Envision a rustic yet effervescent village square or a stage at a zamindar’s palace, if you may, pulsating with the rhythmic caress of a dotara’s strings. Two protagonists occupy the central stage, their mellifluous voices intertwining to weave stories of amour, bereavement and trenchant social commentary. This is Kabi Gaan, an engrossing Bengali music-art form where the lyrical prowess of a bard merges seamlessly with the captivating power of performance and competition serves as the ardent forge that tempers creativity.

Far more than a mere musical pursuit, Kabi Gaan boasts an illustrious heritage, its roots firmly embedded in the fertile soil of 18th century-Bengal’s rural landscape. Often designated as Kabir Larai (which translates to poets’ fight), it exemplifies a verbal duel (revolving around Mahara, Chiten, Antara and Parchiten) between two Kabiyals (poets) who engage in an exchange of self-composed verses, each meticulously crafted and imbued with profound meaning. The themes addressed in these verses encompass the vast and intricate spectrum of human experience such as, profound philosophical inquiries, poignant expressions of love and loss and witty critiques of the prevailing social order. The ultimate objective? Not only to enthral the discerning audience with their lyrical dexterity, but to emerge victorious through the sheer brilliance of their wordplay and the profound depth of their verses.

A melodious melee

In its nascent stages, Kabi Gaan arguably lacked the artistic sophistication to be considered a noble and worthy musical form. However, it soon evolved to incorporate classical ragas and taals, enchanting a new generation of middle-class aficionados. This refined iteration was christened Danrakabi, alluding to the peculiar stance adopted by performers while rendering their songs.

Kabi Gaan comprised various genres, including Vijaya (victory), Sakhi-Sangbad (narratives of friendship or the confidante’s message), Agamani (arrival), Viraha (lamentation or bereavement), Kheur (scurrilous songs) and Lahar (spontaneous improvisation contests).

One of the unassuming pioneers of Kabigaan was Raghunath Das. His protégé, Harekrishna Dirghangi (better known as Horu Thakur), rose to prominence in the art form, dazzling audiences with his exceptional talent. Such was his brilliance that he was appointed as the court poet of the prestigious Shobhabazar Rajbari. Horu Thakur’s legacy lies in his masterful composition of impromptu, satirical ballads centred on social and religious themes, captivating the masses of his time.

In conversation with The Statesman, distinguished singer Srikumar Chattopadhyay [in pic] shared a fascinating anecdote involving Horu Thakur. “During that era, Raja Naba Krishna Deb Bahadur of Shobhabazar Rajbari appointed Horu Thakur as his court poet,” he recounted. “This decision stirred envy among other poets in the city, prompting them to question the Raja’s choice. They challenged, ‘If Horu Thakur can decipher the meaning of the following question, we will acquiesce to your decision and acknowledge his superiority – Bonrshi bidheche jeno chaand-e (meaning, like a spear to the moon).’ The perplexed Raja found himself at a loss. Summoning Horu Thakur, who happened to be bathing at the time, he hastily brought him to the darbaar and posed the question. Upon hearing it, Horu Thakur burst into laughter, remarking, ‘Is this the reason you’ve summoned me here?’ He went on to answer as:

Ekdin Sri Hari mrittika bhokkhon kori,
dhulaye lutaye pore kaande
Onguli heloye rani, mritthika anilo taani,
Bonrshi bidheche jeno chaand-e
(One day, Sri Hari tasted earth’s mud, In dust he lay, weeping, a flood. His mother approached, fingers on cue, Extracting mud, like a spear through the moon’s hue.)

The tale narrated an incident involving Lord Krishna and his mother Yashoda, who, in an attempt to curb his penchant for pilfering butter, had tied him up. However, she later discovered him wallowing in the mud, indulging in its consumption. After cleansing him, she delicately extracted the mud from his mouth using her fingers, likened to a spear, while Krishna’s mouth was likened to the moon in the analogy. It was at that moment when the other poets bestowed honour upon Horu Thakur and acknowledged him as the court poet,” Chattopadhyay added.

Another significant figure was Bhola Moira, a disciple of Horu Thakur whose name became synonymous with Kabi Gaan. Born as Bholanath Nayak in Guptipara, Hooghly, into a family of sweetmeat makers, he gained fame as Bhola Moira due to his association with his father’s sweet shop in Kolkata. Under the guidance of Horu Thakur, he formed his own group and performed independently in Kolkata and nearby areas. Known for his engaging performances, Bhola Moira participated in poetical competitions alongside renowned figures like Balai Sarker and Jajneshwar Dhopa. While he composed many songs himself, he also collaborated with other composer-singers like Gadadhar Mukhopadhyay and Thakurdas Chakraborty.

Realising the importance of popular entertainment, Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar complimented Bhola Moira and said, “To awaken the society of Bengal, it is necessary to have orators like Ramgopal Ghosh, amusing men like Hutom Pyancha and folk singers like Bhola Moira.”

Hensman Anthony (popularly known as Anthony Firingee), a man of Portuguese descent, also excelled in this art form, drawn to its extemporaneous nature. He diligently learned Bengali to further hone his wit and compete effectively. Uttam Kumar portrayed the character of Anthony in the notable Bengali film Anthony Firingee, while Prosenjit Chatterjee assumed the same role in Jaatishwar.

Other prominent composers of Kabi Gaan included Rasu, Nrisimha, Nilu Thakur, Yajneshwari, Nityananda Bairagi, Satu Roy, Nilmani Patni, Gorakshanath and Krishnamohan Bhattacharya.

“Ram Basu introduced intelligent poetic ripostes into Kabigaan. His poignant portrayals of separation earned him the epithet of ‘The King of Languishment’”, shared Srikumar Chatterjee. In his book, Literary Music from Jaidev to Gurudev, Chattopadhyay cites an example of Ram Basu’s song, which was translated into English by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay.

Eke amar joubankal tahe kaal basanto elo
E shamay pranonath prabase gelo.
Jokhon hasi hasi se asi bale, se hasi dekhiye bhasi nayanero jale,
Tare pari ki chhere dite mon chae dhorite,
Lajja bole chhi chhi dhorona.

(It is the spring of the year, And it is the spring of my life, And the lord of my life Has left me for a distant land, He came to me with a smile and told me he would go I saw that smile and that smile filled my eyes with tears, I could not let him go, My heart would have made him stay but shame said ‘Fie, do not, do not keep him back’.)

However, the success of Kabi Gaan hinged on the availability of two exceptionally gifted artists – literary and musical equals capable of crafting witty extemporaneous repartee. This stringent requirement, coupled with the relentless passage of time, has significantly diminished the practice of Kabi Gaan. Nevertheless, it survives in pockets of rural Bengal, a testament to its enduring allure.

“The decline of Kabi Gaan can also be attributed to the emergence of Kheur, a cruder, more raunchy form that deviated from the refined tastes associated with earlier iterations. Kheur’s popularity undoubtedly contributed to the gradual dwindling of Kabi Gaan’s presence in the Bengali cultural landscape,” sighs Srikumar Chattopadhyay.