The princes of qawali

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When there was no earth, neither was there any sky above, there was only You!" sang the Qutubi brothers, Idris and Ilyas at the dargah of Qutubuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki, the sufi saint of Mehrauli.

Amongst the party were three little boys, almost identical in white kurtas, lending their thin voices to the rich timbre of the older qawals' voices. When some devotees asked the little boys to sing separately, they confidently obliged, much to everyone's pleasure, with a sufi favourite.

"They're very talented," I commented to Mohammad Idris, "are they getting formal training in qawali?" He laughed, replying, "aji sahib, have you heard of anyone trying to teach baby fish how to swim? Two are my brother's children and one is mine "" qawali is in their blood!"

The three boys, Arshad Hussain aged seven years, Danial Hussain also seven, and Adnan Hussain, age six, are the inheritors of the 750-year-old tradition of singing the poetry of great sufis like Baba Fareed, Qutub Sahib, Moinuddin Chisti and Hazrat Nizamuddin.

Amongst the Chistis, the qawal is given the status of imam, for he sings the words of the pir, saint. "Through qawali, Chistis commune with God. It is not something that can be easily learnt. One has to grow up in it," said Idris.

So qawali rules the children's lives. They practice every morning and also learn Urdu to improve their pronunciation. The Qutubi brothers take the three children for all their concerts so that they learn the art of performing for an audience.

The result is that Arshad, Danial and Adnan not only sing an impressive range of qawalis, they also play the harmonium and tabla. They love modern qawalis, and sang this one for me "" "The person I get up at night to weep for, sleeps soundly in her bed!" Obviously too young to understand the nuances of the poetry, the youngest one tried to mimic the emotions he was singing about, much to everybody's amusement.

Their great grandmother and mother looked on indulgently, smiling when one of them got specially carried away. But they also never missed a chance to check them when they fidgeted like only boys this age can, or lost the beat while clapping.

"We recently took the three of them for a performance at the Australian High Commission," recounted Idris, "the audience there so appreciated their efforts, that the high commissioner very kindly gave them gifts!" Arshad, Danial and Adnan proudly showed me the boomerangs they'd received.

"We want to become qawals like our fathers when we grow up," they told me, innocently intoxicated with their little success. Idris beamed happily when he heard the children's future plans, and suddenly became serious.

"A qawal's life is tough," said he, "the government gives us no aid, and unless you're at the top, singing qawali doesn't earn good money. By Allah's grace, we're reasonably well known and sought after for private concerts and cultural shows. Without this, things would've been much tougher."

Idris believes that the qawals have been overlooked, while other classical and folk artistes have flourished with government aid. "The entire tradition of qawali is dying because of the government's apathy," Idris said. That is why he and his brother are taking pains to ensure that their sons get a proper education so that they have a fallback option.

In the meantime, the three boys merrily discussed their favourite cartoon on Cartoon Network, wolfing down biscuits by the dozen. It was probably just as well they were so blissfully ignorant that an ancient cultural tradition on the verge of extinction, was resting on their small, seven-year-old shoulders.