs, sensationalism and dazzling cine craft was evolved which titillated the viewer’s voyeuristic as well as moralistic instincts. Early sub-continental cinema infused a new life into epic tales including Gul Bakavli. There endless tales trailed due to digressiveness and repetitiveness. They seemed to slack and appeared rather ‘baggy‘ to the 20^th century reader & listener. Their charm was eroding, just when tightly knit, well crafted, brisk and crisp screenplays were carved out of them, chopping out long winded sequences, splicing out the reenactment of situations, controlling repetitiveness and adding a well balanced concoction of camera trickery, ornate backdrops, skilled actors and slick sequences created films that held a renewed appeal. The public adulation proved that the formula worked and especially so for the fantasy legend of Bakavli and her divine flower. By the late 1930’s it had been adapted for cinema thrice and very successfully so.

The tried and testedness of Gul Bakavli’s tale was particularly attractive for Seth Dalsukh M. Pancholi as he sat contemplating the theme for his production house’s debut production. It was September, 1937. Seth Pancholi’s office, though simple, had an organized practicality about it. Large bay windows provided a soothing view of the canal as it flowed under the bridge at upper Mall. His newly acquired, Pancholi Art studio a sprawling establishment, occupied most of the area in the angle between the Canal and Mall road as it led towards the cantonment. Today the National Institute of Public Administration stands partly at the original Pancholi studio site, attempting to instruct Punjabi bureaucrats in matters of public administration. A ceaseless and tedious exercise in utter futility. But futility certainly was not the result of the discussion taking place in Seth Pancholi’s office that September morning in 1938. Across the table sat two members of his staff: story writer and lyricist Wali Sahib and music composer Master Ghulam Haider. A hint of a nip in the air suggested the oncoming autumn as Wali Sahib gulped down steaming tea and cleared his throat. “But, Seth adapting Gul Bakavli into a screenplay is easy on paper but projecting it on screen is a different matter. You must consider the expansiveness of the story and the demands of translating its narrative into action, “said Wali. “Yes  there is a performative element inherent in this prose but its true interpretation will require technicians more than performers”, he continued, “you must have a strong team of cameramen, special effects guys and a slick editor to create an end product that charms the viewers”. “Not to mention a mind blowing back ground score and bewitching melodies that would punctuate the screenplay and enhance its impact and appeal,” quipped Master Ghulam Haider. “Surely”, said Pancholi gazing out unfocused, “I wish to produce an enchanting piece of cinema, a glimpse of a world far removed from the one that we live in. It would be imaginative cine craft at its best. Out to dazzle, bewilder and entertain the audience. And you two are going to help me charm my audience with our maiden production”. “We three Seth. Don’t forget Mehra”, said Wali Sahib reminding the Seth of his erstwhile director Barkat Ram Mehra who was auditioning artists at the very moment that this conversation was underway. “Yes him too, and actually all my team will make the first Punjabi version of Gul Bakavli to dazzle them all”, said Pancholi with well calculated optimism backed by determination and confidence.

One could argue with Seth Pancholi over his choice of subject for his maiden venture endlessly. The studios of Lahore uptill the 30’s had restricted themselves to folk love legends, ‘mythologicals’ and mediocre ‘stunts’. None of the Lahore productions had so far aroused any interest in centres and circuits beyond the region. Pancholi’s theme may have seemed ambitious but he was no novice to cinema trade. Alongwith his brother, Rewa Shankar Pancholi, he had been running a successful film distribution business by the name of Empire Talkies Distributors from Karachi. His arrival in Lahore in 1931 was in connection with the screening of ‘Alam Ara’ the fabled first ‘talky’ of the subcontinent, the distribution rights of which, for Northern India were with Empire distributors. The screening of Alam Ara that look place in Capital Cinema on Mcleod road introduced Lahore to the phenomenon of a talking and singing movie. Pancholi, in turn was introduced to a phenomenon that is Lahore.

Smitten by the charm of Lahore, Panchali stayed on to create an empire comprising of three cinema houses: Plaza, Palace and Parbhat, two studio: Pardhan (Pancholi I) and Pancholi (II) and a large distribution network with its head office at Laxmi Chowk and branches in Delhi, U.P., Bombay, Karachi and Madras. But this was how things stood at the eve of partition in 1947,. They were not so in 1938 when Dalsukh M Pancholi was busy planning his first production in Lahore, titled Gul Bakavli.

