The Science of Music

فنِ موسیقی کی تعلیم

Learning the Art of Music

A scholar of Qurʾān, ḥadīth, and the religious sciences; a professor at ʿUthmāniyya University; the head of a religious department; or, perhaps, a man of the world — a recluse, a murīd (disciple) of a Sufi master with a thousand followers; or a teacher and ustad of the fine arts of war — it would surprise anyone to hear that Ḥaḍrat had a natural inclination toward the art of music. And that was indeed the case. Ḥaḍrat had a genuine passion for the art of music and for the study of melodic modes (rāg) and their compositions (rāginīs). He had regularly learnt the sitār with proper instruction, and for years this occupation continued.

On the shelves of Ḥaḍrat's study there were no books on music in sight — yet a certain celebrated book on the art of music was written in his own hand. He had a habit of reading it with deep absorption from beginning to end, unable to put it down — not skimming over it but reading it thoroughly, not letting a single notion or concept escape. Ḥaḍrat had himself composed an insightful piece on the subject of music in a scholarly manner. It is presented at the end of this chapter, where it has been reproduced.

Out of academic, familial, and personal dignity, and from a desire to see this art properly cultivated at a scholarly and practical level, Ḥaḍrat did not wish to allow music to be abandoned in the hands of common entertainers — the low-grade professional musicians of the bazaars and back-alleys who had reduced it to vulgarity. By natural disposition he was therefore drawn toward procuring the finest, most celebrated recordings of classical music and having them played. He would listen with absorption, presenting the piece in the most complete form possible. The records, too, were of the best quality, turning on those melodies which he described as the owner-compositions of the art. During this period there were recordings of several rāginīs in his collection. He was a genuine connoisseur and admirer of music, preserving its rare books with great care. Despite his scholarly rank and firm theological position, Ḥaḍrat would cast a serious, learned eye over every branch of music and singing, and offer judicious opinions.

The people of Hyderabad would say with great admiration that Ḥaḍrat was nearby and that Ḥaḍrat's proximity was a source of blessing and grace. Some among them were connoisseurs of certain classical melodies. Whenever any of them came into Ḥaḍrat's presence, or were brought to him, the opportunity for hearing the art would arise naturally.

On one occasion a prominent musician and thinker of Hindu India came to Hyderabad. From the way his credentials were being presented it was clear that he was going to demonstrate the full extent of his mastery. As a ʿālim (religious scholar) and Mawlavī by standing, Ḥaḍrat had already been introduced to him and had decided to remain silent — not wanting to be seen reacting. But when this man demonstrated his complete mastery, Ḥaḍrat stirred himself and, from his own side, began to demonstrate. At this juncture the man said: "In truth, I bow before you — for today you have given me your real appreciation of this art, and no one yet has so criticised me" — though even as he was saying this, he added: "But why should anyone refuse this — because to my knowledge no one has been able to teach me."

Ḥaḍrat's View of Music

In truth, those who say one cannot deny the connection between music and nature are not wrong. Ḥaḍrat paid attention to this art only in so far as its natural connection with the temperament could bring balance and subtlety of thought — not to the extent of devotion to it as an end in itself. Ḥaḍrat regarded it as not merely non-essential but as also being, in a qualified way, a means of other scholarly, spiritual, and devotional engagement, until the point when this purpose was achieved beyond what he had originally anticipated — thinking that it was not merely an intellectual necessity but a spiritual one as well.

Music at its deepest level creates a single-mindedness of imagination and opens up emotional wells within one. It is not something to be forced. Certain inner states demand it for their expression — sometimes a situation arises that calls for it as its proper vehicle.

When the human imagination (takhyīl) is under the sway of the heart's longing, those heights of the human spirit become accessible that would otherwise remain unattainable. Imagination grows restless. And the imagination begins to envision things that the physical eye cannot see. The power of imagination and its expansiveness have no end. In their wake, all the faculties of perception, consciousness, and awareness become scattered, and unity of self and spiritual oneness are forged. When a person's individuality is fully immersed in its own solitude, analysis and reflection are no longer possible.

In various rāginīs Ḥaḍrat would recite verses or read out poems beloved to him, which stirred the emotions of love and devotion in such a way that the heart felt no grief for days on end and a rapture of delight was roused.

