S-r-g-m-P-d-n-S

---

A hallowed form, Bilaskhani Todi is fabled to have been created by Bilas Khan: son of Tansen, the legendary composer of Emperor Akbar’s 16th-century durbar. On trying to sing Todi at his father’s funeral wake, Bilas found himself so grief-stricken that he mixed up the swaras – however, his panic was allayed on witnessing the corpse slowly raise up one hand in solemn approval of the new tune. Many variants of the myth abound, which, despite scant historical evidence, each reveal a different facet of the raga’s cultural personality (e.g. some say Tansen had previously issued a direct challenge to his sons to ‘blend the movements of Todi with the swaras of Bhairavi‘, with others adding that Bilas had long been disfavoured by his father for his lack of musical accomplishments). Prakriti with Bhairavi, although its melodic motions are highly distinctive (e.g. the Todi-ang rgrS, with ga tuned to Todi’s ati-komal shade, as well as Bhupali Todi‘s audav SrgPdS aroha).

---

• Raga Megalist (365+) •

राग बिलासखानी तोडी

Search | Glossary | Tags

• Hindustani Raga Index •

Context | Melodics | Classifiers | Listenings | More

Aroha: dSrgPdS

Avroh: rndmgr, grndS

---

Chalan: e.g. SrgP; PdP; Pdndmgr; rgrS; Srnd; dSrgrnd; gPdmgr; grn; dS (Tanarang)

–Kiranpal Singh (2006)–

---

“Jahangir’s court was perhaps even more opulent and ostentatious than Akbar’s had been. As he too was a great patron of the arts (being himself skilled at painting), music continued to flourish. One of the principal musicians of his court was Bilas Khan, son of Tansen…” (Jairazbhoy)

---

—Context—

Origins, myths, quirks, & more…

---

Bilaskhani Todi has, for several centuries, been inseparable from its idiosyncratic origin myth. The name directly references this auspicious tale – Bilas Khan, son of Tansen, the great musicologist and composer of Akbar’s royal court – is said to have first sung it at his father’s funeral wake, held in the late 16th century and attended by the Emperor himself.

 

Inevitably, the details of the story vary depending on whom you ask. To collate a few common tellings: Bilas stepped forth from the hushed crowd of mourners, standing alone by the sarcophagus. Closing his eyes, he drew a slow breath, and began to sing Todi – a famous creation of his father’s – but found himself so grief-stricken that he mixed up the notes, coming out with a different melody by mistake.

 

At first he was mortified – such public incompetence, and on such an occasion too! Had he inherited nothing from the man they had gathered to honour – one of the Navarasa (‘nine jewels’) of Akbar’s Empire? However, on opening his eyes, Bilas mind was set to rest – as he and the gathered mourners witnessed Tansen’s corpse slowly raise up his right hand, signifying his approval of the new melody. This brief wave was to be the great guru’s final action in this earthly realm.

 

(Abu’l-Fazl gifts Akbar the Akbarnama)

 

Further details are often included, variously fleshing out Bilas’ backstory. Some add a satisfyingly redemptive arc, recounting that Bilas had long been a disappointment to his famous father, who compared his talents unfavourably to those of his elder brothers – even disowning him for his inability to represent the essences of the family craft (or alternatively, because he had become a Sufi). Again, evidence is elusive.

 

In these tellings, the younger man’s dramatic graveside performance helped to unravel decades of darkness and personal shame, allowing him to prove his worth to the great patriarch, who finally heralded his accomplishments in the very last moments they shared together in this world (…in raga mythology, the sudden apparition of the living dead can be a reassuring, heartwarming narrative turn).

 

Some variants take a different tack, crediting Bilas with more deliberate modes of creative accomplishment. According to some, Tansen had not named a successor by the time of his death, instead issuing a challenge: the next Khalifa (leader) would be ‘whichever of his sons could blend the movements of Todi with the swaras of Bhairavi‘, creating a new hybrid raga that was distinct from both its parents.

 

Bilas, long unfavoured by the critics, beat the odds, becoming the first to solve the puzzle. However, his breakthrough moments were soon followed by the arrival of a horseman from Gwalior, bearing news of his father’s sudden death. Heartbroken, he unveiled his creation at the wake anyway – never expecting to receive the acclaim of the dead as well as the living. Or, that of nature itself: some say he scorched the graveside earth with the swooping passion of his lamentations, calling on elemental forces to pay their respects to his father (himself fabled to have summoned fire with Deepak and rain with Megh).

