"Nijanor gaan mor Xekh hobo bhabo tumar bukut"
"My song of loneliness will end, I believe, at your heart." - 'Mayabini', by Zubeen Garg.
The deep sadness that spread across Assam and the rest of the Northeast after Zubeen Garg's sudden death can't be seen just as mourning for a beloved artist. It must be viewed in the context of the region's troubled history, which is marked by rivers and hills, as well as scars from division, migration, and conflict. Assam's modern history has been chequered by losing land, changing demographics, political fragmentation, insurgency, and communal violence. These events made Assamese society always unsteady and unsure of who they were and what would happen in the future. In such a fragile setting, Zubeen's insistence on inclusivity - his refusal to be constrained by caste, religion, or political edict - was not merely an artistic eccentricity; it constituted a significant political act of healing and unifying a divided society.
The Beginning Of Assam's Struggles
The first setback happened in 1947, when Assam became the only Indian state to hold a plebiscite. People in the Sylhet region voted to join East Pakistan (now Bangladesh), which made them feel marginalised and alone. Following the partition and the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War, many people migrated to Assam, altering the population and sparking concerns about land, language, and political representation. Movements against "foreigners" became a big part of Assamese politics, often turning violent.
As Assam's land shrank, more divisions happened, and the states of Nagaland, Meghalaya, Mizoram, and Arunachal Pradesh were formed. Each time a group broke away, it was because they wanted more freedom. However, for Assam, it meant losing land and a social fabric that was already becoming fragile. At the same time, outside threats made it even more insecure. For example, when China invaded Arunachal Pradesh in 1962, it reminded the Assamese people of how vulnerable they were at India's border, where New Delhi was not paying enough attention.
When Discontent Became A Constant
In the late 1970s and early 1980s, the All Assam Students' Union (AASU)-led mass movement called for the detection and deportation of foreigners. The Assam Accord of 1985 attempted to address these demands, but it didn't resolve the primary issues, which led to widespread disillusionment among the people. Insurgent groups like the United Liberation Front of Assam (ULFA) and the National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB) rose in this void, triggering cycles of violence, counter-violence, and fear. There were also repeated skirmishes between different ethnic and religious groups, such as Garo and Rabha, Bodo and tea-tribe workers, and Bodo and Muslim settlers. These conflicts left behind a trail of people who had to leave their homes and distrust.
These layers of doubt led people to seek stability and peace in their lives. This is where Zubeen Garg's importance really shone. Zubeen's voice rose above the divisions in a state torn apart by race, religion, and politics. People who were tired of conflicts liked that he didn't follow militant orders, spoke out against contentious policies, and didn't identify with any caste or religion. Zubeen embodied what Assamese society wanted: unity without erasure, strength without exclusion, and cultural pride without hostility. He did this by calling himself "Kanchenjunga", meaning "high, unbound, and free".
The Need for a Cultural Unifier
Politics never helped people trust each other or heal their wounds in such a broken world. Instead, culture - music, movies, and especially literature - became the most potent force that brought people together. But it needed someone with enough charm, honesty, and conviction. Zubeen Garg did that job. He was never just a singer. He was the personification of Assam's contradictions, hopes, and rebellious spirit. His reluctance to pursue a career in Bollywood and instead returning, in his words, to "the land of mountains and the rivers", stood in stark contrast to thousands of Assamese youths moving out of the state every year in search of jobs and education. His music transcended genres and languages, reaching people in Assamese villages, major cities in India, and even worldwide. But it wasn't just his voice that made him integral to the Assamese imagination; it was his strong, free-spirited, and fearless personality.
Zubeen always questioned the orders of those in charge, regardless of whether they were political, religious, or military. He was against animal sacrifice in temples, which could have upset long-held customs. He supported those who protested the Centre's Citizenship (Amendment) Act (CAA). He didn't want to follow the ULFA's diktats against singing Hindi and Bengali songs during Bihu, Assam's biggest festival. Instead, he said that culture should be open and diverse.
When Zubeen said, "I don't have any caste, I don't have any religion, I don't have any God, I am free," he may have given the best description of himself. Zubeen showed an image of freedom and elevation by refusing to use labels that separate people, like the towering Kanchenjunga itself.
A Kanchenjunga
You can't just look at the number of albums Zubeen has sold or the number of concerts he's done to see how popular he is. He was a cultural Kanchenjunga, visible from every part of the north-eastern region, loved by people of all backgrounds. Above all, he was beyond political pettiness. His songs about love, protest, and everyday problems became the soundtrack of life in Assam.
The Outpouring of Sadness
The public mourning that followed his death was unlike anything else. For days, streets, markets, and workplaces were quiet. People from different backgrounds, such as race, language, and religion, came together in grief. It is essential to recognise that this shared grief highlights how deeply Zubeen was a part of Assam's quest for stability and dignity.
Zubeen's Legacy
The story of Assam is one of fragility: a society that has been divided and disrupted many times. But in the midst of all this chaos, Zubeen Garg, through music and defiance, gave the people a sense of belonging and strength. He was a pioneer in his art, a rebel in his choices, and most importantly, he was a voice for the people who spoke the truth without fear.
His death leaves a hole, but it also serves as a reminder that Assam needs more than just politicians and bureaucrats. It requires cultural leaders who stand for freedom, diversity, and bravery. Zubeen's self-identification as "Kanchenjunga" serves as both a personal metaphor and a public message to Assamese society. In a place where borders change, identities are contested, and peace is fragile, the Kanchenjunga spirit - high, free, and unyielding - is what the people must work to keep alive.
So, the mourning for Zubeen Garg is not just about the death of a singer. It's about losing someone who held together a weak social fabric. It is about wanting to be together in a state that has been broken for a long time. And it's about the understanding that sometimes, one lone voice can mean more to a group of people than years of political promises.
(Biswanath Sinha is a senior social sector leader, and can be reached at mbiswanath@gmail.com)
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