Teaching the Rāgs — The Circle of Fazl al-Dīn Ṣāḥib

For the teaching of rāgs (melodic modes), Ḥaḍrat took a disciple, Ḥusaynī Pāshā Ṣāḥib, from his lineage, and another murīd, Fazl al-Dīn Ṣāḥib Qādirī. The two of them worked diligently with Ḥaḍrat — learning various rāg compositions so that he could learn them by singing. In the end, a composition would be settled upon for a particular rāg and selected verses from poetry — known and fitting — would be set to it. The two students were assigned to write down the specimens of verse, and a few rāginīs are presented with their verse specimens at the end.

In reality the naghma (melody) itself has no fixed words; it takes on the soul of its own inner meaning. Fazl al-Dīn Ṣāḥib had a remarkably mellifluous voice. Ḥaḍrat would sit in the old dwelling-place, as if transported, and the gathering would become heavenly. Fazl al-Dīn Ṣāḥib and Ḥusaynī Pāshā Ṣāḥib would recite the verses of the rāginīs, and Ḥaḍrat would become absorbed in them and lose himself in a state of spiritual transport (istighrāq). They would also sing from memory the melodic pieces suitable to the moment, standing at the measure of the rāginī; and the three of them together would be caught up by the idea of divine unity (tawḥīd) — they would be astonished, and their whole being would become overwhelmed. Sometimes, when lost in self-forgetfulness, this verse would come to Ḥaḍrat's lips:

ارے دینے والے مجھے درد دل دے

O Giver, give me the pain of the heart!

مرے دینے والے مجھے درد دل دے

O my Giver, give me the pain of the heart!

He would be singing in this manner, with continuous repetition of these lines, and meanwhile the expressions, movements, and stillnesses, gestures, and the expressions on the faces all bore witness to the state of mast (intoxication). For several hours — indeed for some time — Ḥaḍrat would continue singing, absorbed in his own state of wajd (spiritual ecstasy), oblivious to those around him.

Ḥusaynī Pāshā and the Sessions

Ḥusaynī Pāshā Ṣāḥib would go on singing continuously. Ḥaḍrat would be observing his states with absorption, unaware of his own grief and of his surroundings.

In perfect alignment with the practices of the Messenger of Allāh ﷺ — with love and sincerity of intention, a strong bond and nisbat (spiritual connection), composure and freedom from the disturbance of worldly matters, a state that made one wholly absorbed — when the verses of the naghma came, Ḥaḍrat would lapse into recalling them on his lips, reclining upon his beloved Messenger ﷺ. Several hours would pass. Certain states admitted no capture — this occupation continued through many nights.

Ḥaḍrat used to say that the maʿiyya (companionship, i.e. divine nearness) is like a mirror: a self that has great receptivity to spiritual experience beyond mere bodily company is far more deserving of being an example. Such a companion, who is genuinely noble, is then not merely a conceptual spiritual companion but a genuine one.

Niyāz Muḥammad Ṣāḥib was among those who were well-known by the name of Jibāl Shāh. He would sit for night-long dhikr (remembrance of God) and the occupation of the heart. He was so deeply spiritual that people could focus on him. He used to keep away from forest-dwelling people. Ḥaḍrat once brought him out of the jungle with persuasion. He was a man of notable stature with a strong, robust build. He was of moderate height. He was dark complexioned with yellowish-green clothing. He wore his hair in braids about the ears. He had a beautiful face. The road would be filled with walking crowds with him at their centre. He used to perform the last prayer before departing the mosque. Thereafter he would stand in his own place with a distinctive deep colour. He was a complete dancer (raqqāṣ), and the voice of "Allāh Allāh" would ring from every dancer.

When those present would see Ḥaḍrat and the dancer seeking permission to dance, Ḥaḍrat was a man of all kinds — he had a dry, harsh mawlavī-like side and a miserly nature. He was against the expression of passion and joy. He would leave the better impulses of people to their mercies. Ḥusaynī Pāshā Ṣāḥib would recite verses from the rāginīs. Ji — he would open up the recitation of poetry from rāginīs, and Ḥaḍrat's presence would bring a special mood and spiritual state. Ḥaḍrat, in the presence of Ḥamāl Shāh, would bring more intensity and force and the state of Ḥusūrī (ḥuḍūrī, conscious presence) would take over. The dancer would begin performing. A voice of "Allāh" would emerge from the gongs, the spinning, the pacing amid the cries, the clapping — the phrases made an excellent, pleasant impression. The movement of the dancer's body revealed what lay within: the face would display a state of attraction. Sometimes the face would take on a colour of wonder. Sometimes Ḥaḍrat's face would bear the mark of spiritual attraction. At those moments the qualities of maḥbūbiyyat (belovedness) would appear on him. At one point Ḥaḍrat remarked about this: "The quality of maḥbūbiyyat is indescribable — sometimes its quality cannot be contained at all."

