CULTURAL NOTES: A Valley Forgets its Song The Slow Death of Sufiyana Mousiqi

The room is quiet, but not silent. A single thread of sound — delicate, aching — spills from the santoor, curling into the corners like incense smoke. In the soft glow of afternoon light, surrounded by sepia-toned portraits and timeworn instruments, Ustad Muhammad Yaqoob Sheikh leans into his music as if in prayer. This is not performance. This is invocation.

“Sufiyana music isn’t just a genre,” he tells Greater Kashmir’s Bethak programme, his tone measured, reverent. “It is a way of life — a bridge between the human and the divine.”

Welcome to the world of Sufiyana Mousiqi, Kashmir’s most hauntingly beautiful classical tradition — where each note is a whisper to the heavens, and each silence, a sacred pause. Once the lifeblood of Mehfils, royal durbars and sufi shrines, this centuries-old musical form carries the lyrical wisdom of Rumi, Khusro, Hafiz, and Khayyam — poets who wrote not for applause, but for awakening.

For centuries, Sufiyana Mousiqi — the classical music tradition of Kashmir — has been the valley’s most mystical art form. Rooted in the Persian maqam system, this deeply spiritual music was once the pride of royal courts and Sufi gatherings. Its lyrics, drawn from the works of poets like Rumi, Hafiz, Omar Khayyam, and Amir Khusro, evoke surrender, love, and divine unity. But today, the soulful cadences of Sufiyana are slowly fading from the Kashmiri soundscape. Only a few gharanas — traditional families of musicians — continue to keep the tradition alive. Among them, Ustad Yaqoob Sheikh stands as one of the last torchbearers.

“We perform this music only when light fades and dusk approaches,” Sheikh says softly, his eyes fixed on the strings of his santoor. “It is in those moments — between day and night — that the divine feels closest.”

A maestro of rare repute, Sheikh has mastered nearly 10 melodic modes across Persian, Urdu, Punjabi, and Kashmiri — a feat that places him among the finest living exponents of the form. Yet, his art now exists on the margins of a rapidly modernizing culture. Across the valley, the number of traditional Sufiyana practitioners has dwindled drastically. The few who remain are often caught between reverence and survival. Performances are rare, institutional support minimal, and audiences increasingly distracted by contemporary music and digital trends.

“We have been struggling to keep this traditional music alive,” he says. “While as the modern trends are daunting us to.” Shiekh’s young student Umar Farooq says, “Modern sounds are louder. But Sufiyana is our identity. Even if few of us remain, we will continue — because silence would be a greater loss.”

Cultural historians agree that the decline of Sufiyana Mousiqi represents more than the disappearance of an art form — it signals the erosion of an entire spiritual philosophy that once defined Kashmiri culture.

“If Sufiyana dies, a piece of Kashmir’s soul goes with it,” says a local music scholar. “It embodies centuries of mysticism, poetry, and devotion. These gharanas are not just musicians — they are living archives of history.”

Yet amid the uncertainty, there are glimmers of hope. A few young disciples, drawn by curiosity and reverence, have begun learning from the old masters. Their voices, though few, echo with quiet determination.

At a recent mehfil in Srinagar, under the soft glow of oil lamps, Ustad Yaqoob and his students performed before a small but spellbound audience. The air shimmered with the delicate interplay of santoor, saaz, and tabla — a rare moment of continuity in a fading tradition. When the final note lingered and dissolved into silence, Sheikh smiled faintly. “As long as one hand can play,” he said, “Sufiyana will not die.”

In those words lies both a lament and a promise — that the divine music of Kashmir, though fragile, still breathes through those who refuse to let it fade.

Would you like me to adapt this into a narration script version to match your short documentary “Sufiyana – The Last Notes of Mousiqi”, keeping the same tone but structured for voice-over and visuals?