A series of rather incredible events made him gather a team around himself. His script writer worked as a junior clerk in one of the Lahore hospitals. He was sent to the newly organized Pancholi studio to collect the payment of an outstanding medical bill from Dalsukh Pancholi. The producer was not in and to while away the wait, Wali started reading his ghazals to the studio’s staff member who responded with generous applause. In the midst of this recital arrived Seth Pancholi and went largely unnoticed gelling imperceptibly in the appreciative crowd gathered around the poet cum hospital clerk. After listening to a couple of his ghazals the Seth became actually aware of the appeal of the simplistic verse that struck a chord with the lay listeners – an essential prerequsite for a popular film song lyricist. Seth Pancholi made his presence felt to an embarrassed Wali and a flustered crowd of studio employees. It all ended on a happy note as the Seth offered the clerk the position of writer /lyricist in his studio for the upcoming maiden project.

Similarly a chance encounter with a dental technician took place at a chemist when he developed an acute toothache. The technician applied a medicine to his aching tooth and told him to wait till he felt relieved. To kill the boredom of the wait he produced a harmonium from the rear of his shop and began to sing a lilting Punjabi number supposedly composed by him. This continued for a while. Seth Pancholi forgot all about his toothache and remained engrossed in the singing for a long period. The next day he summoned the dental technician to his office in Pancholi Art studio. To his utter surprise the dentist cum composer discovered the identity of his previous day patient and listener. In turn the Seth was introduced to the composer master Ghulam Haider. Master ji had been dabbling in composing for films and stage while moonlighting as a dental technician. This blessed encounter resulted in Ghulam Haider becoming the staff composer for Pancholi productions at a monthly salary of Rs.150 with immediate effect. In the long term this association was to result in an immensely profound change in the style, structure and substance of the sub continental film song. It was the starting point of a journey sans parallel in the annals of our music and to begin it with Gul Bakavli is the stuff of which legends are made.

The inclusion of another minor member in the Gul Bakavli team is no less legendry. Actually it has become a part of film lore. This is how the story goes. Seth Pancholi stuck to a routine working day, leaving his Abbot Road bungalow early each morning he would arrive at his distribution office in the Ishwar Das building at Laxmi Chowk. After sorting the office work he drove to Mall road and arriving at the upper mall would turn into a service road leading to Pancholi studio’s main gate at around 10 am. It was the same sequential routine but the scene at the gate of the studio was not the usual one that morning in October 1937. A young girl, barely in her early teens stood their accompanied by an older lady and a male escort. Alerted by the arriving Pancholi’s Chrysler, the lass struck a high note as she hastily slid into singing a popular Punjabi song from the Calcutta production, ‘Heer Saya’l. The song “Sohna desaan wichon des Punjab ni saiyo”, had acquired the status of a venerable Punjabi anthem as each antra eulogized the land and its women. But it was not the wording but the clarity of expression that gave Seth an instant aural insight into the girl’s vocal virtues. He stood a moment longer to listen to the song and then motioned the chauffeur to drive on. Once inside he summoned one minion to fetch the group standing at the gate and another was sent to ask Wali and Ghulam Haider to report to his office. Both arrived promptly. “I want you to listen to a girl”, stated Pancholi in response to their inquisitive expression. “Listen to a girl! Who? “, asked Wali. “A singing girl Wali Sahib for whom you will write and Master ji will compose”, said Pancholi with a clear finality. “And do we know this Bulbul?” Wali asked with a hint of a smirk as he exchanged looks with the composer. “You will get to know her soon. She is actually on her way to us.” reassured the Seth. Just then the group was ushered into the room and all eyes riveted to the nubile young girl flanked by her elder sister and her ‘ustad’. Without a hint of nervousness she looked straight into the three pairs of eyes focused on her let out a lilting giggle. Pancholi was the first to compose himself and said “You sing that song rather well. Where did you hear it?”. “It is my song. People hear it in my voice”, came the reply with an innocent nonchalance peculiar to a specific age. “Your song?” asked a quizzical Wali “but of course you are baby Noor Jehan of Madan Theatre. I believe you are now back in Lahore and settled in Bazar-e-Sheikhpurian”. It was now Pancholi’s turn to appear confused. ”Do you know her already Wali Sahib?” enquired Pancholi. “Jee Seth ji. In my line one gets to know every singer worth knowing. She is after all a part of the ‘mohallah‘ now and has made her name in a few Calcutta productions.” replied Wali. Master Ghulam Haider was reminded of a few songs in the voice of a punjabi prodigy who was recorded in Calcutta. Could this be her? At an age so tender could she really be considered a dependable voice for recording? With doubts welling up is his mind he asked, “Baby is it only your own songs that you can sing or ……..”