Music as Medicine for the Soul and Body

In essence, the beauty of sound produces rhythm and movement in the temperament. Hearing the sounds reaches the Sufi in a way that brings agitation in the spirit. This agitation manifests itself in the form of dance. During the dance the face of Ḥamāl Shāh would be filled with the visible expressions of divine unity (tawḥīd) — looking at Ḥaḍrat in surprise and amazement — sometimes looking down out of reverence, sometimes taking a step forward. Ḥaḍrat's face would always have one colour right through until late into the night. Sometimes wonder (ḥayrat) would appear on Ḥaḍrat's face. Sometimes the qualities of maḥbūbiyyat would be fully manifest on him. At those very times the states were of a completely different kind. On one occasion Ḥaḍrat remarked: "The quality of maḥbūbiyyat is such that it is indescribable — sometimes its quality is not held within anything."

Now we can reach the last part of the narrative of these scenes.

There were likewise scenes without the city of Madīna.

Muḥammad Ghawth and the Qawwālī Circle

Muḥammad Ghawth had a troop of qawwālī singers in his retinue. He would listen to music with absorption. Whenever Ḥaḍrat became his murīd, he would give Ḥaḍrat a daily attendance. At the evening prayer, Ḥaḍrat would recite verses with him in various rāginīs. Ḥaḍrat found this very satisfying. Muḥammad Ghawth would return home in a devotional state. Significant, educated, and committed people would come to him. He had a passion for listening — sometimes a careless one, sometimes fully absorbed. He also had a love for the qawwālī circle and would himself enjoy the recitation. After this he made qawwālī his profession.

In the period of Madīna Manzil as well, Ḥaḍrat would teach certain female associates and some of the murīds rāginīs after the evening prayer. He himself would also sing. The truth is that the voice creates a taste for music in oneself, and the temperament starts to ward off sadness of life. The temperament improves — listlessness disappears — and maḥbūbiyyat is not created. Music has a cure for both outer and inner illness. In particular the isolation and the loftiness of dhikr produces a warmth that arises from this very occupation — and this warmth generates a kind of ecstasy similar to it, for which this is the cause of spiritual peace (sukūn) up to a certain point.

Certain verses in a mode of sorrow, delight, joy, and love — their musical renditions, the beauty of melodic adornment, and the refinement of the singers — are so beautifully and movingly expressed that one feels the emotions of love and devotion for the people. Sometimes, in a touching and gentle manner, the music of life's signals and nature's omens, the instruments of certainty of faith and the march of the spirit bring new paths, new currents and spiritual impulses, and open up new pathways in the soul. Poetry and music's shared awakening of the soul and the heart produces such an abundance of seeds of longing that what blossoms in them are like the searching seekers of divine gnosis (ʿirfān).

Ḥaḍrat would say: songs, ghazals (lyrical odes), gāne (singing-pieces), and qawwālī are such matters in which love and passion find their fire. Emotions are roused; emotions begin to billow; thoughts take root at a single point.

The Final Period — Wāḥid al-Dīn and ʿAẓam al-Dīn

In the last period of Ḥaḍrat's life, after the death of ʿAbd al-Waḥīd, Ḥaḍrat became anxious about the teaching of rāginīs — concerned for his close associates. Ḥaḍrat was simultaneously troubled as a teacher, as his students were not at hand. Ḥaḍrat would specially make efforts in the matter of music — because the temperament is such that music has no intermediary. It is non-worldly in its taste, and by its nature those who listen to it and those who come to it get drawn in. Ḥaḍrat — Wāḥid al-Dīn and ʿAẓam al-Dīn, both of them — would begin to come to his presence beforehand He would show the two of them how to set a rāginī properly on the right note and offer guidance, and Waḥīd would be helped to gain the skill. He would himself first sing one measure in a rāginī, then a second measure of another rāginī, and would inform the difference between the two in terms of the three components of the rāginī and every measure.

