Eternity In An Hour
the Bhagavad Gita reimagined
‘spiritual depths, intellectual curiosity and philosophical intention’
Rebecca Franks, The Times, full review here
As the Battle of Kurukshetra is about to begin, warrior prince, Arjuna, refuses to fight. What arises from this crisis will become the cornerstone of Hindu scripture, The Bhagavad Gita, The Song of the Lord.
Eternity In Hour is a concert-meditation devised by pianist Keval Shah, contralto Jess Dandy, and composer Reena Esmail. Godsongs – Esmail’s Sanskrit settings of portions of the Gita – trace Arjuna’s path to 'supreme peace’ through the teachings of his charioteer, Krishna.
Heeding the call to one’s life purpose, the inevitability of life & death & life again, the vital infinitude of a living cosmos, and the centrality of love, are explored further by complementary Judeo-Christian texts from the European Art Song tradition: Schubert, Brahms, Messiaen, Wolf, amongst others.
Premiered at Oxford International Song Festival in October 2024, Eternity In An Hour has also received performances at Kings Place London, Leicester International Music Festival and Meidän Festivaali in Finland.
Jess and Keval reflect on the process of bringing this unique event to life
Keval: I grew up in a Gujarati household in London, surrounded by Hindu culture and values. However, being educated in and then working in a Western classical culture, I recognise that over the course of my teens and twenties, there existed a subconscious separation between my identities as a person and musician. This division of my ‘self’ into separate entities, an ‘Indian’ part and a ‘Western’ part eventually led to a crisis of confidence about my identity and purpose as an artist. Becoming aware of this division in the last few years, and embarking on a journey to reconcile these separate parts of self into one unified being, has finally allowed me to step onto the concert platform with assurance, clarity of purpose, and a deep feeling of alignment.
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This process of personal discovery has also opened the possibility of reflecting this authentic sense of ‘self’ on the concert platform, and one of the motivations of the project has been to bridge the gap between my life as a song pianist, and my Indian heritage, by commissioning a new set of songs, setting portions of an iconic Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita. This text is an iconic document of ancient Vedic philosophy, and it has been a cornerstone of my upbringing. But it has also been a hugely influential piece of literature for Western culture, and it resonates deeply with the ideas and perspectives which we encounter so often in European lyric poetry. Of course there are points of divergence, too, and in our programme we have carefully placed these new songs alongside songs from the Western canon to highlight the similarities and differences between these cultural perspectives, and to open up the space between these worlds.
This project has also been an exploration of possible future directions for the art of song. I believe deeply in the power of this intimate form of music-making, and of the potential of communicating with audiences through song. This genre offers the possibility to tell all kinds of stories, and to speak to broad and diverse audiences, when we frame the repertoire in meaningful and thoughtful ways. I’m looking forward to introducing our audience to music and poetry that may be entirely familiar or entirely unfamiliar, depending on their background. But, in either case, I am excited about the potential for this programme to bridge cultures and communities, and to harness the full power of song as a vehicle for personal and collective expression and reflection. As much as this project has been connected to my own exploration of identity, it was actually precipitated by Jess Dandy: she approached me and asked if I would have any interest in exploring my Indian heritage on stage, and it was from this question that our journey of discovery began. When we first discussed the idea, it struck me that Reena Esmail would be the perfect composer for a project about finding the meeting point between Indian and Western cultures. Reena is an Indian-American composer, trained in the Western tradition but who is also trained in Hindustani music. Her musical language is a genuine and original fusion of Hindustani and Western influences, and working with her over the last year or so, has been deeply inspiring and rewarding. Her detailed understanding of the rhythms and intonation patterns of Sanskrit verse, combined with her exquisite sensitivity to harmony and word-setting, have resulted in a series of compelling and powerful songs which, in style, form and content, perfectly embody the multicultural and inquisitive spirit of this project.
Jess and Keval reflect on the process of bringing this unique event to life
Jess: I love being part of creative environments in which artists are able to converse deeply with all parts of themselves, weaving together ostensibly ill-matched threads into intricate, generative tapestries of nuance and open-ended potential. Where the fray at the edges of the fabric is not tidied up, but instead points to the opportunity for further development. Where collaboration does not require anyone to ascribe to a reductive monoculture, but invites us all to thrive as interdependent individuals within an ever-evolving & diversifying ecosystem.
I feel privileged Keval has trusted me to witness and accompany him on this beautiful journey to the meeting point of his Indian heritage and professional life as a Western classical musician – a meeting point we have found at once rich in questions, possibilities and opportunities for growth.
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I first came across the Bhagavad Gita (God’s Song) a decade ago in a roadside library in North London. Forming part of the epic Mahabharata, its brevity (eighteen short chapters) belies its cosmic proportions. This central scripture of Hinduism, over 2000 years old, takes the form of a dialogue between the warrior prince Arjuna and his charioteer, the god-avatar Krishna. Arjuna finds himself in a seemingly impossible battle against members of his own family – often interpreted as a war within one’s own mind on the battlefield of life, rather than a literal call to arms. ‘I will not fight!’ (2:9), says Arjuna – and in so saying, rejects his divinely ordained duty. Krishna’s counterpose is to teach Arjuna about the inevitability of death and rebirth, the eternal field sustaining all things, and the action inherent in every material being. He reveals his true cosmic form, ‘many-armed, many-stomached, many-mouthed, infinite in form’ (11:16), and guides Arjuna towards the disciplines of knowledge, yoga, and devotion. Arjuna returns to the battlefield, freed from his former delusions and doubt, ready to act with divine clarity. Some have gone further with the psychological model, proposing the Gita to be a form of proto-parts work: the integrative dialogue of two or more selves extant within the individual.
