Guru-Shishya Parampara: The Eternal Bond of Ustad Alla Rakha Khan & His Sons

The rhythmic tempo of a tabla is more than just an echo of percussion; it is the whisper of tradition, the heartbeat of a legacy, and, at its finest, a dialogue between a ‘guru’ and his ‘shishya’, a ‘ustad’ and his ‘shagird’. And if ever there was a testament to the sacred and unbroken lineage of the Guru-Shishya Parampara, it was in the house of Alla Rakha Khan—where the master’s hands wove rhythmic tapestries, and his sons, most notably Zakir Hussain, carried forward the sublime tradition.

Ustad Alla Rakha Qureshi, a maestro of divine proportions, did not merely play the tabla; he conversed with it, nurtured it, and elevated it beyond an accompaniment into an instrument that breathed and spoke its own language. His fingers, nimble and precise, could summon the monsoon’s downpour or the measured gait of an elephant. He was the torchbearer of the Punjab Gharana, a style known for its clarity, robust compositions, and intricate rhythmic interplay. The gharana emphasizes powerful bols, swift transitions, and an impeccable sense of timing—qualities that made Alla Rakha a revered figure in the world of percussion. At the age of 12, Alla Rakha ran away from home to stay with his uncle to pursue his passion for music. Though he hailed from Jammu, he found a guru in Mian Kader Baksh from Punjab Gharana of table players. Mian Kader Baksh had no son and he adopted Alla Rakha and called him the next head of the Punjab Gharana. Alla Rakha also took vocal training in Classical music from his guru Ashiq Ali Khan of Patiala Gharana. Alla Rakha got married to Bavi Begum and had three sons and two daughters.

For Zakir Hussain, the eldest and most illustrious of the sons, training under his father was not just a matter of discipline but of an unspoken bond, a cosmic cord that bound them both to the soul of music. According to an incident narrated by Zakir Hussain himself during an interview, his father welcomed him into the world in a truly unique manner. Traditionally, fathers in Muslim households recite prayers into the ears of their newborns. However, when Zakir was handed to Alla Rakha for the first time, he chose to whisper tabla rhythms instead of prayers. Zakir had shared, “My dad held me in his arms and put his lips close to my ear. Instead of reciting prayers, he recited tabla rhythms. My mother was livid and asked, ‘What are you doing? You are supposed to say prayers not rhythms.’ My father calmly replied, ‘These are my prayers. I am the worshipper of Goddess Saraswati and Lord Ganesh’.”

Alla Rakha Qureshi, an exacting teacher, demanded perfection, yet he nurtured his son with the patience of a sage sculpting divinity from marble. The young Zakir’s mornings began not with the careless laziness of childhood but with the rigorous taal practice that his father insisted upon. Stories abound of how Zakir, barely five years old, was made to practice for hours—his small hands struggling to keep pace with his father’s lightning-fast compositions. But young Zakir had another love—cricket. Like many boys of his age, he dreamt of running across the field, bat in hand, scoring centuries for his team. He played passionately, often sneaking out to join a game with his friends whenever he found a moment of freedom. However, his father was unwavering in his decision—cricket was a dangerous distraction. His greatest fear was not that Zakir would abandon music, but that a stray ball might strike his fingers, compromising his delicate touch, the very essence of his tabla-playing technique. One day, after an intense practice session, Zakir was caught returning from a cricket match, his hands sore from gripping the bat. Alla Rakha was furious. He did not raise his voice, but his disappointment was evident. “Your hands are not meant for holding a bat, my son. They are meant to create music. Do you know what would happen if you injured even one finger? A single misstep and the rhythm will slip away forever.” His words carried the weight of prophecy, and Zakir, torn between two passions, knew that his father’s wisdom was to be followed. From that day onward, cricket remained a forbidden pleasure. The bat and ball were set aside, and in their place, the tabla became Zakir’s world. He immersed himself completely in the rhythmic universe his father had created for him. Though he occasionally longed for the carefree joys of a cricket match, he never once regretted the path he chose, for it was a path that would lead him to musical immortality.

Zakir’s younger brothers, Fazal and Taufiq Qureshi, were also shaped by this immersive atmosphere. Though their paths diverged—Fazal excelling in the classical realm and Taufiq exploring the percussive possibilities of world music—the essence of their father’s teachings remained ingrained in them. The house was a sanctuary of rhythm, where the beats of the tabla blended with the pulse of daily life.