Waḥīd became interested and learnt all the verbal expressions of the pieces by heart. In a gathering of about thirteen melodies, Ḥaḍrat asked Ṭiblī to be present together. Ḥaḍrat, with an air of special favour, looked at Ṭiblī and those present smiled and the gathering grew warm. In his particular way, Ḥaḍrat addressed his writings with a characteristic measure of praise for those in the gathering. His descriptions of the expressions, movements, and stillnesses — the gestures — on Ḥaḍrat's face began to cause the gathering to scatter. People from one side would sit by themselves two by two. Ḥaḍrat would grant Waḥīd only a single opportunity for singing each ghazal. But in this way Waḥīd would find his level — for Ḥaḍrat's continual encouragement was the only support for this despite the military regime.

Since Ḥaḍrat had before him complete absolute certainty and full conviction, both were under his supervision, and he used to record everything in moderation. On one occasion he gave a good account of himself in a naʿt (devotional poem in praise of the Prophet ﷺ) in a late-night gathering — and then, as the attention of the audience grew further: "The only accusation that can be made now is that it's like a bird's chirping."

On one occasion when Ḥaḍrat's health was indisposed, he fell ill with a cold and cough. His voice, too, had been affected. Waḥīd felt troubled by this difficulty. Ḥaḍrat remarked that this person was a complete person whom he stayed linked with — as far as music went, Waḥīd had an association with it through his philosophy and discourse, and Ḥaḍrat did not engage in conversation about it. Ḥaḍrat had a relationship with this person through the means of his personal standing, and in the particular subject-matter of this standing he would stay in the capacity of one who is a constant interlocutor, though maintaining bounds of Allāh and His Messenger ﷺ. He would establish a relationship there and, with this purpose, would take the path of the matter of this linkage as the way. Ḥaḍrat's independent disposition was — this is the same reason that when he was already ill with a bad cold and cough and his voice had been affected, Waḥīd would not go away and would come and sing. At that time Ḥaḍrat called him by the blessed name, and despite the low and affected voice and the plea to soften it further, in his life there was this single truth: "It is impossible for me to express this — only this much can I say:

کانوں میں بس گئی ہے اک آواز دلنشیں

Into these ears has settled a single heart-dwelling voice —

مدت ہوئی نگر اسے بھولا نہیں ہوں میں

It has been an age — I, in this abode, have not forgotten it."

The effect of Ḥaḍrat's prayer is that today ʿAbd al-Waḥīd Ṣāḥib is most happily settled and is the imam of the mosque of his own neighbourhood. (Editorial note)

Selected Rāginīs and Their Specimen Verses

Below are a few rāginīs (melodic modes) with their specimen verses for practice (mushtaq ashʿār — practice-verses):

Rāginī: Bāgishwarī

پیسا اِن آوت نہیں چین

Without you, beloved, there is no peace.

میں تو جاگی ساری رین — پیا نہیں آئو سیاں نہیں آئو

I have stayed awake the whole night — beloved, come! O companion, come!

Rāginī: Bint

بکوا بردج دیکھن کو چلو ری

Come, let us go to Braj to see.

میں تو توڑے دامن واگی سادات

I have torn your garment's hem as alms [for your sake].

Rāginī: Bhairavīn

میں جنگتے باری رے

I am victorious in this contest.

Rāginī: Sindh Bhairavīn

انٹھوسیاں جاگوری — میں جنگتے باری رے

The companions have gathered — I am victorious in this contest.

Rāginī: Baraj

مجھے جنگا کے جوبن لوٹارے — سکنی رے گھر آئو مہمان

You have plundered the bloom of my youth — come, guest, to this dwelling of peace.

Rāginī: Ṭak Kāmor

دیکھو ری خائم کون کڑا ہے

Look — who is standing firm here?

Rāginī: Taram

۱۔ تم بن کٹھن کئی ساری رین

1. Without you, the entire night has been hard and painful.

Rāginī: Pislo / Tam Ban

جیسے جل بن مچھلی تڑپے — تربیت ہول دل رین — تم بن — ۔۔۔۔۔

As a fish thrashes without water — the heart trembles all the night — without you — ...

Rāginī: (untitled group)

۲۔ ہم سنگ نینان کا ہے کو لگائے — دھمیاں لگارے ہے من موہن کا

2. With whom do these eyes seek attachment? — The one who captivates the heart keeps drawing my heart.

Rāginī: Jogā Jogiā

مرات تجلی دل ہی تو ہے — لیلیٰ کا یہ محل ہی تو ہے

The mirror of the divine manifestation (tajallī) is the heart itself — this is the very abode of Laylā.