 

---

—Pandit Jasraj (1971)—

(Bandish: Shri Kameshwari / Ja Ja Re Kagva)

---

 

In his superb essay A Requiem for Miya Tansen, sitarist-scholar Deepak Raja persuasively argues that the foundations of all such tales are highly fanciful. For one thing, the ‘Bhairavi’ of Tansen’s time actually took the swaras of today’s Kafi, rendering the supposed raga combinations described above largely meaningless. Todi’s lineage is also unclear: Raja speculates that Bilas “may have revived the Carnatic Hanumatodi for the occasion” (a prakriti South Indian scale) – but considers direct evidence for all such tales to be scant. Reconstructing the past conventions of any aural tradition is always a painstaking business, often composed more of educated guesswork than clear historical record: until the recording era, music really was lost to the wind.

 

Naturally, nobody considers the precise history to be the main point here. These stories are crafted to be evocative and illustrative, commemorating the passing of a Hindustani hero while also hailing the supernatural powers of his music. What does it say about Tansen’s own Todi – the ‘king of ragas’ – if even a garbled performance of it can awaken the dead?

 

Bilas’ tale also offers solace on fundamentally human levels. In particular, it resonates with later-life musical strivers – a vast, global group, who often feel alienated by Hindustani music’s long-standing fascination with childhood virtuosity (a phenomenon only amplified by the rise of social media and dubiously-framed reality TV competitions). Stars from the distant past become luridly canonised too, with their human frailties going unchallenged, and their years of restless musical struggle replaced by supposed flashes of inspiration from on high. And, god knows, musical learning doesn’t work like this (even if you believe in divine inspiration, what are the artists up to the other 99% of the time?).

 

And, hard work that does feature is often just presented and (psychologically and emotionally speaking) praised ‘from the outside’. It is said that Benares tabla master Anokhelal Mishra would do little but sit and play, practicing so intensively that the marble floor of his music room eventually buckled under the cumulative rhythmic force – which, however physically unlikely, I absolutely love as an image. But – despite being a Mishra fan, who has sat playing tabla on the marble floor of my own guru-ji’s Benares home – his tale is still hard to relate to directly. Often, we see ‘proof’ of the dedication rather than the struggle behind it, which will always impress in contrast to our own lives and lazy practice routines (…it took a few weeks before I could even stay cross-legged for a full hour’s tabla lesson, and I could find no word on whether Mishra was ever worried about aggravating old rugby-related knee issues).

 

The most mundanely relatable elements of the factual narrative are often the first to fall away – a phenomenon which, for all its power to inspire, has also needlessly discouraged millions of aspiring musicians over the centuries. Then again, I have my biases here: if all the great performers were ‘chosen by God’, radiating divine musical blessings from birth, then what hope can there be for me: as a self-acknowledged mortal – and a distant, foreign one at that, who first took up Indian music in earnest at the ripe old age of 17? (As far as I can tell, few Vedic prophecies relate to my birthplace of Somerset, England…).

 

But if Bilas can overcome his own setbacks in such dramatic style, then why can’t others? Most of us can relate much more to his winding tale – one of misapplied talent, family fallouts, and hopes of future redemption – than to the (supposedly) straight, steep, narrow paths of many other historical figures. Countless musicians dream of winning over their parents’ disapproval and ‘making it’ in a flash, and virtually every artist on earth seeks respite from looping thoughts of their own distractions and indisciplines, praying that they will make up for lost time and do their teachers proud. Damn, I know I do…

 

(Tansen triptych: historical paintings & 1986 postage stamp)

 

So for me, the dubious historical status of such myths doesn’t detract from their power. Far from it: colourful reimaginings like this often tell us far more about a raga’s essence than its ‘real’ origin story. Why else would the tales stay attached to the sounds through the centuries? Why would gurus bother repeating them if they served no pedagogic purpose?

 

Besides, ‘truth’ itself is a messy aspiration in the world of musical learning. While historians aim to bring the past closer to us through critical, sceptical assessment of the evidence, the musician seeks little but inspiration. So – surely the shape of the story is the only important thing here? How much creative difference does it make whether Bilas actually sung the raga or not…so long as you can picture him doing it? Does it really hinder your enjoyment if you don’t believe in the veracity of his tale?