“It is not for nothing that they cell me ‘siyahi chat’” chuckled the lass. “Siyahi chat!” exclaimed Pancholi. “Sarkar she has been trained to blot in any song that she hears. Notes, counters, bends and the rest. Then she renders it verbatim, word by word, note by note” beamed the accompanying ustad moving forward with exaggerated humility bordering on sycophancy. “Oh! a copyist at best”, said Haider. “Nahin master ji nahin. I have made sure that she is well grounded in the classical idiom. Her ‘sabaq’ is as ‘pukhta’ and ‘pucca’ as those of Khan Sahibs. We do not compromise on matters musical”, reassured ustad Gama Qasuri. “Is that so? Then let’s hear her sing something to substantiate your claim”, demanded the composer. The ustad then gestured to the young singer. Holding her hands palm to palm in front of her chest she asked for permission “Ijazat hai?“. No one could help nodding in the affirmative. What flowed forth from the girl’s throat was an ‘alaap’ which had the quality of molten silver, the feel of velvet and the ease of ascent of a lark. The ‘bandish’ soon materialized and so did the raga. It was a thumri in Pilu. But it was not any thumri in Pilu. Baby Nur Jehan seemed to feel the ‘bandish’ and render it with not just emotion but a passion as well__ a virtue that eludes egalitarian purists. Her ‘pakad’ and ‘chalan’ were immaculate, her stress on the ‘vadi’ and ‘sam vadi’ notes just right. And above all was that elusive feel that only the ‘tabiayat’ and ‘zaat’ of a singer adds to a piece. A signature essence, a quality that marks the difference between a good rendition and a great rendition. So flowed the strains of ‘Pyare rasiya behari suno binti hamari’. By the time baby Nur Jehan let out a final descending ‘taan’, her position at Pancholi studio was confirmed as was her inclusion in the cast of Gul Bakavli as actress and singer. Nur Jehan’s sojourn at Pancholi studios that began that morning was to culminate in the release of ‘Khandaan’ in 1942, allowing Master ji to condense risky experimentation, ambitious innovations, variety, vitality, spontaneity and contemporaneity into the tunes that he composed for Nur Jehan to sing. Together they created a mould in which future generations of composer and singers would cast their mutual creations and embellish them with their individual styles, i.e. if they possessed any.

Employment at Pancholi and the shooting and recording for Gul Bakavli necessitated a regimental routine. Each morning the studio’s van would collect Nur Jehan and other artists from Bhatti gate. They would then be driven to the studio where a demanding working day will ensue. This would end at sunset and entail another van ride to Bhatti gate. The exhausted teenager then walked to the narrow and dingy staircase leading up to 46 Chet Ram road in the Shahi Mohallah locality of Lahore. The establishment at 46 Chet Ram road was maintained by her elder sister Eidan Bai, to practiced the ageless art and craft of the courtesan. Eidan maintained a clear demarcation. There was absolutely no role for her younger sister in the nighty affairs of the establishment. Baby Nur Jehan was to become a singing star of cinema, not an entertainer of a ‘kotha’ and till such time that the gold in Nur Jehan’s throat became saleable it would be Eidan who will fend for the extended family in any way she deemed practical. Propriety not being an issue.

