Harē Rāma rim-jhim barsē pāniyā,
Jhūlē Rādhā rāniyā hē Hari.
Hari kī saṅgē jhūlē vṝndāvana mēṁ,
Śyām saṅgē jhūlē vṝndāvana mēṁ,
Chāī ghāṭā ghanaghōrā hē Hari…
Harē Rāma rim-jhim barsē pāniyā,
Jhūlē Rādhā rāniyā hē Hari.
Bājē pājēba aura chan-chan kaṅganā,
Nācē madhubana mēṁ mōrā hē Hari…
Harē Rāma rim-jhim barsē pāniyā,
Jhūlē Rādhā rāniyā hē Hari
(O Lord Rama, soft rains drizzle down and flow, As Queen Radha swings where the monsoon breezes blow! With her Lord she swings in Vrindavan’s green shade, With dark Shyam she sways as the thick clouds pervade, Dark rain-laden skies overhead are displayed! O Lord Rama, soft rains drizzle down and flow, As Queen Radha swings where the monsoon breezes blow! Her anklets chime softly, her glass bangles ring, In the sweet woods of Madhuban, wild peacocks dance and sing! O Lord Rama, soft rains drizzle down and flow, As Queen Radha swings where the monsoon breezes blow).
This Kajri lyric captures the essence of the celebration that the folks collectively break into at the advent of Sawan, bringing the rains that wash the multi-coloured oleander, hibiscus and champa blossoms, and green leaves of Mahua, Peepal, Banyan, Mango and Guava trees dotting the landscape of Purvanchal, Western Bihar and Eastern Uttar Pradesh along the Ganges.
The Kajri primarily emerged from the rhymes of life in the Gangetic belt. It’s hard to trace the time of its origin. It might have emerged with the pastoral people settling down as agriculturalists in the plains of North India. It chimed with the brass and copper bells around the necks of plough oxen, echoed against the grey, overcast skies, silver ropes of rain and mingled with the scent of earth—sondhi mitti—the features of a settled agricultural economy. It reflected life’s humdrum as well as merriment.
In the folk tradition of the Indo-Gangetic plains, Radha and Krishna were never distant, abstract deities. Radha became the village girl whose heart yearned during the long rains; Krishna became the dark, rain-bearing cloud (Ghanshyam) that promised bounty to the parched earth. To put Radha on a swing (jhula) was to invite grace into the everyday domesticity of rural life.
In the folk music of the Gangetic plain, the phrase “Hare Rama” acts as the traditional Tek (refrain or rhythmic anchor), providing the foundational beat, pulse, and vocal hook that sets the song’s tempo. By opening with this familiar spiritual invocation, the song grounds the listeners before gracefully shifting into the playful, intimate story of Radha and Krishna swinging in the Sawan rains.
Lived Experience
Yours truly was born, brought up and grew in the mud and soil of a typical village of Purvanchal along the river Saryu on the Bihar-Uttar Pradesh border. It was in the 1960s and 70s when oxen still were the pride of farmers at their doors. The villagers still had men and women—young and old—breaking into Kajri and Virha while sowing paddy seedlings and ploughing the muddy fields with oxen.
The peasants would create smoke at the doors to keep the mosquitoes away from the cattle and comfort the cows that returned from the grazing fields in the fading light of the setting sun. The village boys and girls would pluck oleander and hibiscus flowers to give them to their mothers, grandmothers and aunts and help them do Sawani puja of Kali Mai, who lived under a sprawling Neem tree in every village.
Every village had its share of Kajri singers who broke into the chorus of the lyric as they escorted their oxen to the field or sowed paddy seedlings.
The Genesis
The word Kajri itself stems from Kajal (kohl), mirroring the dense, dark, water-laden clouds of Sawan that gather over the Gangetic plains. Folk traditions deeply trace the geographical heartland of Kajri to Mirzapur (along the Ganges in UP). Legend speaks of a local princess named Kajali, who wept in deep separation (viraha) when her husband was sent away to war during the monsoon.
