The Song of the Nation

A STAPLE IN A DIPLOMAT’S LIFE IS ATTENDING national day events. In most capitals, the host country’s national day—a constitution day, an independence day, a particular commemoration—is an important event on its political calendar. Attendance of resident foreign ambassa­dors is almost obligatory, sometimes even mandatory. Similarly, most foreign missions host receptions to mark their own national days. It means several years of a diplomat’s life are devoted to such rituals. For diplomats it is useful to attend. It expands the range of contacts and acquaintances; provides neutral venues to meet many people, pick up gossip and sometimes even important information; and, finally, there is a chance to interact with local dignitaries and leaders. There is a strong transactional reason—most diplomats attend such events to ensure a good turnout at their own national day events.

These events generally have a repetitive character, year-on-year and across different countries and continents. A permanent feature is the rendering of the national anthem. In time, for those who pay attention, this means you end up picking up a great deal about dif­ferent anthems, the reason why they are rendered in a particular way and other subtler nuances. Sometimes, the tedium of national day receptions makes this a pleasant distraction.

But in time you also come to realise that anthems, static as they may appear, also reveal a great deal about more structural features of the countries they extol and, sometimes, their silences and hid­den histories are often very revelatory. I also found that usually the best informed about the nuances of particular anthems are the citizens of that particular country’s neighbours. Most Europe­ans thus had enormous quantities of anecdotal details about their neighbouring national anthems. The same applied to Arabs as indeed to most regions.

MODERN SOUTH ASIA

The first time I heard the Pakistan national anthem—Pak Sarza­min Shad Bad (Blessed Be the Sacred Land)—in Kuwait in the early 1980s, I was struck by how little I understood of it even though I prided myself on my knowledge of spoken Urdu. This was hardly surprising. I gradually learnt that almost all the words used in it are Persian. Many years later while posted in Pakistan I asked an ac­quaintance when Pakistanis started to understand the meaning of the words in their national song. His answer, not very surprisingly again, was that it was from late middle school onwards and many would still have difficulty understanding the anthem.

Pak Sarzamin Shad Bad was formally made Pakistan’s nation­al anthem only in 1954. The music score had been composed earlier by Ahmed Chagla but the lyrics by Hafeez Jalandhari were finally approved only in 1954 and it was codified then as Pakistan’s national anthem.

In the late 2000s, a minor controversy had erupted in Pakistan over what the country’s national anthem was in the years between 1947 and 1954. Shortly before his death in 2004, a well-known In­dian Urdu poet Jagan Nath Azad claimed that he had composed Pakistan’s first national anthem a little before the country came into being, and this was at the express request of Muhammad Ali Jinnah. His poem, Azad said, was what was broadcast on radio from Karachi on August 14, 1947 at Pakistan’s independence.

The interview was in India and to an Indian journalist. The news gradually travelled to Pakistan and had some impact. To many liberals there, this was vindication of their view of the kind of Pakistan the Quaid-i-Azam had envisaged: obviously, in this view, he had a plural multicultural country in mind, for why else would he have asked a Hindu to compose its anthem? Others, from a different end of Pakistan’s political spectrum, vehemently disagreed. Their real reasons were many; but their objection to the claim was historical and indeed that the evi­dence did not support Jagan Nath Azad’s contention. Now, some two decades later, perhaps Azad’s claim has greater currency in India than in Pakistan itself.

Over the years at our own national day receptions in Pakistan, I would receive many queries about our national anthem. Why was Jana Gana Mana adopted as the national anthem and not the more popular Vande Mataram? Did common people under­stand the words of Jana Gana Mana? I would explain that its lyrics were in Bengali but yes, people across India understood them. Perhaps not very surprisingly, there was greater knowledge in Pakistan about Vande Mataram than Jana Gana Mana—possibly on account of the Muslim League’s and Jinnah’s objections to the former from the 1930s. To many in Pakistan Vande Mataram appeared as a Hindu exclusionary poem—or so they had been told. My clarifications that Vande Mataram was also a national song, and that its first verse was sung at some state events, would be greeted with a studied politeness.

There was greater surprise over the revelation that the national anthems of Bangladesh, India and Sri Lanka had a common fea­ture. Rabindranath Tagore wrote both Jana Gana Mana and Amar Sonar Bangla and the latter became the Bangladesh anthem after the breakup of Pakistan in 1971.He was also the inspiration behind the Sri Lankan anthem, Sri Lanka Matha or Mother Sri Lanka, and/ or composed the music for it. Sri Lanka Matha had been adopted as Sri Lanka’s national anthem in 1949 but it is based on an earlier poem Namo Namo Sri Lanka.

Nepal has the ‘youngest’ anthem in South Asia. In 2007, as the monarchy came to an end and Nepal became a republic, the existing anthem Sriman Gambhir was replaced as it was seen as a glorification of the monarchy rather than the country. Sayaun Thunga Phulka was the new anthem chosen in its place.