 

These questions are definitely not rhetorical. Historical knowledge can indeed profoundly influence how we hear a raga: however, learning more will rarely subtract from the total magic. Taking a more diverse set of approaches will invariably reveal more of what we hope to absorb: ragas are complex cognitive intertwinings, combining melodic axioms with multiple modes of emotion and expression.

 

And in any case, uncovering the more factual truth tends to be far less important than what is catalysed by the broader process of questioning itself. I’ve certainly spent much longer mulling over what someone in Bilas’ situation might have been thinking as a result of researching the tale’s dubious provenance (…and if you’re still reading, I guess you have as well).

 

(Tansen celebrated through the centuries)

 

Of course, uncovering actual facts still matters. I may not mind so much whether Bilas actually performed the raga at Tansen’s tomb, as is said – or even if he composed it at all (…likely because I never had an internalised belief in the tale to lose). But nevertheless, it definitely does mean something to me to learn that he was a genuine historical figure.

 

There really did exist a Bilas Khan, son of Tansen, who breathed the fresh Madhya Pradesh air, and strove for years to learn his father’s music – and who eventually came to be standing beside the patriarch’s casket too, shoulder-to-shoulder with diplomats, warlords, and mystics gathered from around the Mughal Empire. We’ll never know what raced through the man’s mind in those moments, or what he may have sung – if he sung at all. But he really stood there, flesh and bones, looking down at his father’s body for the last time.

 

Broader details of Bilas’ life are hazy, with several records stating that he was born in 1560, shortly before Tansen first entered Akbar’s service in Gwalior. Hindustani historians now deem him, via his son-in-law Gunasamudra (‘Ocean of Limitless Virtue’), as a fountainhead of the Senia rabab gharana, an influential forerunner of the modern sarod style. But again, reliable primary sources on Bilas’ life are rare.

 

Tansen’s funeral – undoubtedly a real event – is recorded by Hindu historians as having taken place in 1589. This means Bilas would have been 29 at the time: my exact age at this moment of writing. So much for cold, unemotive historical inquiry diluting the magic of the myth…

 

(Tomb of Miyan Tansen in Gwalior)

 

Whatever may have transpired at Tansen’s tomb on that fateful day, the tale of Bilas is firmly established in Hindustani lore. In fact, the raga’s identity has likely relied on it to survive – Bhairavi (the ‘Queen of Ragas’), which shares the same SrgmPdnS swara set, has long been renowned for its wide melodic flexibility and ability to wander through many different colours and emotions. If Bilaskhani Todi didn’t seek to evoke such a specific scene, its unique melodic territory may well have been ‘swallowed up’ by its more famous cousin (aside from the ‘komal re‘ species of Asavari, Bilaskhani Todi is Bhairavi’s only prominent prakriti…).

 

So, while the real Bilas may not have reanimated Tansen’s corpse, the enduring power of the myth has ensured his own musical immortality. The tale may also have protected the raga itself from death and dissolution, warding off Bhairavi’s intrusions by providing a concise, consistent emotional ‘snapshot’ – while serving to commemorate Tansen’s great legacy, bringing the tombside scene to life in the minds of millions. The sound and the myth have long been inseparable, making every modern performance a celebration of both men.

 

Bilaskhani Todi’s real origin – of which little is known – probably had no link to the real Bilas Khan. But it nevertheless seems fitting that at his death, he would be laid to rest just a few metres from the site of the raga’s fabled inception, in the same Gwalior mausoleum as his father – as if crystallising the graveside scene for eternity. (It is not known whether his own children sang anything at the wake…or, if they did, whether his corpse had any parting musical directions for them.)

 

I wonder what Bilas might feel on hearing his mysteriously eponymous raga as it is today: created by unspecified others, then developed – including by thousands of his descendants – and now frozen in time thousands of times over, via the mysterious vibratory appetites of a ‘microphone’? And how would he feel about the visiting crowds standing just a few metres above his casket…passing by for over 400 years to venerate him for a creation that wasn’t his? We can never know – but there are definitely worse ways to stumble upon your own corner of immortality. Whatever Bilas actually sounded like, his tale has inspired me. Long live these myths.