Her mournful songs resonated with local women and evolved into a ritualistic celebration. Another tradition links its origin to the worship of Goddess Vindhyavasini in Mirzapur, where devotees sang praises for protection before the rains.
In its semi-classical and urban folk forms, Kajri is almost always set to Dadra Taal (a light, swaying 6/8 or six-beat cycle: Dha Dhina / Na Tina). The 6/8 rhythm naturally matches the motion of a swing (jhula) rising and falling, as well as the gait of oxen in the mud.
Amir Khusrau’s innovation of early prototypes of the tabla and his development of Hindavi (Awadhi/Bhojpuri mixed with Persian influence) laid the foundation for secular, cross-community folk music in Northern India. Because Sawan is a seasonal and agricultural reality rather than a purely sectarian one, Kajri functioned as a shared cultural space.
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, Muslim and Hindu ustads and local performers alike composed, played, and improvised Kajris. The Dangal (poetic and musical duels) of Kajri in Mirzapur and Varanasi saw musicians of all castes and creeds competing side-by-side.
Men migrating for work left women to face the charged monsoon alone; the song became a vessel for viraha (longing) and emotional release.
The great courtesans and masters of the Classical Banaras Gharana, like Rasoolan Bai, Siddheshwari Devi, and Girija Devi, brought the rural, earth-scented Kajri into formal classical concerts.
In traditional villages, there are two distinct ways Kajri was performed: unaccompanied or accompanied only by a dholak or simple handclaps, sung in a collective chorus by women while swinging or transplanting paddy (roponi); or performed with harmonium and tabla in village gatherings or urban akharas, where male and female poets exchanged improvised couplets (Sawaal-Jawab). This dual nature—how a song born in the wet soil of paddy fields found its way into the formal baithaks with harmonium and tabla while preserving its inclusive, syncretic soul.
Era of Degeneration
Till the 1970s and the middle of the 1980s, the villages of Purvanchal had ubiquitous wells with oleander flowers and banyan trees canopying them. The villagers used the wells to bathe, drink water, and channel the water from them into their fields. The oxen and desi cows were still there, and so were ploughmen and cowherds. But the last three and a half decades have witnessed a metamorphosis in the village life of Purvanchal.
The smoke of diesel from pumping sets, tractors, and harvesters hits the nostrils when one travels in the villages of Purvanchal now. The oxen have vanished, and so have the singers of Kajri and Viraha. Of course, one can hear and even enjoy them in the videos and reels on Instagram and Facebook. But the people who lived with Kajri and Viraha have vanished from the villages.
And the village festivals, too, have degenerated into instruments of division and hate—the biggest example is the Kanwar Yatra, which, too, had its syncretic past and requires another column to explain its harmonious roots.
But the politicians—particularly those belonging to the Hindutva stream—have transformed the Kanwariyas into a band of rogues and have been using the Kanwar Yatras to intimidate minorities and attack their eateries and restaurants on the way in the name of maintaining purity and vegetarianism.
But be it Kajri or Kanwariyas—both emerged from the soil, adding to the rhyme of village life in Purvanchal. The purpose of writing this column is to preserve the stories, songs, and lyrics of Purvanchal that nurtured love, harmony, and co-existence for generations till the emergence of the Hindutva brand of politicians rewriting the story of India that is Bharat in their own diabolical ways.
O Generation-Z! You have every reason to be proud of your forefathers who lived singing the songs and lyrics of love and harmony for centuries before the despoilers took over. Get back to your roots to root out the merchants of hate who have taken over your cultures and traditions.
Nalin Verma is a journalist and author. He teaches at Jamia Hamdard University, New Delhi. He has written multiple books. Nalin’s latest books include ‘Lores of Love and Saint Gorakhnath’ and ‘Sacred Unions and Other Stories: Tales from Purvanchal’.
Courtesy: The AIDEM