The change of political architecture in Afghanistan in 2021 meant also a change in its anthem. The Taliban returned to pow­er that August, and with it troubling questions about its social ideology and in particular the role of women in society. What did it think about national anthems set to music which, to the ultra-conservative, was prohibited in Islam? There is no definite answer yet. What the Taliban reverted to was a kind of uplifting patriotic and religious chant that had served as a de facto anthem also during its earlier stint in power from 1996 to 2001.

The Taliban regime’s continued isolation means that the rep­resentational use of this as a formal anthem is yet to be tested. Because it was used during 1996-2001, it predates the national anthem of Nepal.

However, Afghanistan holds another record of sorts. Its con­flicted history over the past half-century is illustrated also by the diversity of its anthems. The overthrow of the monarchy in 1973 had meant a new anthem. Communist coups followed by the Soviet invasion meant a new anthem from the late 1970s, which remained in place till 1992. The mujahideen and civil war phase meant another change, followed by the Taliban chant, and then the adoption of a brand new anthem in 2006. There have been, since 1973, five different anthems in use in Afghanistan—cer­tainly a record in South Asia.

AND FURTHER AFIELD

Egypt provides an example of anthems changing with changing politics and geopolitics. In 1952, a military coup overthrew the British-propped up monarchy, followed soon by the coming to power of Gamal Abdel Nasser which also heralded the age of Arab Nationalism across West Asia and North Africa. Nasser’s nation­alisation of the Suez Canal was followed by a crisis culminating with a war between Egypt on the one side and France, the UK and Israel on the other. In these circumstances a new anthem for Egypt was written, set to music and formally adopted. Inci­dentally, Egypt also became from 1958 the United Arab Republic in union with Syria. This new, albeit short-lived entity, had the Syrian anthem as its first section and the new Egyptian anthem as the second. Iraq, between 1964 and 1981, also used the musical score of the Egyptian anthem as its own anthem. This was after all the age of Arab nationalism and the Egyptian anthem ‘Oh for Ages, My Weapon’, sometimes translated as ‘Oh My Weapon/ It has been a long time’, best represented this fiery combative spirit.

Yet nationalism, as elsewhere, had to cede ground to geopo­litical pragmatism. After two Egypt-Israel wars, the 1979 Egypt- Israel Peace Treaty followed. A new anthem more in tune with this changed environment of peace was adopted almost as soon as President Anwar al-Sadat returned from concluding the agree­ment with Israel.

Germany’s history from the last quarter of the 19th century through all the convulsions of the 20th can also be encapsulated by the different anthems adopted in each phase. In 1871, the unification of Germany was complete—henceforth the King of Prussia would be German emperor. The Prussian anthem became the national anthem of a united Germany. Curiously, it had the same melody and tune of ‘God Save the King’—the Brit­ish anthem—or perhaps not so curious after all since the British anthem did act as a template for many other countries, even com­petitors, for a long time.

The German Empire came to an end with defeat in World War I and by 1922 a new, republican Germany also had a new anthem, Deutschlandlied—this was based on an older poem dating back to the 1840s and had been essentially a call for the unification of dif­ferent principalities and territories into a united Germany then. Despite the Nazi takeover in 1933, the Deutschlandlied continued as the national anthem, with the difference that a second verse was added and that was from the Nazi party song.

In 1945, the German defeat in World War II was followed by a ban on symbols associated with the Nazi period—this included the Deutschlandlied. Two new sovereignties, East and West Germany, both adopted new national anthems but the old song remained popular. In West Germany in the early 1950s, it was decided to revert to the Deutschlandlied but with the difference that only its third verse would be officially used as the national anthem. In 1990, with the reunification of East and West Germany, this third verse became the anthem of united Germany again. The first verse incidentally had the words “Germany, Germany above all”, which was seen by many as reflecting an earlier ethos of nationalism and militarism. The first verse is not banned as such but it is the third verse which is the official anthem. Things came full circle between 1922 and 1990 but with some difference.

Germany’s history and the history of its different anthems rep­resent the conflict and trauma in Europe’s 20th century, beginning with World War I down to the Balkan Wars of the 1990s. Yet, occa­sionally this is also a history that can be read redemptively and that is best illustrated by the case of Czechoslovakia. The country came into existence in 1918 with the coming together of the Czech and the Slovak regions following the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The new country’s national anthem had two verses, in effect a Czech anthem followed by a Slovak anthem.

With the end of the Cold War, Czechoslovakia also decided to separate into its two constituent parts. It was a peaceful and con­sensual end of a country and it was then, with some justification, called a “velvet revolution”. The national anthem also split into its two constituent verses which became the Czech and the Slovak anthems respectively.

INDIA’S PRINCELY STATES

Germany’s case illustrates how forgotten anthems can be revived. But there are simultaneously many cases of anthems once greatly popular and almost ubiquitous entirely fading from memory. We get a very striking example of this from our own modern history.

