The Voice of Dard: Begum Akhtar, Mallika-e-Ghazal
In the grand pantheon of Indian classical music, few voices echo with the haunting poignancy of Begum Akhtar. Known to the world as Mallika-e-Ghazal (Queen of Ghazals), her name is synonymous with the very soul of the ghazal, thumri, and dadra. Hers was not merely a voice; it was a vessel for human emotion, a conduit for the dard (pain) and longing that lies at the heart of Urdu poetry. To listen to Begum Akhtar is to experience the seamless fusion of impeccable classical training with the raw, untamed ache of lived experience. She was an artist who did not just sing a verse but inhabited it, transforming couplets of Ghalib and Mir into profound, personal testaments of love and loss. Her journey from Akhtari Bai Faizabadi, a prodigious young singer from a provincial town, to Begum Akhtar, a national icon revered in concert halls across the country, is a remarkable story of talent, resilience, and the transformative power of art.
Early Life & The Forging of a Virtuoso
Akhtari Bai Faizabadi was born on October 7, 1914, in the town of Faizabad in what is now Uttar Pradesh. Her early life was marked by instability. Born to lawyer Asghar Hussain and a professional singer, Mushtari Bai, Akhtari and her twin sister Zohra were largely raised by their mother after their father's departure. It was from this environment, steeped in the traditions of courtly music, that her prodigious talent first emerged.
At the tender age of seven, she was captivated by the music of Chandra Bai, a touring theatre artist. This spark ignited a passion that would define her life. Recognizing her daughter's potential, Mushtari Bai sought out the finest tutors. Akhtari's formal musical education was rigorous and eclectic, giving her a formidable command over the classical traditions that would underpin her emotive style.
Her initial training was under Ustad Imdad Khan, the renowned sarangi maestro of Patna, who laid the foundation for her mastery of light-classical forms. Later, in Calcutta, she came under the tutelage of Ata Mohammed Khan of the Patiala gharana. He was a demanding guru, and it was with him that Akhtari honed her vocal dexterity and the intricate nuances of khayal singing. Her training was not complete, however, until she formally became a disciple of Ustad Abdul Waheed Khan, a stalwart of the Kirana gharana, solidifying her classical credentials.
This diverse and intensive training gave her a unique advantage. She possessed the technical prowess of a classical virtuoso but was drawn to the expressive freedom of semi-classical forms. This duality would become her signature.
Her public debut at the age of fifteen was a sign of the greatness to come. However, a defining moment occurred during a 1934 concert organized to raise funds for victims of the devastating Nepal-Bihar earthquake. In the audience was Sarojini Naidu, the celebrated poet and freedom fighter. Upon hearing the young Akhtari's soul-stirring performance, Naidu was deeply moved, praising her talent and encouraging her to continue. This high-profile endorsement was a significant catalyst, catapulting the young singer into the national consciousness.
A Career of Triumphs and Transitions
The Silver Screen and the Rise of a Star
The 1930s saw the rise of Akhtari Bai Faizabadi as a recording artist and film star. Her first gramophone records, released by the Megaphone Record Company, became an instant sensation. The public was mesmerized by this new voice that could convey such profound emotion. This success paved her way into the burgeoning world of Indian cinema.
She acted in several films, including Ek Din Ka Badshah and Nal Damayanti (1933). But her most significant cinematic contribution was in Mehboob Khan’s landmark film, Roti (1942). As an actress and singer in the film, her renditions of ghazals composed by the legendary Anil Biswas left an indelible mark. Though she would continue to appear in films sporadically—most notably in Satyajit Ray's elegiac masterpiece Jalsaghar (1958)—her heart and soul belonged to the live performance and the intimate space of the ghazal.
From Akhtari Bai to Begum Akhtar: A Painful Silence
In 1945, Akhtari Bai's life took a dramatic turn. She married Ishtiaq Ahmed Abbasi, a Lucknow-based barrister from a conservative family. In keeping with the social norms of the time, she ceased her public performances and recordings upon becoming Begum Akhtar. For nearly five years, the voice that had enchanted a nation fell silent.
