There is the cry of yearning of the beloved, as she sighs for her lover.

There is the cry of man, as he seeks God.

And there is the anguished cry of Earth herself, at her cruel fate, exhausted, grieving, seeking release and redemption from her all and ever nurturing role - even as she unfailingly persists in looking after the well-being of all living beings - crying for the warmth of union in the Divine Family. This is the voice of Reshma.

Reshma's song, Reshma's voice, is the song and voice of Mother Earth, coming from deep, deep within the bowels of our consciousness, echoing hauntingly through the dark, empty void of the universe, touching the core of our selves, invoking an awesome vision, of oneness, separation and reunion, helping us identify ourselves as earth's offspring, cosmic beings, alive to both the devastating grief and the explosive joy that the human condition evokes.

Reshma's voice is the voice of the soil of Punjab, that providential land nourished by sunshine and rivers, that has produced such giants of human upliftment as Nanak and Bulle Shah ... A rich land, whose songs also evoke an imagery of parched earth thirsty for the rain of union. Her voice is as much the voice of Sind, the land of the revered saint Jhulelal, that has historically served as a bridge between Hindu and Muslim.

Reshma's voice is the voice of the sand-dunes of Rajasthan, the land of the desert, that has produced valourous warriors, builders of magnificent forts, palaces, cities and kingdoms, a land of wandering minstrels whose songs about the incomprehensibility of this confounding world verily drape the dunes, where brave, strong, suffering women glazed by the harsh and beautiful desert heave their sad sighs for release.

Reshma's voice is the voice of Pakistan, ... of India, of this ancient cradle of human civilisation, sunk within a world mired in destructive madness. Reshma's voice is thus the voice of humanity, of the world, identifying and expressing its most primal cry : a gasp for breath, a clutch at life, a stirring for survival.

Reshma was singing in Hyderabad. This was the venue of the Festival of the Subcontinent (13-17 August 1997) - "Joint Celebrations for Union of Hearts". People from India, Pakistan and Bangladesh were jointly celebrating their freedom from colonial rule, and expressing hope for peace, harmony, friendship, goodwill, cooperation and free cultural exchange between the peoples of these three countries.

For Hyderabad, 15 August 1947, India's Independence Day, when the whole nation was rejoicing, was not such a happy day. Hyderabad's status vis-a-vis the Indian union had become a contentious matter. A communalised environment had enveloped what had for long been a haven of harmonious composite culture, of Urdu civility, that united Hindu and Muslim, Urdu and Telugu. And through the 1980s, communal riots became almost an established, ritual observance in this city. Like with Dhruv, whose journey to self-awareness was triggered off by his grief at the apparent denial of love by his father, perhaps that was the price Hyderabad had to pay for what it got in August 1997. Nowhere else in India were the Independence Day celebrations, and Fiftieth Anniversary celebrations at that, anything like what happened in Hyderabad. The sight of hundreds upon hundreds of schoolchildren, assembled at the Lal Bahadur Stadium on the morning of 14 August 1997 for the inaugural programme of the Festival was truly something overwhelming, giving any sensitive witness a strong conviction that the dark days of despair were finally over and that the future can only be beautiful and joyous.

On 16 August 1946, Calcutta had witnessed carnage of communal violence, an orgy of killing. On 16 August 1997, Hindus and Muslims, Indians, Pakistanis and Bangladeshis - came together in Hyderabad for the Festival of the Subcontinent. We can live together, we can celebrate together, they seemed to say. Half a century later, there was another riot, but this time a riot of festivity, goodwill, and genuine warmth and joy at being together, at celebrating together. But this joy was marred by the shock and sorrow at the news of the sudden demise of the beloved Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, in London, on 16 August. Through his music Nusrat has played the role of an ambassador of love, goodwill and peace between peoples. His death therefore leaves an immense void. Perhaps this is the price that had to be paid for 1946, a reminder of how much of undoing remains to be done. On 17 August, just before Reshma's concert began, a large gathering of people stood in silence for two minutes in homage to the great master.

Also participating at the Festival was the Baul group Nabopran Andolan from Bangladesh. August 1947 had witnessed fierce communal riots in several parts of present day Bangladesh, which served to put the seal of separation of these areas from the rest of Bengal and India. But the Baul music tradition lives on in both the Bengals, through songs of the oneness of all before the One, through devotion to the revered saints Lallan Fakir, Gouranga and Nityananda, whose songs continue to be sung by both Hindus and Muslims. The spirit - of joy, goodwill - in Hyderabad during the Festival is something that cannot be described in words, least of all by anyone brought up amidst hatred, violence, acrimony, ill-will, mistrust and suspicion. For the members of Nabopran, being here was a moment of supreme fulfillment. They had always implicitly viewed themselves and their music as part of a composite common heritage, borders and politics notwithstanding. Perhaps it was this meek sensibility that had so powerfully moved Mahatma Gandhi to stay in Noakhali to try to bring to an end the communal horrors there, and left him with a deep affection for the Bengali people. And the events in Hyderabad truly lived up to this aspiration.

The sub-continent has in its long and unbroken cultural history given rise to a number of waves of spiritual consciousness and social movements for devotion, love, brotherhood and service. Music has always been a principal means of these movements. Listening to Reshma and remembering Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, as well as the hundreds of other lesser known singers and musicians, one is struck by the fact that the contemporary juncture is undoubtedly one more of those high points in the long history of this land and her people. And the times couldn't be more appropriate, to call for a cleansing and revitalising of humanity, which is sinking in today's nadir of devastation, injustice and violence. The approaching new millennium could then be one of genuine advance of the human spirit. And so earth sends Reshma, and her voice, her songs, her cry, as an act of self-renewal, and as a means for human renewal.

Music has been among the most basic expressions of higher consciousness in man as he emerges from his animal past. Today what the worldwide popularity attained by singers like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan really signifies is the glimpsing, in the core of the listeners' consciousness, of an inexpressible, inexplicable awareness of another plane, another reality, another self, and is akin to a glimmer of light and joy at this leap anew of the eternal spirit of life and creation. With Nusrat's passing, a mission becomes clear : a worldwide spiritualisation of mankind, through music. And Reshma would play a key role in this. In the very articulation of such a vision lies its basis. Reshma has now to sing for humanity, and not just for some people in Pakistan and India. And this implies an entire agenda of creative projects and programmes. This then is a fervent invitation to the world at large, to listen and respond to Reshma, and thus to participate in the global musical movement for peace and dignity and become one with this miraculous process of renewal of Earth, Life, Humanity and the Spirit.