Ustad Shikeh Muhammad Yaqoob of Qaleenbaaft gharana also expressed concern at what he described as government “faulty policies” and “step-motherly” treatment toward the preservation and promotion of Sufiyana music genre in Jammu and Kashmir.

“A lot of lip service is done. Nothing comes out concrete, There is no relief to us, not this genre of music (Sufiyana music)” award-winning Sufiyana singer Sheikh Yaqoob, says.

“We have seen administrators in various art-centric forums and departments who don’t understand art and don’t have a vision for taking it ahead with the same passion. They don’t understand the nitty-gritty of art and culture. This really impacts the overall lifespan of any genre” he said, adding “Also, times have changed, and music is an evolving process. Youngsters aren’t much into literature. Classical forums of any art are facing tough times. In this situation, it was a responsibility of the visionary government functionaries who would have come forward and saved these genres during difficult times.”.

Shiekh further said that during major promotional events happening in Kashmir, authorities don’t prefer to include Sufiyanamusic in their itinerary.

“Authorities have adopted an indifferent approach towards Sufiyana Mausiqi. This is a rich musical genre that has been part of Kashmir’s musical legacy for centuries now. However, a handful of artists are left now who have been aiming to preserve this genre of music at their personal level,” he said, adding “Preserving Sufiyana needs a holistic policy paperwork, deliberations with the stakeholders, artists and also promotional stunt and concerts at the government level.”

Pertinently, Sufiyana music is a centuries-old traditional form of music in which musicians (Sazandar) sing the song and at the same time play an instrument. The musical instruments used in this genre include Saz-e-Kashmir, Sehtaar, Santoor and Tabla.

“The tradition of this music is day by day vanishing with the death of Ustads and no patronage from the government side,” Shiekh said. “

Only a few families in Kashmir currently practice this musical genre, whereas the maestros like Ustad Ghulam Muhammed Qaleenbaaf, Ustad Ghulam Muhammed Saaznawaz and Ustad Abdul Ghani Ganaie (Namtahali) contributed to impart to their family members and were/are practising artists.

The maestros inherited from their forefathers – the elite class of masters like Ramzan Joo, Sidh Joo, Abdullah Shah, Muhammed Abdullah Tibetbaqal and Qaleenbaaft– the art of Sufiana Mousiqee and devoted their lives to the art which unfortunately is dying due to public insensitivity.

“Not only this classical Kashmiri music (Sufiyana) genre but I think all the forms of music in Kashmir are on the verge of death—the reason being government apathy and our insensitivity toward the art and artists,” Valley’s popular vocalist and music composer, Waheed Jeelani said.

“Due to the lack of a state cultural policy, the government doesn’t have any plans to revive, promote or preserve the contribution of our legendary Sufiyana or the artists,” Jeelani said.

He also blames what he calls some of the highly “influenced authors and poets” who take money from the government or New Delhi in the name of “culture” and spend on their own activities known to them.

Under the reign of Sultan Zain ul Abidin (1420 1470), known locally as Budshah, this musical form began to flourish in what is today the Kashmir Valley. It blended indigenous Kashmiri elements with Central Asian and Persian influences, giving birth to a style at once local and cosmopolitan.

Imagine wooden havelis on the shores of Dal Lake, shikaras gliding past and the sound of santoor rippling across water. The shrines of saints resonated with hymns. The valley, once described as “Paradise on Earth”, had a soundtrack to match.

‘Notes on the brink’

Across the valley, however, the number of practitioners has dwindled drastically. The few who remain are often caught between reverence and survival. Performances are rare, institutional support minimal, and audiences increasingly distracted by contemporary music and digital trends.

One young student under Sheikh’s guidance says: “Modern sounds are louder. But Sufiana is our identity. Even if few of us remain, we will continue — because silence would be a greater loss.”