The integration of the princely states over 1947-48 is a well-known part of the story of India’s decolonisation. The accession crisis in Junagadh, Jammu & Kashmir, Kalat, and Hyderabad gradu­ally merged into a wider India-Pakistan crisis which continues. The abolition of the Privy Purses in 1971 by way of an amendment to the Constitution of India marked an important phase in the evolution of Indian history. For some this was a landmark step in India’s jour­ney towards becoming genuinely democratic and more egalitarian. To others this was nothing more than the state reneging on a prom­ise made to the princes that certain privileges and perquisites would be forever protected for the fact that their kingdoms had merged with India. In this view, a bad precedent had been set.

This debate—apart from what the abolition of privy purses meant—was that, besides losing annual tax-free grants, the princes also lost their status as former rulers in terms of using their old insignia, titles, etc. It was in many ways the last nail in the coffin of the princely order—anachronistic it certainly was, but now even a shadow of it would be difficult to maintain. Royal insignia such as flags, titles, coats of arms, crests, etc now were without any legal standing.

Over time memories of the princely or­der in India have faded even though a hand­ful of former royals still play major political roles. What has also been forgotten in the process are the many anthems sometimes associated with these princely states.

We know that many of these states had anthems but not very much else besides. They were sung at state events, in schools and alongside ‘God Save the King’ on ceremonial occasions when there was a senior British official present. Could any princely state simply adopt an anthem or did it require approval from the Viceroy/ the Government of India or were these en­titlements regulated? The princes were, much like everything else in the British Empire, ranked in a rigid hierarchy with the top of the pile being those with a 21- Gun Salute. At the lowest end of the ‘Salute State’ were those entitled to a nine-gun sa­lute. The Viceroy had a 31-gun salute and the King Emperor a 101-gun salute. The latter of course was heard only once in India since the only time a King (or for that matter Queen) Emperor visited the Indian em­pire was in 1911.

In so far as I have been able to make out, a princely state hav­ing an anthem or not did not appear to be related to its particular situation in the imperial pecking order. Many of the bigger states had long-established anthems that would be played on state and ceremonial occasions and alongside ‘God Save the King’ if there was senior representation such as the Viceroy, the provincial governor, or an important titled visitor from the UK.

Important princely anthems that can be traced include the Kayo Shri Gowri of Mysore state dating back to the 1880s (in Sanskrit); Vanchi Bhumi of Travancore (in Malayalam); Dhuso Baje of Jodh­pur (in Marwari); the Baroda state anthem possibly known as the Gaekwadi, which was composed and first used during the reign of Sayajirao III (1875-1939) (in Gujarati), amongst others. We know also of anthems of Jammu & Kashmir, Hyderabad, Nawanagar in Saurashtra, Kolhapur in Maharashtra, etc.

These were, of course, prominent gun-salute states. What about the many smaller, non-salute states? At least some of them had also used anthems on ceremonial occasions and in schools. Sarangarh, in present-day Chhattisgarh, certainly had a state an­them played alongside ‘God Save the King’.

Most if not all of these princely anthems have disappeared from public memory, except possibly to figure as an eccentric­ity or nostalgia trip when someone remembers them. This il­lustrates how national histories are layered. They are made up of invocations of history and tradition as well as the fading of memory and forgetfulness.

Some anthems then disappear as the country or territory they represented dis­appears. Others, as in the German case, return from relative oblivion and straddle divisions of history and other traumas. Kimigayo, the national anthem of Japan, has demonstrated a stubborn persistence and survived although it has been called the most controversial anthem ever. A short poem, fewer than 20 words, dating back to the 8th-9th centuries, it was set to music in the late 19th century after the Meiji Resto­ration and thereafter became a kind of un­official and then official national anthem. The controversy comes with its association with Japanese militarism, militant nation­alism and emperor worship, but it has re­mained Japan’s national anthem through the turbulence of the country’s history in the first half of the 20th century till today.

Our own national anthem and our na­tional song have been, from time to time, at the centre of controversies. The communal polarisation in the 1930s also impacted the singing of Vande Mataram. The compromise reached in 1937 was that only its first two stanzas would be rendered on public occa­sions. It certainly was India’s best-known song, celebrated and sung across the length and breadth of the country. Jana Gana Mana was formally adopted as the national anthem by the Con­stituent Assembly in 1950. In the past it had been the target of a canard that its original inspiration was the British King Emperor. The song and its melody were undeterred and also acquired a life of their own in the freedom struggle. A rendering in Hindustani, Sab Sukh Chain Ki Barkha Barse, even became the anthem of the Indian National Army and the Indian national government it established.

Perhaps songs, like nations, have pasts. National anthems, like national flags and national independence days, are shortcuts to invoke a sense of patriotism and nationalism. Their elevation to icon­ic status as national songs or anthems gives them a new character which makes them supersede their immediate contexts as they become timeless emblems of peoples and nations. But it is also the case of the different representations of nationhood— cartographic as in maps, visual as in flags and emblems—that it is audio, as in national anthems, that sinks the deepest roots. Anthems, in that sense, are most resonant of nationhood. That certainly is the thought that remains with me as we approach our 79th Independence Day.

freedom issue 2025Independence Daynational anthemnational flagpatriotismRabindranath Tagore