 

---

—Abhisek Lahiri (2015)—

(aged 30 at the time of recording)

---

—Phraseologies—

Melodies, movements, characteristics…

---

According to the raga’s main origin tale, Bilas Khan jumbled the swaras of Todi in sorrow at his father’s recent passing. Taken on these mythic terms, the waves of grief somehow inspired his mind to ‘lower’ Todi’s Ma and Ni swaras (SrgMPdNS > SrgmPdnS), perhaps portending the corpse’s descent into the waiting grave. However, as discussed, the real history is far less clear, with these tales primarily crafted for explanatory value. In this manner, Tansen’s challenge (‘who can sing Todi with the swaras of Bhairavi?’) was likely dreamed up much later as a concise outline of the raga’s existing melodic form.

 

As a Todi-ang raga, Bilaskhani Todi takes a Todi-ang tuning – of which there are several variants. Typically, the re, ga, & dha sruti are rendered ‘ati komal’, and tivra Ma (absent in Bilaskhani Todi) is often raised higher (‘ati tivra’). The raga’s audav SrgPdS aroha matches the swara set of Bhupali Todi, offering overlap during upward motions…

 

---

[MORE SOON: click here to hasten the project’s expansion, so all 365+ raga pages can eventually look more like these]

---

—Moumita Mitra (2020)—

---

“If we go by grammar, ma is only used in descent [e.g. ndmrgm] – but it can feature in ascent as rgm. I don’t rest on Pa when descending, but many others have done this…Usually, ni is used as [rndm; grgPdndm], and we don’t usually go from ni to Sa [e.g. Pdnd; rgPdnd; rndm], except as [SrnSrg]…We have sapat taans of [SrgPdS; rndmgrS] & [SrgPdS, rgrndmgrS]…The tanpura shouldn’t overshadow your voice…”

---

—Listen—

A brief selection of superb renditions

---

–Bahauddin Dagar (2019)–

• Dagarvani rudra veena (11m): An solo lakeside rendition, captured with space-responsive ‘ambisonic’ microphones as part of Darbar‘s VR360 project (from my writeup: “Far from being some technoid attempt to digitise such inherently acoustic music, we see virtual reality as a way of bringing listeners closer to the art form’s roots in the natural world…”):

---

[alap, e.g. 0:24] Snd(ndnd), d/S, n/S(rSrSn), n(rSrnrSrg), r, r(Sr)S; n/S(rgr), d/n, d(nd), d(Pm), g(m) g(mgm), r(mgmgr), r/m d, mg P(dPd), m\g r, Sr, d/r(SrS)…

---

–Amjad Ali Khan (2004)–

• Senia-Bangash sarod (14m): A superbly restrained shortform rendition from the sarod legend, which mines the vital re–ga space with a range of subtle ornaments (also see the similarly funerary Amiri Todi: created by Amjad in response to the untimely 1974 passing of Amir Khan, via fusing Bilaskhani Todi with Shahana: “My love and reverence for Khansaheb does not only stem from his music, but from his truly kind and humble nature…When he died, it [was] if the light had gone out…Amiri Todi developed in my mind during that period of intense grief”. Compare to Amir Khan’s Bilaskhani Todi rendition):

---

[gat, e.g. 3:56] r(S)nSr g, g\r, (r)g (S)rrS, PdSr(g) r/g, g(rgr), g(Pm) m g(rg), g(r), r(S)nSr r/g, g\r, n\d, rrS, r(S)nSr g…

---

–Further Recordings–

• Kamalesh Maitra (12m): the tabla tarang‘s muted resonances are an ideal match for the raga’s sombre flavours
• Bismillah Khan (20m): blends a rnSrg pakad with Pa-skipping upward motions (mdnS), supported by double-drums
• Pandit Jasraj (22m): the Mewati vocal master explores a stellar pair of bandish (Shri Kameshwari & Ja Ja Re Kagva)
• Zia Mohiuddin Dagar (23m): an unaccompanied Dhrupad baithak, showcasing the rudra veena‘s ultra-long sustain
• Vilayat Khan & Munir Khan (28m): a sitar–sarangi jugalbandi, adding melodic interplay to a typically lonesome raga
• Shahid Parvez (30m): a patient performance which showcases the Imdadkhani master’s signature ‘taraf-plucking’ techniques
• Girija Devi (33m): filmed at a Benares Utsav in the early 2000s, juxtaposed with a tappa in Bhairavi immediately afterwards
• Vilayat Khan (33m): a solo surbahar take, with notably fewer of Khan’s characteristically ‘vocalistic‘ ornament patterns
• Kishori Amonkar (45m): from a 1977 Mumbai show (“enriched with skilled beautification, with her quest for bhava…”)
• Nikhil Banerjee (50m): full of mandra resonance, with the alap–jor–jhalla taking up over 90% of the total length