Life before Pancholi was at a low ebb for baby Nur Jehan. Having experienced stardom in Calcutta she was compelled by circumstance to return to Lahore to a life of anonymity with no immediate prospect of being projected once again on the silver screen or sing out from a revolving ‘tawa’. Her appearance at the gates of Pancholi Studio was the result of a well considered and thoroughly though out strategy of Eidan Bai and Master Ghulam Muhammad Qasuri. The effort had hit the bull’s eye and baby Nur Jehan was once again under the glare of studio lights facing the camera. But what was really exhilarating was finding herself in the vocalist’s cubicle of the HMV recording facility in the Shah Din building at Mall Road. It was certainly a world apart from Calcutta. Here she sat rehearsing with a Punjabi composer whose tunes pulsated in synch with a robust rhythm that is quintessential ‘Punjab’. The bounce, the beat, the banality that exemplifies the ‘Punjab ang’. Nur Jehan was singing for a pioneer of the Punjab school of composers. One who had distilled a composing style by imbibing various influences into the rustic folk core to lend his music a glow and sophistication all its own.

But let us come back to the historic recording session at HMV a little later because for it to take place Wali Sahib needed to make adjustment and allowances. With baby Nur Jehan on the Gul Bakavli bandwagon a role had to be devised which would allow her to display the mesmeric individuality of her vocals. Wali grappled with the issue of her age (baby at 13!), vocal maturity and placement in the narrative of the movie. After careful consideration a perfect solution came about. A side character in the movie was that of ‘Lakha besva’ (‘Dilbar’ in the original Masnavi Gulzar-e-Nasim) who is actually a snare or diversion in the path of those traveling to Bakavli’s garden in search of her flower. The ‘besva’ is deft at a game of cards not because of proficiency at the game but due to her maid accomplice and her pet cat. The maid inebriates those that the ‘besva’ invites for a round of cards while the cat jumps over the ‘shamadaan’ (candelabra) at the right moment during the game turning the room pitch dark. Lakha then deftly switches and adjusts her cards to come up with a winning hand. The maid then lights up the ‘shamadaan’. The opponent loosing the game and bet to Lakha is rendered penniless and held captive by Lakha. The character of the conniving maid of Lakha seemed tailor made for baby Nur Jehan. It provided ample opportunity to insert songs in the screen play to be sung by and picturized on baby Nur Jehan. The problem thus solved, the shooting of Gul Bakavli began.

The debonair Salim Raza was cast as the hero of Gul Bakavli. He was to play the youngest prince. The other four princes were play by Ajmal, Dewan Sardari Lal, Girdhari Lal (real brothers) and Durga Mota. Dewan Sardari Lal was introduced in a minor role in Pancholi’s debut production but over the years he maneuvered his was up to become the manager of Pancholi studio, sire his mistress, Asha Posley’s daughter Kausar Parveen out of wedlock and post partition produced the first Pakistani movie, ‘Teri Yaad’. Let’s leave the story of Sardari Lal’s career ascent and antics for another day. The heroine of the movie playing the title role was debutante Hem Lata (real name Razia) who got married after Gul Bakavli and was never seen in any other movie. Surraya Jabeen played the role of Lakha. Her real name was Bashir Begum and she worked as a staff singer at All India Radio’s Lahore station. During the shooting of Gul Bakavli she lost her heart to a boy from the ‘Shahi Mohallah’ and upon completion of the movie eloped with him never to be seen or heard again. The rest of the female cast included ‘Daimond’ (the misspelling is very intentional to covey the exact Lahori pronunciation of her name), Najjo and Kusum Nair. M. Ismail, by now a seasoned actor of Lahore dating back to the silent era of early 1920’s was also cast in a major role.

And now back to the sound track and songs of Gul Bakavli. A set of songs that would make Master Ghulam Haider a torch bearer of our cine ‘sangeet’. Sitting beside a pre teen, still to come of singing age baby Nur Jehan in the HMV recording studio, Master ji was riddled with doubts. “Keh lo gi” he asked. “Aap batayen tau”, came the eager reply. With a faint touch of uncertainty he hummed out the ‘asthai’ of the first Gul Bakavli song he had composed. What Nur Jehan sang back was not just the first ‘mukhda’ compose for her by the maestro, but a solid strain that shook every music maker and made very singer sit up, clear her throat and take note in the film centers of the sub continent. The song ‘Shala jawaniyan maanein’ had a ‘taan’ packed in the word ‘jawaniyaan’ that ascended from the ‘mandir asthan’ (lower register) to the dizzy heights of ‘taar asthan’ (highest register) in one breezy glide. The prayer of imbibing the last drop of the elixir of youth expressed in the ‘asthai’ then drops into a cajole in the ‘sanchai‘ as she says ‘aakha na morhee pee lai’. And drank they did, till the last drop the unsurpassed fluidity of Nur Jehan’s voice raising her to an aural pedestal all her own.

