Dil Tsooran ha Dil neunam shaman
Paman thawnum jaiey
Yena ake phir rathas daman
Paman thawnum jaiey
(The one who stole my heart, in the cover of darkness
And left me to face people’s ridicule
If he comes back, I will grab the hem of his shirt and plead
to the one who left me to face people’s ridicule)
I Ahmed Wani:
In Kashmir the Dal Lake mirrors the sky and the mountains stand as sentinels of time, Danish Renzu’s “Songs of Paradise” emerges as a cinematic fresco, weaving the extraordinary life of Raj Begum, the Nightingale of Kashmir. As the director of this poignant biographical drama, Renzu has not merely crafted a film—he has resurrected a revolution, one that began with a song in an era when a woman’s voice was a radical act of defiance. Raj Begum, the first female singer to grace Radio Kashmir in 1954, shattered the chains of a patriarchal society, and Renzu’s masterful storytelling ensures her legacy reverberates in every frame, every note, and every heart that watches.
Raj Begum, born in 1927, was no ordinary artist. Her high-pitched, soul-stirring voice carried the weight of Kashmiri folk traditions, breathing life into the poetry of mystics like Lal Ded and Shamas Faqir. With nearly 2,000 songs recorded live for Radio Kashmir until her retirement in 1986, she became a cultural icon, earning the Padma Shri in 2002, the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award in 2013, and a State Award from Jammu and Kashmir in 2009. But her journey was not just about accolades—it was about courage. In a conservative Kashmir, where women were confined to domestic roles, Begum’s decision to sing publicly was a rebellion against societal norms. She faced ostracism, familial disapproval, and the weight of tradition, yet her voice soared, becoming a beacon for women across the valley. Renzu’s film captures this struggle with a delicate balance of grit and grace, portraying Begum’s transformation from a shy village girl to a trailblazer who inspired generations.
Through “Songs of Paradise“, Renzu paints a vivid picture of the 1950s and 1960s, a time when singing was not just an art but a subversive act. The film’s protagonist, Zeba/Noor Begum (played with luminous authenticity by Saba Azad), navigates a world where her talent is both her salvation and her battleground. Renzu doesn’t shy away from showing the harsh realities: the scorn of a society that deemed women’s voices in public spaces shameful, the resistance from family, and the bureaucratic hurdles at Radio Kashmir. Yet, it is the tenderness of his narrative—woven through haunting Kashmiri folk melodies and poetic dialogues—that transforms Begum’s story into a universal ode to resilience. The film’s music, curated by Santoor maestro Abhay Rustum Sopori, evokes the soul of Kashmir, with Masrat Un Nissa’s vocals echoing Begum’s own pathos-filled renditions, reminding us how a single voice can defy silence.
The echoes of that oppressive past are not distant for many Kashmiris. I recall, as a sixth-grader in 1988, sneaking with my cousin to a video hall in Mattan Adda, Anantnag, to watch “Mardou Wali Jung“. The thrill of that forbidden adventure was crushed when my father, my Abu Ji, learned of it. His ruthless beating, undeterred by my mother’s pleas, was a stark reminder of a society that viewed such simple joys as unnatural, a breach of its rigid codes. Days later, as terrorism engulfed our valley, cinemas were banned, and music—once the pulse of our gatherings—became a sin. I remember the vibrant “Rouf” dances by young girls near our village’s Ziyarat Shareef, their voices weaving joy through the air. But militancy brought darkness; I saw a militant named Fareed Khan smash a tape recorder and harass boys for listening to songs, warning them against gathering in the evening. Those were the years when our valley, once alive with melody, was shrouded in silence.
Renzu’s “Songs of Paradise” is a testament to how far we have come, thanks to pioneers like Raj Begum. Her music was more than art—it was resistance, a refusal to let fear or tradition extinguish her light. Even as terrorism sought to drag Kashmir back into a dark age, progressive voices like hers kept hope alive. Begum’s performances, often delivered with her head covered in respect to her culture, challenged the notion that modesty and ambition could not coexist. She demanded equal pay at Radio Kashmir, fought for her fellow artists, and became a symbol of empowerment, paving the way for women to dream beyond the confines of their homes. Her legacy, as Renzu shows, is not just in her songs but in the courage she instilled in others.
Time, as Renzu’s film subtly illustrates, is a traveler, carrying both progress and the shadows of those dark scars within us. In 2013, I sat with my family—my mother, wife, and five-year-old son—in Jammu’s KC Theatre, watching “Jai Ho“. The joy on my son’s face as he recounted the film’s story to my father, who listened with a smile, was a moment of healing—a stark contrast to the beatings of my childhood. It was proof that time, aided by rebels like Raj Begum, has made us wiser. Her legacy lives on in the women of Kashmir today: Nuzhat Gull, elevating sports to new heights; Syed Darakhshan Andrabi, transforming the Waqf Board; Nighat Sahiba, a Sahitya Award-winning poet; Peerzada Masarat, a journalist painting events with an artist’s precision; and Sakina Itoo, shaping health and education as a minister. Mehbooba Mufti, our first woman Chief Minister, embodies this defiance against all odds.
Yet, as Renzu’s film reminds us, our society still grapples with bias. Women who dare to lead are often ridiculed, their achievements diminished by gender-based criticism. Raj Begum’s struggle, so vividly captured in “Songs of Paradise”, mirrors the battles these women face today. Her story is a call to action, urging us to honor those who defy the odds and to challenge the lingering prejudices that seek to hold us back.
To Danish Renzu, we owe profound gratitude. His vision has not only immortalized Raj Begum but also held a mirror to Kashmir’s journey—from a time when singing was a sin to an era where women lead with courage. Through evocative cinematography, soulful music, and a cast that breathes life into history, Renzu has crafted a film that is both a celebration and a challenge. He reminds us that while we have traveled far, the fight for equality continues. For every rebel in our landlocked valley, “Songs of Paradise” is a rallying cry—a tribute to Raj Begum, the first revolutionary whose voice shattered silence, and to the countless women marching toward new heights. Thank you, Danish Renzu, for giving us a film that sings of courage, reminding us that even in the darkest times, a song can light the way.