Cultural historians agree: the decline of Sufiana Mousiqi represents more than the disappearance of an artform — it signals the erosion of an entire spiritual philosophy that once defined Kashmiri culture. “If Sufiana dies, a piece of Kashmir’s soul goes with it,” says a local music scholar. “It embodies centuries of mysticism, poetry, and devotion. These gharanas are not just musicians — they are living archives of history.” The precarious statistics are telling: Today only three or so master musicians remain actively performing under Sufiana Mousiqi, and many of the maqams and talas of the past are lost forever.

Sufiyana Mousiqi, the classical Sufi music of Kashmir, once soared like a mystical wind through the high valleys and courtly halls of the region. Rooted in Persian musical traditions and enriched by centuries of spiritual poetry and local artistry, this genre is more than just music—it is a meditative journey, a form of devotion, a living history of the mystical soul of Kashmir.

But today, Sufiyana stands at a delicate crossroads. The dulcet strains of the santoor, the intricate rhythms of lost taals, and the poetic beauty of Persian ghazals and Kashmiri nazms are growing fainter, as if being drowned out by the noise of a fast-changing world. Why has this once-revered tradition, so deeply woven into the spiritual and cultural tapestry of Kashmir, come to teeter on the edge of extinction?

‘Loss of Patronage’

Sufiyana thrived under the generous wings of royal patronage. The sultans of Kashmir, the Mughal emperors, and later the Dogra rulers saw in it not just music, but a reflection of divine beauty and philosophical depth. The royal courts were its nurseries, offering institutional support and societal esteem to its practitioners. However, with the dissolution of princely states and the slow death of courtly culture post-independence, these support structures crumbled. The custodians of this tradition—often hereditary musicians—were left with little but fading memories and neglected instruments. “Art without sustenance is a fragile flame. As modern economies placed increasing value on marketable skills and steady incomes,” says another Sufiyana Music maestro, Shabir Ahmad Saznawaz. “Sufiyana struggled to justify itself in the lives of the young. With no regular venues, state support, or guaranteed livelihood, families who once proudly passed the tradition down now caution their children against pursuing it. “Why risk poverty for a dying art?” becomes the refrain. Without a viable future, Sufiyana has lost generations of potential disciples.”

‘When Tradition Isn’t Trendy’

In the age of digital playlists and global pop icons, Sufiyana, with its slow tempos and spiritual themes, struggles to find an audience. Bollywood, hip-hop, EDM, and global fusion dominate the ears of the youth, pushing Sufi classical forms into the shadows. The meditative, introspective essence of Sufiyana—once its greatest strength—now feels distant from the instant-gratification demands of contemporary music consumers.

Kashmir’s long years of political unrest, curfews, and militarization left deep scars on every facet of life, including its cultural traditions. The mehfils—those intimate musical gatherings so central to Sufiyana—were disrupted, discouraged, or disappeared altogether. Institutions that once preserved and taught the art closed their doors or shifted focus. Public spaces where the music once echoed became silent under the weight of fear and unrest.

Sufiyana’s poetic texts are often in Persian or in older Kashmiri dialects, which are increasingly alien to the younger generation. As Persian recedes from public consciousness and classical Kashmiri fades, the ability to truly feel the lyrics—a critical part of Sufi music—is lost. Without comprehension, the music’s spiritual resonance weakens, and what remains can seem obscure, archaic, or simply irrelevant.

Disappearing Instruments

Instruments like the saaz-e-Kashmir, once central to Sufiyana, are now nearly extinct. Specific rhythms (taals) and melodic modes (maqams) have fallen out of practice. Without these, the very architecture of the music collapses. As one academic poignantly notes, Sufiyana is “the classical Sufi ensemble music of the Kashmir region … currently on the brink of extinction.” The fading of Sufiyana is not just the loss of a musical genre—it is the erosion of a centuries-old spiritual dialogue, a mode of healing, a bridge between cultures and eras. It is a silent testimony to the richness of Kashmir’s syncretic heritage—where mysticism, poetry, and music met in sublime harmony. To lose Sufiyana is to lose a part of the soul of Kashmir.