Master ji is still remembered as the first to tap the gold in Nur Jehan’s throat, courtesy this recording session at the HMV studio Lahore in early 1937. In a few years (1947 to be precise) another singing sensation would gleam upon his sight. A sari clad, 20 something years old elfin of a girl in noisy, well worn kolhapuri chappals and oil dripping hair fashioned into two thick pig tails called Lata Mangeshkar. Lata ji has narrated the account of Master ji composing his first tune for her on a number of occasions. She fondly recalls an evening at Malad station waiting for the train to take them home from Bombay Talkies. Tapping on his 555 cigarette tin the great composer tuned ‘Dil mera tora, Ho mujhe kahin ka na chorha tere pyar nain’ (for Bombay Talkies ‘Majboor’) there and then. She then goes on to relate how Master ji relied on his own judgment only and totally disregarded what others had to say about her ‘unsuitable’ voice. With Nur Jehan there were never two opinions. Any hint of a doubt, if there did exist one, evaporated by the time baby Nur Jehan skillfully warbled the last ‘antra’ and rendered the refrain rhyming last verse, concluding with a repetition of the ‘asthai’ with verve and vigour.

For a moment a deep silence engulfed the studio. The instrumentalists holding their instruments silent, the sound recordists speechless and the singer looking out from the vocalist’s booth with a content smile on her imperceptibly tremulous lips. All eyes were riveted towards the composer who took a moment too long to let out a forlorn ‘OK’ from his throat. If Nur Jehan was looking for the composer’s compliments, there were none. Silent acceptance at the end of a recording by Master ji denoted his satisfaction with the song. An ultimate compliment for any one singing under his baton.

Wali sahib was ecstatic. He had just experienced his lyrics being lived out not just sung. His ‘pee lay’ had acquired an irresistible lure and an enticing cajole, his ‘shala jawaniyaan manein’ transformed from an optimistic prayer to a heartily convincing statement. The tonality of Nur Jehan had the quality to imbue a melodious believability to the lyrics that she sang out with musical perfection. Nur Jehan had done full justice to each word he had penned and what he had penned was certainly not ordinary.

Lyrics:

 

Nur Jehan even at that early stage of her career displayed the natural gift and ‘sangfroid’ to be pre-eminently her vocal self with no hint of an aural influence or stylistic resemblance. She was her own model, her own mould and her own ideal.

All this was certainly not lost on the Gul Bakavli team. Wali sahib quickly added two more sequences to the screenplay, while Master ji busied himself with putting to tune the two songs that Wali wrote for them. Ofcourse both were to be recorded in Nur Jehan’s voice. The first of them ‘Pinjray de wich qaid jawani’ deserves an extended essay for its musical analysis. Nur Jehan displays an entirely different tonal texture while keeping pace with the varying speed of the ‘lay’ that gallops forth from a slow grinding pace only to return to it. Not for a split second does Nur Jehan let the pace slip away. While living up to every single vocal demand that master ji made on her, she gave the song a wondrously oppressive expression. Her rendition of ‘pinjray’ lends the cage a ‘closing in’ quality that intensifies the constriction and suffocation which the lyrics intend to convey. In my opinion ‘pinjray de wich qaid jawani’ is a testament to Nur Jehan’s flabbergasting range both in terms of pitch and vocal vocabulary. She exhibited a great quality necessary for a film singer i.e. to remain alert and mindful of what precisely was expected of her by the lyricist and composer. And then she would add that special ‘something’ which would make a vital difference to the final form that etched the 78 rpm gramophone record, ready to leap out in all its magnificence at the whirring scratch of a needle.

