The Eighth Note of Octave

Pray, spare this man of a rare calibre, Fine, let him prove how good he’s as singer. Soon as Malhar was sung, rain cooled the breeze, Leaves perked up to listen from nearby trees, Beats of Mridang on own began to play, Soon as Jal-Tarang joined musical fray, Birds of feathers flocked in droves to listen, The music silenced stray rattling gun. Rain clouds curtailed their craving to thunder, The moist soil released its fragrant wonder, While rain cooled Nature was content to smile, Silent so far, the birds now sang in style, King Humayun’s mood turned from red to green, With a reluctant smile that seemed nigh mean, He set free seven thousand men he’d caught— One thousand for octave’s each of the note. Then ordered: in eighth note sing something new, None present therein had any a clue, Till today the music fraternity Mused, and will till end of eternity…. The Eighth Note, can it be profound silence Between melodies—music’s soul at once? The Naad-Brahma, its echo eternal, Sought by seekers from time immemorial! ____________________________________ Musings |12.06.2023| silence, music Poet’s note: The background: In 1611 AD a Moghul courtier called Sikander Bin Mohamad wrote a historical account, Mirat-e- Sikanderi. The episode of this poem pertains to emperor Humayun’s battle of Mandu where he defeated Gujarat’s sultan Bahaddur Shah. He butchered many soldiers along with other people of that kingdom. When it came to one called Mia Manzu, the court musician of some repute, many pleaded to spare him, he being a good musician. Humayun asked him to sing and prove his prowess. The poem begins from there.