Rāginī: Jangdishrī

پردیس پالم دھن اکیلی

In a foreign land, the beloved waits alone.

Rāginī: Desī

۱۔ یار سنوریا بھمانا بھمانا — ہم نہیں ہوئنگے زمانہ

1. The beloved wanders and wanders — we shall not last through this age.

تیری گلگی کے سوسو پھیرے — تو نہ روٹھ چاہے روٹھے زمانہ

A hundred circuits around your lane — do not be displeased, though the world be displeased.

Rāginī: Sārang

۲۔ دیا کرو سادات ہم پر دیا کرو — چھولے نہ دوئنگی سدیر

2. Show mercy upon us, O generous ones, show mercy — may the frontier of duality not be touched.

نبھریا سے جیسا ابھردوں گی سدیر — چھولے نہ دوئنگی سدیر — بہت کرو گے پیا آنے نہ دو گے — آپ ہی رہو گے دلگیر

As from the wilderness I rise again to the frontier — may the frontier of duality not be touched — you will insist much, yet will not let the beloved come — you yourself will remain sorrowful.

Rāginī: Sōhinī

۱۔ ناز انداز جب آیا تو حیا بھی آئی

1. When elegance came, modesty came with it.

۲۔ زیر ہست بلند تربخدا طلوع مقام خوت

2. Beneath is exaltation, and above — by God — rises the station of the spirit.

Rāginī: Sarāparadā

اے خاصۂ خاصان رسل وقت دعا ہے

O most elect among the elect of the Messengers, it is the time of supplication.

Rāginī: Shābnā

من موہن ہے یار ہمارا — اس پر فدا اگر بار ہمارا

The heart-captivating one is our beloved — may our very burden be sacrificed upon him.

Rāginī: Ghārā

۱۔ در محفل یکتائی اعتبار نمی گنجد — اعتبار چساں گنجد چوں یار رنگی گنجد

1. In the gathering of divine oneness, trust finds no room — how can trust fit where the beloved's colour fills all?

۲۔ سردے تو مجھے یارب آشفتہ سوداے — دینا ہو اگر مجھ کو دل رہن تمنائے

2. O Lord, give me the madness of longing — if You would give me, grant that my heart remain pledged to desire.

Rāginī: Khamāj

سانولی صورت پر میں جادل واری رے

Upon that dusky face I am wholly sacrificed.

Rāginī: Kāfī

۱۔ گلوئی میں کو نام محمد پیارا

1. In my throat the name Muḥammad is the beloved.

۲۔ کروں گی جیا بھر کے پیار — سیلی جو ہو سو ہو

2. I shall love with all my heart — come what may.

Rāginī: Labhār

منگوا جھر جھر پڑس لاگے — ہم اپنے پیا کو ترس لاگے

The clouds pour and pour in the neighbourhood — we long and yearn for our beloved.

بھمیت کیوں ہے گھر کے باہر — اندر آجا زلفوں والے

Why do you wander outside the house — come inside, O one with flowing locks.

Rāginī: Mānḍo

تمہارو نام محمد مصطفٰی من پیارو لاگو جی — اللہ من پیارو لاگو جی

Your name Muḥammad Muṣṭafā is dear to my heart — Allāh is dear to my heart.

Rāginī: Balkoṣ

۱۔ اللہ محمد خوت

1. Allāh, Muḥammad — the spirit.

۲۔ اوومست شراب لاابالی — انظر اللہ کیف عالی

2. A carefree intoxication with the wine of divine love — Look at Allāh, how exalted He is!

Rāginī: Binḍol

۱۔ جھولا جھولوں کے دن آئے

1. The days of the swings have come.

۲۔ ساقی ادھر بھی اک پیمانہ — سدا رہے میمانہ

2. O Sāqī (cup-bearer), a cup this way too — may the feast never end.

Rāginī: Mīn

پیا پر دیسوا — کاسے کہوں سندیسوا — ڈٹھلے چلے جوبن وا — سویت بھمو گیسوا — پیا پر دیسوا

The beloved is in a distant land — to whom shall I send my message? — The bloom of youth has departed — wandering into the desolate wilderness — the beloved is in a distant land.

