New Delhi, Aug 31 : For much of today's Kashmir, the name Raj Begum barely rings a bell. To millions across India, she is a stranger, her legacy buried under 35 years of Pakistan-sponsored terror turmoil. Even in the land of her birth, where her voice once soared above the valley's meadows and streams, time and violence have obscured her memory.

Yet, for those who lived in Kashmir before the dark clouds of terrorism gathered in 1989, Raj Begum was a household name -- an artist, a symbol of a woman's courage, and an icon of Kashmiri cultural pride.

The history of Raj Begum is not buried in some distant, ancient past. It is a mere 35 years old -- a history cut short not by the passage of time, but by the calculated silencing of an entire cultural tradition by fanatics who unleashed terror in the name of Islam.

Three decades ago, she was not just a singer; she was a movement in herself, a testament to how art can transcend societal barriers. Born into a conservative environment, Raj Begum dared to follow her heart in a society where the stage was rarely a place for women, especially Muslims. She faced personal struggles, societal prejudices, and cultural scepticism -- yet her voice broke through all these walls.

Her songs were not just performances; they were the sounds of Kashmir's soul. She sang of love, nature, the Almighty, and the timeless beauty of the valley.

In recognition of her extraordinary contribution to music, she was awarded the Padma Shri, along with numerous other honours. Generations of Kashmiris grew up listening to her mellifluous voice, her melodies woven into the rhythm of daily life -- at weddings, on the radio, and in cultural gatherings.

But for today's youth, particularly those who grew up after 1990, Raj Begum is a name rediscovered rather than remembered. They have known a different soundtrack to life -- one dominated by gunfire, explosions, the silence of curfews, and the cries of grief. Music, for them, has often been a luxury overshadowed by survival.

To learn that Kashmiri Muslim women like Raj Begum, Naseem Akhtar, and Shamima Dev Azad once commanded respect and popularity in the valley comes as a surprise. For some, it feels almost unimaginable.

Raj Begum was not alone in her artistry. There were other Muslim female artists, Zoon Begum and Shamima Dev Azad, who were part of a vibrant community of musicians that gave voice to Kashmir's soul.

Hasina Akhtar, another gem, was known not just for her singing but for her graceful dance -- her beauty in performance earning her admiration across the valley.

Alongside them were extraordinary female artists from the Kashmiri Pandit community, such as Asha Kaul, Neerja Pandit, Kailash Mehra Sadhu, and Naina Saproo. Together, these women painted the valley's cultural canvas in colours of harmony, beauty, and shared heritage.

Kashmir has always had its own music, each for various occasions, very traditional and spiritual. Although it was male-dominated, women like Raj Begum came out to follow their passion.

Song and dance were woven into the everyday life of its people, adding yet another layer of beauty to its snow-capped mountains, meandering rivers, sparkling springs, and lush meadows, along with a countless variety of flowers that enhanced the natural essence.

But then, the 1990s arrived. Terrorism began to seep into every crevice of daily life. With it came fear, restrictions, and the deliberate dismantling of Kashmir's cultural identity. The three-and-a-half decades that followed did more than claim lives -- they eroded traditions. Music, once a shared joy, was among the first casualties. Public performances dwindled. Artists left or fell silent. The spaces where songs once echoed became silent, replaced by the harsh noise of violence.

This was not an accidental loss. The rise of terrorism carried with it an ideology that sought to erase all that Kashmir had been for thousands of years. Its 5,000-year-old history of coexistence, its syncretic Sufi traditions, its tolerance for religious diversity, and its music -- all were deemed incompatible with the rigid, joyless worldview of the fanatics.

The separatist and the religious leaders, who took cues from Pakistan, curbed the thought process of the common Kashmiri Muslims. The result was a cultural amnesia, where an entire generation grew up without knowing the artists who once gave Kashmir its voice.

Music, song, and dance were branded un-Islamic; cinema halls were bombed; women were forced into veils under threat; acid attacks enforced obedience; and public entertainment was erased from daily life.

The fear was so pervasive that even in 2013, the all-girl rock band 'Pragaash' was forced to disband after receiving threats and being labelled "un-Islamic".

Generations forgot that, for centuries, Kashmiri women sang and danced publicly at festivals and weddings. Music had once been inseparable from daily life.

For many like Daanish Nabi and Rahul Khazanchi, both born after 1990, when terrorism took root in Kashmir, the name Raj Begum only surfaced when Bollywood decided to make a film about her.

Their first reaction was disbelief -- was she real? Could a Muslim woman from Kashmir have once been a celebrated singer? Their questions mirrored the shock many felt after watching 'The Kashmir Files', truths long suppressed, but undeniable.

Raj Begum's story is a reminder of what was lost, but also of what still exists beneath the silence. Her voice, preserved in recordings, continues to carry the essence of a Kashmir that many today have never experienced -- a Kashmir of peace, beauty, and artistic freedom. Her songs are not just music; they are archives of an era when melody and meaning shaped the identity of the valley.

Born on March 27, 1927, in Srinagar, Raj Begum began as a wedding singer before joining Radio Kashmir in 1954. Encouraged by her father, she became one of the valley's most recognised voices in the 1950s and beyond. She sang until the terror violence that gripped Kashmir silenced much of its music.

Raj Begum passed away in 2016 at the age of 89. Nearly a decade later, her voice still lingers -- as in her haunting Kashmiri verse, Kya kya vanay ai dost che, kam kam sitam mashrav me... kus zahre gum kor nosh main, kam neze - chok vatray main' ("How much will I tell you, my friend, what all cruelty I have overcome, what poisonous sadness I endured'").

For some, hearing Raj Begum's voice for the first time is an awakening -- a discovery that their land was once home to women who not only sang but did so with dignity, acclaim, and unapologetic pride.

To remember Raj Begum is not simply to celebrate a singer; it is to acknowledge a part of Kashmir's history that Pakistan-sponsored terror mechanisms tried to erase. It is to reclaim a heritage that belongs to all Kashmiris, regardless of religion or background.

(Deepika Bhan can be contacted at deepika.b@ians.in)

/IANS