Songs Of Paradise Movie Ending Explained: What Is The True Story Of Noor Begum?

Before a revolution reaches its widespread fire, it begins silently. It begins like a delicate spark that needs nurturing, fanning its flames, and conservation to reach its full potential. For years, women’s voices have been like this silent spark—it is not to say that it lacked the flint, but time and again, the flame was put out by societal pressure, religious norms, and simply the chains of patriarchy pulling at their feet. All battles—economic, creative, and social—are easier for men. They already have a head start on this race, and the concept of “equity” simply does not register to many men even now. Oblivious of their privilege, most members of the patriarchal society tread upon the potential of countless women nurturing their talents in the invisible interiors of households, by their children’s crib, and on vast fields as they farm away. In the major part of history, there is a sheer dearth of ‘her’-story. Danish Renzu’s new film, Songs of Paradise, is an attempt to capture some of that lost history, unearth the legacy of a Padmashri-awarded singer, and look at her life in her very own valleys of Kashmir.

Spoilers Ahead

Based on a true story and developed with a fictionalized narrative, the film narrates the story of Zeba Akhtar, growing up in Kashmir around the years of independence. Zeba belongs to a modest household; her father being a tailor and her mother a housewife. She works as a help in Master Ji’s house to help out with the family economy. The film represents Kashmir through its rich visual presence and an unabashed, realistic lens that shifts through time to capture the essence of the old Kashmir. The localities, their norms, and their obstacles for women are minutely shown. Zeba’s mother is apprehensive and strict about her daughter’s rebellious spirit and tries to advise her to put on a burkha, which Zeba invariably does, but she also puts on lipstick. 

Zeba has an exceptional singing ability, and she is spotted by the guru, Master Ji, while she sings a song at her friend’s marriage. Master Ji offers to take her in as a disciple while the music space in Kashmir was predominantly male-dominated back at the time. Due to societal norms, women were prohibited from participating in, and even entering, these spaces, let alone beating the men in their own games and becoming renowned singers. With the encouragement from her father and her guru, Zeba continued on her singing journey, which discriminated against her based on her gender at every single turn. She had to hide her real name and even hide the fact that she was singing from her mother and her community. The story is told pretty linearly—as an older Zeba narrates it to Berklee pass-out Rumi, who had come from Mumbai to write a thesis on her. 

Zeba wins a competition and gets a chance to sing for Radio Kashmir and eventually receives awards for her singing. It is at Radio Kashmir that she meets her eventual husband, Azad, a poet and a lyricist, with whom she starts collaborating on many projects. Despite her alias, a photo of the two comes out in the newspaper, sparking controversy and turmoil in the community. The usual slut-shaming takes place—Zeba’s parents are isolated by the community, but Azad steps in to marry Zeba. He remains an ardent supporter of Zeba’s singing career all his life and encouraged her to promote music among the women of Kashmir. Zeba’s lifetime loss was one incident, when a library full of records that she sang on the radio was burned in a fire. However, she seems to have rerecorded all of the songs and is still performing as Noor Begum—now with a house full of grandchildren and a granddaughter to carry her legacy. Rumi, who came in to write a thesis, does something more. He stays back to recreate Zeba’s songs and would possibly help create better conservation and awareness around them.

Songs of Paradise starts with a disclaimer that it is based on true accounts and ends with a transcript that details the real Noor Begum—Raj Begum, who defied cultural norms to become the first female singer to appear on Radio Kashmir. Raj Begum, who sang away at local weddings and in the confinement of her room, was recognized by Ustad Qadir Langoo in 1954, who took her in as a disciple. It was an exceptional feat of bravery considering the taboo around women in cultural fields was associated with being a “fallen woman” in this culture, as it is with many cultures. Her singing style—Gulrez—is described as a style that is uninhibited, high-pitched, and captures the authentic soul of Kashmir. Songs of Paradise’s narrative creates a map of Raj Begum’s journey of becoming a singer and narrates it through Noor Begum’s story. The songs she sang were part of the cultural, collectivized Kashmiri folk memory. Women singers are often closer to the soil, the songs being vessels of rituals from the field, or lullabies, or local lore—and their voices carry an unmistakable authenticity that the improvised, by-the-book melodies lack. Raj Begum came to be known as the “Melody Queen of Kashmir” and won many awards, including a Padma Shri in 2002. Although there is a scarcity of her songs on record, she sang all her life till 1986 in Radio Kashmir, creating a corpus of melodic, spiritual work. 

Zeba, or Noor Begum’s story, is less fiction and more of following a path. Like a river, it flows in the same course as its original tale flourished in—like watersheds, it creates many smaller stories in its wake. It pays gratitude to Azad and to Master Ji and also forgives the obstacles—her mother, who was dead against it—with an effortless mercy. The narrative has no linear complexity, no key moment of collapse, or a grand telling, but it shines through in its simplicity just like a soulful song that is able to touch the heart with the simplest of lyrics.

The only notable disruption in Noor Begum’s trajectory is the fire that breaks out in the library of Radio Kashmir, turning her years of efforts into dust. While this works as a plot device to introduce a crisis, the crisis is actually metaphorical. The existence and remembrance of a creator depend on the archival existence of their work. Archiving is a politically dictated, technologically influenced, complex process. It is what makes the greatest playwright of all time out of Shakespeare and leaves Marlowe a little behind in the race. Archiving influences that Rumi and Shams are more widely read than Lal Ded. The politics of gender and exposure has always played a big part in the inclusion, as well as the exclusion, of the artists from what is termed as the “canon.” In the past eras, not all artists made it to the canon, despite the integrity of their work.The fire, here, is used as a device of forgetting. Like fire, time wipes away any unrecorded existence of a work—and without its existence to back the agent who created it, the life and their work reduce to zero. Even after living it, embracing it, and dedicating their whole life to it, they look back into the void. It is not overtly stated, but I feel that is where Rumi comes in. Rumi, who came to write a thesis—a secondary body of work—gets directly involved in the primary procedure of reproducing the lost work of Noor. With digitization, the process of archiving has become much more democratized. The access is easier, and so is the inclusion. With one tap, one is able to create a testament of a work that is otherwise effervescent. 

In its biographical retelling of Raj Begum’s life, Songs of Paradise retains a dazzling simplicity, yet shines through. Saba Azad’s portrayal of Noor Begum is ever so tender and ever so resilient; she has nailed the role to perfection in her songs, in her accents, and in her fearless demeanor. Blending fact with fiction, Danish Renzu not only pays tribute to Raj Begum’s extraordinary journey but also subtly speaks about the systemic erasure of women. While talent may be timeless, the preservation of it is fragile and dictated by power. His act of making this film is, then, a devotional remembrance to all the lost voices and the memories of their songs.