In only 700 verses, the Gita unfolds its infinite convolutions like the universe in a single atom: ‘The son of Pandu (Arjuna) saw the entire universe, in its multiplicity, gathered there as one in the body of the god of gods’ (11:13). Nothing happens; everything happens. We meet & leave Arjuna on the battlefield at dawn – perhaps not even a moment passes in earthly time – but, thanks to his ‘sacred dialogue’ with Krisha, our warrior prince has ‘remembered’ himself. The Gita offers up the vast secrets of the universe with the intimacy and love of a longstanding friendship – ‘I promise you: you are dear to me’, says Krishna – and we leave its realms with a renewed sense of who we are truly meant to be; we are given ‘divine eyes’ through which to see our own lives.
The Western pieces we have chosen – by Britten, Brahms, Wolf, Mahler, Schubert, and Messiaen – transmute through the alchemical prism of the Bhagavad Gita. The concert-meditation’s title, Eternity In An Hour, is the Gita’s very quintessence (for starters, you could definitely read the whole thing in under an hour), yet is taken from William Blake’s Auguries of Innocence, as set to music by Benjamin Britten. Later in the programme, Britten’s setting of ‘Batter my Heart, three-person’d God’ by John Donne problematises the easy dichotomy of mono- and polytheistic traditions – are we addressing the Christian Holy Trinity or the Hindu Trimurti of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva? Does Krishna as avatar of Vishnu have any monotheistic equivalent? The imprisonment we crave in the ‘usurpt towne’ of our being, hijacked by pleasures & desires, might be re-interpreted as the yoga – the literal yoke of liberation – advocated by Krishna. Messiaen’s ‘Répétition planétaire’ already situates itself within a Hindu paradigm: the word ‘lîla’, repeated throughout, is the Sanskrit for ‘divine play’. And its ‘Ride astride a black shriek’, ‘planet eats whilst spinning’ recalls the dread reality of the Gita’s Cosmic Being: ‘as flying insects propel themselves to death in the brilliant flame, so the worlds impetuously hurl themselves to destruction between your jaws’ (11:29). Mahler’s iconic ‘Um Mitternacht’ – a piece I have sung many times, but never like this – falls out of its display cabinet to become Arjuna the warrior honouring his spiritual companion Krishna for keeping watch at his darkest hour when ‘no stars smiled at me’. Wolf’s ‘An die Geliebte’ becomes a devotional hymn – ‘Only by loving devotion to Me does one come to know who I am in Truth. Then, having come to know Me, My devotee enters into full consciousness of Me.’ (18:55) Transformed through love, what has happened to the unsmiling stars? ‘All of the stars smiled at me and I listen to their song of light’ says Wolf’s protagonist. A song of light we meditate upon in Reena’s setting of the Gayatri Mantra, the ‘divine light illuminating all realms.’ In a world so intent on division, I love stepping into spaces where substance rather than labels can be the order of the day; my own diminutive human form of ‘lîla’, I suppose.
For me, singing is a spiritual practice and the concert hall has the potential to become a sacred space of philosophical inquiry for performers and audiences alike. Training the body to resonate fully is my way of connecting to the true centre and scope of my aliveness within a beautifully complex and diverse web of lifeforms. The Hindustani classical tradition which Reena weaves so deftly with her Western classical training, recognises that the very act of music-making is a portal to the expansion of consciousness.
As a contralto, my voice is similar in range to a Hindustani classical singer, though my vocal production differs considerably. As I explored Reena’s self-described ‘bilingual’ soundworld, I wanted to acquaint myself with the fundamentals of Hindustani training whilst retaining my core sound. Studying with specialist singer & teacher Ranjana Ghatak, I have been introduced to a system rooted in yogic devotion; in which to sing is to meditate, to pray, to worship. I deeply resonate with this approach. Pitch bends, ornamentation (Gamaka) and taans – a form of highly articulated coloratura – create a vocal world familiar and remote. In singing, or rather coalescing with Ragas, musical organisms or entities at once mode, melody and neither, every cell re-attunes itself, both within and without. Marwa, to be sung as the late afternoon hangs heavy, lies on its side, uncooperative and oblique. Raag Bihag and Hamsadhwani are both evening Ragas and yet could not be more different in character. Bihag has the weight and luxuriance of velvet, the fur of a panther, bittersweet, aching yet resigned. Hamsadhwani, ‘the cry of the swan’, is no Schwanengesang; its airy, spacious qualities conjure soft hints of an evening breeze – my favourite iterations are on the bansuri, the Indian bamboo flute.
The Bhagavad Gita does not advocate a turning away from life. There have been many moments in my life where I have wanted to say, ‘I will not fight!’. Through the Gita, I have learnt that ‘it is better to do one’s own duty inadequately than another’s well’ (18:47), that we do ‘not attain freedom from the results of action by abstaining from actions’, nor do we ‘approach perfection simply by renunciation’ (2:18). And yet, we learn that true wisdom comes from ‘giving up the results of all actions’. Keval, Reena, and I will find this perhaps the most difficult task in bringing ‘Eternity In An Hour’ into the world.