• Classifiers •

Explore hidden inter-raga connections: swara geometries, melodic features, murchana sets, ragangas, & more (also see the Full Tag List):

---

Swaras: -4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10+

Sapta: Audav | Shadav | Sampurna

Poorvang: SRGM | SRG | SRM | SGM

Uttarang: PDNS | PDS | PNS | DNS

Varjit: Re | Ga | Ma | Pa | Dha | Ni

Double: rR | gG | mM | dD | nN

Thaat: 10 | 32 | Enclosed | Inexact

Chal: All-shuddha | All-komal | Ma-tivra

Gaps: Anh. | Hemi. | 3-row | 4-row | 5-row

Symmetries: Mirror | Rotation | Palindr.

---

Aroha: Audav | Shadav | Sampurna

Avroh: Audav | Shadav | Sampurna

Jati: Equal | Balanced | Av.+1 | Av.+2

Samay: Morning | Aftern. | Eve. | Night

Murchana: Bhup. | Bihag | Bilaw. | Charu.

Raganga: Bhairav | Malhar | Kan. | Todi

Construction: Jod | Mishra | Oddball

Origin: Ancient | Carnatic | Modern

Dominance: Poorvang | Uttarang

Prevalence: A-list | Prachalit | Aprach.

• Prakriti: Bhairavi thaat, Bhairavi, Asavari komal re, (Darjeeling)

–Proximate Forms–

Asavari = ‘Bilaskhani Todi shuddha Re‘

Ahiri = ‘Bilaskhani Todi shuddha Dha‘

Saheli Todi = ‘Bilaskhani Todi no ma‘

Gopika Basant = ‘Bilaskhani Todi no re‘

Basant Mukhari = ‘Bilaskh. shuddha Ga‘

(n.b. these are just ‘scalar similarities’, with nothing particular implied about phraseological overlap)

–Swara Geometries–

---

• Core form: S–r–g–m–P–d–n–S

• Reverse: SRGmPDNS (=Bilawal)

• Negative: 3-2-2-3-2 (e.g. Dhani)

• Imperfect: 1 (Pa)

• Detached: none

• Symmetries: mirror (G—n)

• Murchanas: Bilawal set

---

• Quirks: ‘maximal‘ (swaras are optimally ‘spread out’) • ‘Pa-repeating‘ (poorvang and uttarang take the same ‘semitone shape’)

---

–Global Translations–

---

• Carnatic: ~Punnagavarali

S-R₁-G₂-M₁-P-D₁-N₂-S

• Jazz: Phrygian

1-b2-b3-4-5-b6-b7-8

• Pitch classes (‘fret-jumps’):

0-1-3-5-7-8-10-0

(1–2–2–2–1–2–2)

---

o o • o • o • o o • o • o

---

–Around the World–

Since you can find global occurrences of Bilaskhani Todi’s basic scale on my page for the prakriti Bhairavi, why not take the chance to sample other funerary forms from around the world? For example…

 

• Jeff Buckley’s 1991 set at St. Ann’s Church: from a memorial concert for his famous father Tim Buckley, opening with an impassioned cover of I Never Asked To Be Your Mountain, written by his father in reference to his absence from Jeff’s life (“Flying Pisces sails for time, and tells me of my child; Wrapped in bitter tales and heartache, He begs for just a smile…”) – with Jeff adding an extra verse to reflect his own sentiments on living (“Lay me not in lands of men, to spread ash along the way…”). Still just a session guitarist, this was Jeff’s public singing debut: although within a few short years, he would already be hailed as among the greatest vocalists of his era – and, after only a few more, he too would be dead…

 

• Drums of Death: Field Recordings in Ghana: for me, one of the most astonishing ‘pure percussion’ albums ever recorded, showcasing a range of Ewe and Ashanti funeral rhythms (below). Funeral drumming is a distinctive facet of Ewe culture: witness the call-and-response of the Wa people, the intense lamentations of the Agbadza style, and the massed procession wake of Chief Osabarima Dotobibi Takyia Ameyaw II.