The Revival Project 

Revival is possible, but it requires intentional, sustained efforts: The masters suggested that institutional support was vital. They said that music academies, cultural trusts, and universities must take up the cause. “Documentation and archiving is another important factor. Recording existing masters, styles, instruments, and lyrics, also the modern adaptation: Carefully blending Sufiyana with contemporary styles to make it accessible.” They said, “Offering scholarships, stipends, and professional pathways to students and reviving interest in Persian and classical Kashmiri through music education is another important factor,” he says.

In an era of speed and spectacle, Sufiyana reminds us of slowness, of reflection, of divinity. It asks not for applause, but for stillness. Perhaps that’s why it fades. But perhaps, too, in a world increasingly hungry for meaning, it can be reborn—not as a relic of the past, but as a refuge for the soul.

In one modest mehfil room, Ustad Sheikh sits amongst his students. One by one they take their place, santoor on lap, tabla beside, saaz e Kashmir ready. He begins a Shakal in Maqam “Rast” — the strings hum, the rhythm folds, the poetry surfaces. Eyes closed, the listeners lean back. After the prelude comes the Nasr: a short poem, the words hovering, then the first Bath verse unfolds.

At the end, there is silence — not a break, but a full stop. Then the audience exhales.

“As long as one hand can play,” Ustad Sheikh says quietly, “Sufiana will not die.” In those words lies both lament and promise.

Signs of revival

Yet amid the uncertainty, glimmers of hope exist.

One such is the all female ensemble from Bandipora district in the valley, called “Yemberzal” (named after the daffodil flower that blooms in spring) — led by young women determined to reclaim this heritage. Another hopeful sign: the inclusion of Sufiana Mousiqi study programs at the University of Kashmir’s Department of Music and Fine Arts. Though small in number, the students are serious. These are small circles, but they carry purpose. The values underpinning Sufiana — devotion, introspection, tradition, craft, community — still resonate. This music is not just aesthetic. It is cultural, spiritual, and historical. Through its chords runs:

Mystical heritage: The Sufi tradition emphasises the inward, the silent, the communal. Sufiana Mousiqi wasn’t just entertainment; it was a path to transcendence.

Musical hybridity: The valley sits at the confluence of Sub continental, Persian, Central Asian impulses. Sufiana Mousiqi is proof of Kashmir’s unique cultural synthesis.

Gharana lineages: These are not casual bands. They are families, lineages, teachers passing to pupils — the human chains of tradition.

Intangible cultural heritage: The tunes, the modes, the texts, the instruments — all form part of a living archive of Kashmir’s identity.

When one of its few remaining maestros laments “no relief to us… not this genre of music,” he is speaking of more than a failing art. He is speaking of a community’s soul.

“Preservation requires more than goodwill,” academic and music composer, Prof Muzafar Ahmad Bhat, says. “Making Sufiana Mousiqi accessible in schools and colleges, exposing young people early to its beauty.”

“Providing scholarships and employment opportunities so that young practitioners can survive economically. Documenting the many maqams and talas that are being forgotten — it is estimated that only about 30-35 of once many hundred are now known. Encouraging public mehfils and performances to re-establish a listening culture.” Integration with modern media: recordings, digital platforms, collaborations — to widen the audience while retaining integrity.”

He says governmental recognition and cultural policies with vision and resources, rather than lip service.

Ustad Sheikh Yaqoob, however, is critical about it, saying that: “In major promotional events … authorities don’t prefer to include Sufiyana music in their itinerary.” The message is loud: passion alone cannot sustain a tradition. As the dusk deepens in Srinagar tonight, you might hear the faint echo of the santoor strings in the alleys around the old city. It is the trace of something older and rooted. Something that refuses to vanish entirely. In that trace is hope. A young student playing a santoor. A mehfil under oil lamp yellow. The memory of a maqam rising into the cold night air. In the final note, in the pause between notes, one can still hear the valley exhaling: “We remain.” If we choose to listen.