Wood shavings scattered across the floor of Sakhi’s cramped workshop in the Afghan city of Herat as another rubab, the national musical instrument of his homeland, took shape beneath his skilled hands.
Sakhi has produced two rubabs per month for decades, and he refuses to put down his instruments, even as Taliban action has stifled the music in Afghanistan.
“This is the only work I know and I have to earn money somehow,” said Sakhi, surrounded by rubabs in various stages of completion.
But for them, “cultural value” is more important than money, said the nearly fifty-year-old craftsman, whose name has been changed for his protection along with others interviewed by AFP.
He said, “For me the value of this work… is the legacy it contains. The legacy should not be lost.”
UN agency UNESCO agreed in December to recognize the art of making and playing the rubab in Afghanistan, Iran, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan as an intangible cultural heritage.
Made of dried mulberry wood and often inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the lute-like rubab is one of the oldest instruments in the region, its tinkling sound dating back thousands of years.
But this legacy is under threat due to the almost complete ban imposed by the Taliban authorities on music in Afghanistan, which is considered corrupt in their strict interpretation of Islamic law.
Since coming to power in 2021, Taliban authorities have banned music from performances to playing tracks in restaurants, in cars or in public on radio and TV broadcasts.
They have closed music schools and broken or burned musical instruments and sound systems.
Many Afghan musicians fled out of fear or in need of work after losing their livelihoods in one of the world’s poorest countries, where jobs are scarce.
Taliban officials have encouraged former musicians to turn their talents to Islamic poetry and unaccompanied singing – also the only form of music permitted under their previous regime of 1996–2001.
‘Peace to the soul’
Amateur rubab player Gul Agha has a photograph of his teacher from that time, holding the pieces of his rubab that were broken by Taliban officers in his lap.
Since his return, Taliban morality police have also destroyed one of Gul Agha’s rubabs and made him swear to stop playing them.
But he still sometimes plays the rubab he made himself for tourists visiting Herat, which has long been a bastion of art and culture in Afghanistan, though he regrets that it can easily go out of tune. Is.
He said, “The main thing that motivates me to continue playing rubab is to contribute to Afghanistan – we must not let our country’s skills be forgotten.”
But as professional musicians go into exile and their former students see no future in practice, they fear the art will be destroyed.
“It is our duty to pass on our local music to the next generations, just like our ancestors passed it on to us,” the 40-year-old said.
“Rubaab is an art…Art gives peace to the soul.”
He began playing more than 20 years ago during the musical revival in Afghanistan after the end of the previous Taliban regime.
At that time organizations emerged in the country to support artists.
Mohsin, a long-time member of the Artists Association, had tears in his eyes as he remembered how his musicians were always “a symbol of happy moments in people’s lives”.
“Unfortunately, happiness has been taken away from this country as well as the artists,” he said.
Mohsin is still optimistic about the future of rubab in Afghanistan, saying that musicians inside and outside the country have been inspired to keep its traditional music alive.
He said, “People don’t play for money anymore, they play to give pleasure to others and so the music survives.”
“No force, no person, no system can silence its voice.”
‘Never lost’
Rubab player Majid was once a part of many musical performances in the capital Kabul.
But he had not played the rubab for more than three years for fear of being overheard, until one December afternoon when he picked up the rubab in a house near a street of closed music shops.
Smiling, he hit the stars, but as soon as the courtyard door opened, he suddenly stopped for fear of Taliban forces.
Their 35-year-old Rubab’s neck was previously broken when morality police raided their homes after the Taliban took over.
He repaired it to the best of his ability, and still regularly cares for his “dear Rubab,” he said, running his hand gently over the instrument.
The 46-year-old man said, “As long as I live, I will keep it and I hope my children will keep it… but no matter what happens, the rubab culture will not go away.”
“Music never ends. As the saying goes, ‘There can never be death without tears or marriage without music.'”
(Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by NDTV staff and is published from a syndicated feed.)