 

---

—Drums of Death (Ghana)—

(Ashanti & Ewe peoples, 1997)

---

What, in the end, is Ewe polyrhythm really all about? In Ladzekpo’s words, “the main scheme [4-layer] is symbolic of your own purpose in life, and the way you’re supposed to be strong, and dynamic…nothing can push it away…The other beats [6-layer]…represent obstacles”. In other words, Ewe drummers see the bifurcated nature of polyrhythm as a representation of the human condition: “When we’re growing up, one of the things we learn very quickly is to how to be able to manage stress, by crashing beats against each other…Hopefully, if you get used to managing these tensions…you will manage in life too…It’s a good exercise for the mind, and makes great music!” (from my West African Rhythm article)

---

 

• For a further scattering of funerary traditions, explore the Maori memorial haka (“The entire school performs during the arrival of Mr. Tamatea in the hearse: ‘We stand steadfast within our domain, firm, proud, with respect, to uphold, to uplift’…”), the New Orleans jazz funeral (a heady brass-band blend of Yoruba worship ritual, French colonial custom, African-American Protestantism, Native Mardi Gras spirituality, and Haitian vodou conceptions around energetically celebrating the dead), and Irish keening (as per an 1833 article, “The chief bard sings the first stanza in a low doleful tone, softly accompanied by a harp…then begins the lamentation, united in the full chorus…The genealogy, rank, possessions, virtues, and vices of the dead are rehearsed, and interrogations are addressed to them, such as ‘Why did you die?’…”) – as well as classical compositions including Mozart’s 1791 Requiem in Dm (left incomplete due to his own death) and Chopin’s 1839 Funeral March (Sonata #2 in Bb Minor, Mov. 3: played at Chopin’s own funeral, and countless more since…).

 

• And for a more recent instance of musical myth-making, see An Incomplete History of the Art of the Funerary Violin: a bizarre 2006 book by Rohan Kriwaczek, perhaps the most impressively dedicated musicological ‘hoax’ I’ve ever encountered (“The publisher said they didn’t know whether the book was fiction, but stood by it because it was ‘a work of extraordinary nature. I have never read anything quite like it. It’s absolutely brilliant’. He added that Kriwaczek had been paid only £1,000, and was not in it for commercial success…Kriwaczek, whose publicity photograph shows him wearing a bowler hat and standing in a cemetery, said that to ask whether his work was a hoax was to ‘misunderstand the intentions’…”).

• Tanpura: Sa–Pa (+dha)

• Names: Bilaskhani Todi, Bilas Khani Todi

• Transliterations: Hindi (बिलासखानी तोडी); Kannada (ಬಿಲಾಸ್ಖಾನಿ ತೋಡಿ)

—More—

Further info: links, listenings, learnings, etc

---

• Raag Bilaskhani Todi: For more on the raga itself, start with Deepak Raja‘s excellent essay A Requiem for Miya Tansen (“According to legend, by the evidence of interchangeable nomenclatures, and by the identity of swara material, Bhairavi and Bilaskhani Todi are siblings. However, they are as distinct from each other as cheese is from soap. Bilaskhani is a raga of pain, poignancy, and pathos, while Bhairavi can range from the devotional to the romantic…”).
• Emperor Akbar: Learn more about the life of Abu’l-Fath Jalaluddin Muhammad, better known as Akbar the Great (“Reigning from 1556-1605, he extended Mughal power over most of the Subcontinent…Although he never renounced Islam, he took an active interest in other religions, persuading Hindus, Parsis, and Christians to engage in religious discussions before him. Illiterate himself, he encouraged scholars, poets, painters, and musicians, making his court a centre of culture…”). Also read a famous fable of Akbar and Tansen meeting Swami Haridas, featuring another vocal mistake – this time by Tansen himself, in a cunning attempt to prompt his guru to sing in the Emperor’s presence (“Akbar, disguised as a holy man, went with Tansen to Brindavan. When Tansen sang to Haridas, he made a mistake, hoping the Swami would correct him. Haridas then sang, to demonstrate the right style, fulfilling Akbar’s wish. When Akbar asked why Tansen could not sing as beautifully as Haridas, Tansen’s reply was: ‘Your Majesty, I sing in the court of a mighty ruler; while my teacher sings in the court of God’…”).

---

• Header audio: Gat in madhya rupak by Senia-Bangash sarodiya Amjad Ali Khan (1990)
• Header image: Tansen’s tomb at the Mausoleum of Muhammad Ghaus in Gwalior (Standage)

---