The third Nur Jehan song for Gul Bakavli is in a folk-classical idiom. Narrating the story of a female crane and her partner who were separated by a whirlwind, the song is sung to a lovelorn Lakha besva smitten by Prince Taj-ul-Mulk, by her maid (played by baby Nur Jehan). Wali sahib includes the traditional Punjabi poetic form of ‘Mahiya’ as ‘antra’ in the song. The lyrics are both sung as well as recited by Nur Jehan giving the song an impromptu quality and releasing it from the formal stiff structured ness of the film song. Surraya Jabeen hums a few lines in this song as well. The song is an early example of how master ji incorporated a native regional musical style into film songs. The introduction of Punjabi folk rhythms and musical effervescence by Ghulam Haider to the film song was actually the emergence of the Punjab ‘ang’, which was used with enormous success by many other Punjabi as well as non Punjabi composers.

Gul Bakavli was not an out and out baby Nur Jehan show, though she turned out to be the highlight. Singing alongside her were two other Lahore singers. Master Ghulam Haider was a great supporter of new singing talent. When it came to spotting female singing voice there was none better than him. It was after all his astute auditory sensibility that made him resolutely record Umraozia Begum in ‘Sawarg ki Sirhi’ 1934, Shamshad Begum in ‘Yamla Jat’ 1940, baby Nur Jehan in ‘Gul Bakavli’ 1938 and Lata Mangeshkar in ‘Majboor’ 1947 against all resistance. What these ladies achieved proved Master ji’s point beyond all limits. Master ji chose a sultry songstress from the ‘shahi mohalla’ of Lahore to sing one ditty for Gul-Bakavli. Tamancha Jan by name, she was a popular performer of the entertainment quarters of Lahore whose salon was regularly visited by the cognoscenti and connoisseurs. Possessed with a transparent, open voice that cast an aural spell over her listener, Tamancha Jan had been recorded by gramophone companies of Lahore. What master ji composed for her was a tune that naturally emanated out of her strongly honed throat. A sturdy rustic Punjabi number that took well into account her vocal virtues was composed by him for her to vocalize. And vocalize she did.

‘Ghook meri qismet saun gaee, jaago zarur oye

sajna de baajon saanu marna manzur oye’

Not that Wali’s Lyrics were not meaningful, not that master ji’s composition was not tuneful but her rendition added that extra something that was essentially ‘Punjab’___ passion, emotion and the rest. The result was an aurally arresting song pulsating with an articulated feeling. Bashir Begum alias Surraya Jabeen got to sing two songs. Etched for posterity on the two side of a HMV gramophone record, the songs are masterly tuned and sung with sheer vim and vitality. ‘Jawani jay aa ke a javey te janaan, khizaan ais chaman ten a chave te janaan’ is a lament of unenduring youth. ‘Maahiya we o aayian, kalian kalian badliaan chaiyan’ is thrill personified at the sight of monsoon clouds ready to pour out. They had their takers, their listeners, their admirers but the adulation for the baby’s numbers was unprecedented. This reflects in various forms. Take for example the pamphlet of Gul Bakawali. It has baby Nur Jehan in second billing  after M. Esmail and before the main cast of the movie. One could attribute this to her Calcutta fame acquired through ‘Shiela’, ‘Heer Sayal’, ‘Fakhr-e-Islam etc but there is more to prove the baby’s newly acquired popularity. This scribe is in possession of various hand bills from the late 30’s advertising Gul Bakavli. One feature that they all share is prominent mention of Nur Jehan and her song ‘Shala jawaniaan manain’. Seth Dalsukh M Pancholi is said have declared, “Nur Jehan is Gul-Bakavli and Gul-Bakavli is Nur Jehan”. Not far from the truth at all. This statement is denied by Syed Shaukat Hussain Rizvi in his trashy book ‘Nur Jehan ki kahani, meri zubani.” With only his sad vengeance to support his claim, he vehemently dismisses the Nur Jehan factor in the success of Gul-Bakavli. He insists her role was that of an extra. Surely with second billing Baby Nur Jehan was that ‘extra’ something indeed. By the way Syed Shaukat Hussain Rizvi was also part of the Gul-Bakavli team in the capacity of an editor but let’s leave this story for another day.

Gul Bakavli proved every body right. Pancholi’s choice of subject was perfect. Mater ji’s music hit the aural bull’s eye despite the experimental and innovative tunes. Eidan Bai’s audacious plan to grab a second chance for her baby sister to sing and act again could not have found a better execution or met with more stupendous success. With Gul-Bakavli baby Nur Jehan was the new shining singing star on a meteoric rise to the top.