The Punjab Gharana, with its emphasis on bold strokes, clear enunciation of syllables, and a highly improvisational approach, shaped the playing style of Alla Rakha and his sons. Unlike other gharanas that prioritize theka (the basic rhythm cycle) as a supporting element, the Punjab Gharana elevates tabla to a soloist’s instrument, demanding virtuosity and an expressive range similar to vocal music. This dynamic style allowed for greater interaction in jugalbandis, where two musicians engage in an exhilarating exchange of rhythmic dialogue.

One anecdote that Zakir Hussain fondly recalls is from his early teenage years. One evening, he found himself frustrated, unable to grasp a particularly complex rhythmic cycle. He sulked in a corner, expecting sympathy. Instead, his father, ever the sage, simply picked up his tabla and played the very same piece, but this time, he infused it with such soul-stirring emotion that Zakir was left breathless. “Music is not about speed or technique alone,” he told his son. “It is about feeling. If you cannot make your tabla weep, laugh, and dance, then all the dexterity in the world is useless.” Years later, as Zakir grew into his own legendary stature, he carried his father’s wisdom into every concert hall he graced, every collaboration he undertook, and every ‘shishya’ (pupil) he mentored. The lineage of Ustad Alla Rakha was not just a matter of blood but of devotion, of surrendering to the greater calling of music. His sons, each in their own way, bore testimony to this truth, ensuring that the divine rhythm never faded.

Thus, the Guru-Shishya Parampara found its most poignant expression in the house of Alla Rakha Khan—not merely in the transference of skill but in the passing down of an entire philosophy, a way of life where music was not just played, but lived. Beyond the physical training, Guru Alla Rakha instilled in his sons a profound spiritual connection to their art. His teachings transcended the structured lessons of rhythm and taal; they were woven into the very fabric of their existence. The tabla was not just an instrument in their hands but an extension of their souls.

Zakir Hussain often speaks of his father’s unwavering discipline, but also his boundless warmth. While practice was sacred, so too was the shared laughter, the meandering conversations about life, the gentle reprimands that carried lessons far beyond the realm of music. His father’s presence was synonymous to an eternal raga—deep, resonant, and unceasingly inspirational. Alla Rakha Qureshi’s influence on his sons was not confined to their formative years; it stretched well into their professional lives. When Zakir Hussain embarked on his international journey, performing with the likes of Ravi Shankar, John McLaughlin, and Mickey Hart, he carried within him the essence of his father’s teachings. His innovative collaborations, his ability to seamlessly merge classical Indian rhythms with global sounds, all bore the unmistakable imprint of Alla Rakha’s wisdom. Even as Zakir gained worldwide fame, he remained, at heart, a disciple of his father. Every time he sat before the tabla, he could hear his father’s voice guiding him, urging him to listen, to feel, to surrender to the rhythm. And in those moments, time dissolved; the years of training, the childhood discipline, the shared silences, and the unspoken love between a ‘guru’ and his ‘shishya’ all fused into a singular, eternal beat.

The passing of Ustad Zakir Hussain marks the end of an era in Indian classical music, yet his legacy lives on through the age-old Guru-Shishya Parampara, the sacred tradition of imparting knowledge from master to disciple. As the most celebrated tabla virtuoso of his time, Zakir Hussain not only elevated the instrument to global prominence but also nurtured a generation of torchbearers who will carry forward the rich tradition of the Punjab Gharana. Many of his students have now become prominent figures in the world of percussion, carrying forward his teachings with reverence. The likes of Navin Sharma, Aditya Kalyanpur, and several others continue to uphold the Punjab Gharana’s legacy, ensuring that its unique rhythmic patterns, clarity of strokes, and dynamic improvisations remain relevant in contemporary music. These disciples, much like their guru, have also embraced global collaborations, further expanding the reach of Indian percussion on the world stage.

Thus, the story of Alla Rakha-Zakir Hussain, his brothers and innumerable ‘shishya’s is not merely that of musical inheritance; it is a saga of devotion, of reverence, and of an unbreakable bond that transcends generations. The guru’s hands may have stilled, but the rhythm lives on, echoing through the nimble fingers of his sons, through the tabla’s resonance, through the infinite, undying taal that binds the past to the present and the present to eternity.

By Sharmistha Goswami Chatterjee