This period was one of profound personal crisis. Robbed of her life's purpose and passion, she fell into a deep depression, her health deteriorating alarmingly. Music, it turned out, was not just her profession; it was her lifeblood. Her return to singing was, by all accounts, a form of therapy, a prescription for her very survival.
Her re-emergence took place at the studios of All India Radio, Lucknow. The moment was freighted with emotion. She sang three ghazals and a dadra, and upon finishing, she reportedly wept uncontrollably—tears of relief, of sorrow for the lost years, and of joy at being reunited with her true self. The silence was broken, and the golden era of Begum Akhtar was about to begin.
The Golden Era: Queen of the Concert Hall
Freed from the constraints of her earlier life, Begum Akhtar flourished in the post-independence era. She shed her film persona and emerged as a doyenne of the concert stage. Her music matured, shifting focus from pure technical display to a deep, meditative exploration of poetry. Her genius lay in her ability to choose the perfect couplet and imbue it with a lifetime of emotional weight.
She became a master interpreter of the great Urdu poets. Her renditions of Ghalib's “Dil hi toh hai na sang-o-khisht” (It is only a heart, not a stone or brick) or Mir Taqi Mir's “Ulti ho gayi sab tadbeerein” (All my plans have been overturned) became the definitive versions, inseparable from her voice. She also championed contemporary poets, popularizing the works of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Jigar Moradabadi, and Shakeel Badayuni. Her rendition of Faiz's revolutionary ghazal “Aaye kuchh abr kuchh sharaab aaye” (Let some clouds gather, let some wine be brought) was a masterclass in conveying both romantic longing and subtle defiance.
Her style was unique. She would often pause mid-phrase, allowing the emotional impact of a word to settle before continuing. She emphasized bhaav (feeling) over complex taans (fast melodic passages), making her music accessible to connoisseurs and lay listeners alike. She didn't just sing the ghazal; she taught her audience how to listen to it.
Her status as a cultural icon was cemented by numerous accolades. She received the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award in 1972, the Padma Shri in 1968, and was posthumously awarded the Padma Bhushan in 1975. Beyond awards, she became a cherished teacher, passing on her invaluable knowledge to disciples like Shanti Hiranand and Anjali Banerjee, ensuring her legacy would endure.
Legacy & Enduring Influence
Begum Akhtar’s most significant contribution was the elevation of the ghazal. She single-handedly took this semi-classical form, often associated with the private salons of the elite or courtesan culture, and placed it firmly onto the respectable, mainstream concert stage. She gave it a dignity and gravitas it had never before enjoyed in the public sphere.
Her influence on subsequent generations of singers is immeasurable. Artists like Jagjit Singh often cited her as a primary inspiration, particularly her emphasis on the lyrical content and emotional clarity of the ghazal. She created a blueprint for modern ghazal singing, where the poetry and its expression are paramount.
Beyond the music, she was a style icon. Her elegant sarees, the trademark flower in her hair, and her dignified presence embodied the syncretic Ganga-Jamuni culture of Lucknow. She was a symbol of an era, a keeper of a flame that connected the poetic traditions of the past with the modern Indian nation.
Her devotion to her art was absolute, and it was this devotion that marked her final moments. On October 26, 1974, during a concert in Ahmedabad, she felt unwell. Determined to give her audience their due, she pushed her voice to a higher pitch while singing a ghazal. The strain was too much. She was rushed to the hospital and passed away four days later, on October 30, in the arms of a close friend. She died as she had lived: in the complete and utter service of her music.
Today, decades after her passing, the voice of Begum Akhtar continues to resonate. Her recordings are treasured archives of a golden age of music. To listen to her is to connect with a history of refined artistry, profound poetry, and a soul that dared to translate its deepest sorrows and joys into timeless, unforgettable melody. She remains, and will forever be, the undisputed Mallika-e-Ghazal.