Ḥaḍrat's Essay on the Science of Music — Published in the Journal Tāj

There are many books in Urdu on the science of music, but they are generally treated on a popular level. Their attention is directed toward basic science and scholarly principles, not to the Urdu medium through which Ḥaḍrat argued, giving his attention to this very art — so that beginners in this art can understand it. Readers of its copies can benefit from it. (The Author)

Sulm-e-Mūsīqī (The Scale of Music)

When we hear different sounds we do not merely hear high and low pitches — the ascending and descending — of sounds. We also come to know the numbers of vibrations (ihtizāzāt — oscillations) in the strings (surs). Not only do we learn the simple numerical ratios of vibrations of strings, but we know from these vibrations of strings those pitches that reach our ears in proportionate ratios or that produce for us a sense of pleasantness or displeasure. A pitch (sur) that produces a steady, firmly-settled harmony is of a pleasant and acceptable nature, while that which is not in harmony is not pleasant.

We call the combination of different sounds a salm (scale — dīwān or qirār). Salm-e-mūsīqī consists of several degrees. Each degree of a scale is called a sur (dīwān-qirār — tonic, steady note) or step (braj — interval). Seven surs (braj) are as follows:

In this way, one salm has several (dīwān or qirār) pitches (surs). The base pitch (aṣl sur / dīwān qirār) is called the root/fundamental, and the second salm (dīwān) is called the answering pitch (jawābī sur).

A Hindu theorist writes: one (dīwān qirār) fundamental pitch (aṣl sargam) in relation to two (dīwān jawāb) answering pitches — for example, on a Hindustani bansurī (flute): the fifth degree of the scale (dīwān — the note Sa in the octave above) will be at such a pitch that this degree of the scale (dīwān) resolves upward (ūnchā). For example, if we write rāg Shā as "2 of Sa" — the note meaning 2 degrees below the Sargam of the next string (sur) will be written.

ʿAdad Ihtizāzāt (Numbers of Vibrations)

That is, the numbers of vibrations of the strings (surs):

When a string vibrates at its full length, its sound is the fundamental (aṣl — salm aʿlā / qirār), and the answering vibration (salm aʿlā — its answer) is the octave above.

If we consider one fundamental string and the others by their relationship to it, the notes will have the following ratio:

This is the instantaneous (momentary) ratio of the pitch (sur) to the instantaneous pitch — the ratio being that between the fundamental and the octave above (qalb wa maks).

If we convert these numbers to whole numbers, the ratio for the vibrations will be:

The intervals between the first and second, the third and seventh, and the eighth differ by 3 — between the third and fourth by 2 — between the fifth and sixth, and the sixth and seventh by 3. If we take 23 (Sā) as 1, then it must be held as 22.

These notes are in a mutual proportionate relationship with one another — every sur (note) has an intrinsic ratio among the vibrations. A sīrin (a measuring instrument, siren/syren) is a tool for discovering the number of vibrations in strings. The instrument is built to discover the vibrations of strings, and by this means the investigation of the strings can be carried out.

Tawāfuq-e-Aṣwāt wa Taʿānd — Consonance and Dissonance of Sounds

That is: Consonance (muwāfaqat) and Dissonance (nāmuwāfaqat) among the notes (surs).

We have already explained that when the sounds of notes (surs) reach our ears in combined form, some of them produce a pleasant and agreeable sensation. It is not necessary for this that only two or three notes of the same sur level arrive together — but rather the combination of certain notes produces pleasantness while others are displeasing.

The fact is that of the notes whose combination (tawāfuq) is pleasing the samāʿī (auditory) value becomes pleasant; and of those whose combination is not pleasing the samāʿī value becomes unpleasant. The most pleasant — that is, the best tawāfuq — is the unison, because the vibrations of these notes are one. That is: first, the relationship of the vibrations of the lower notes to the upper notes — for example, the first sur (fundamental, dīwān qirār) and the second sur (answering, dīwān jawāb) are in the ratio 1:2 — i.e. the nisbat (ratio) of unity (waḥdat) after the nisbat of pair-quality (zanajiyyat). Then the three notes together — the best nisbat of all is 2:3 — then 3:4 — then 4:5 — then 5; the nisbat is 4:5; 9:5 — the best nisbat of all is that which is: the fundamental nisbat, nisbat of waḥdat — it is this. The original pleasantness (aṣlī laẕẕat) is this — to that degree the unpleasantness will arise.