“A True Legend”: Malini Awasthi, Minoti Khaund Remember Pandit Chhannulal Mishra

When Pandit Chhannulal Mishra arrived in Banaras in his late 30s, he carried with him the rigorous training of the Kirana Gharana, imbibed under Ustad Abdul Ghani Khan in Muzaffarpur. Born in Hariharpur, Azamgarh, and initially trained by his father, Mishra came with a single-minded ambition , to become a serious khayal singer.

But Banaras was no ordinary city. Here, music was not bound by gharanas; it was woven into the rhythm of everyday life, in conversations over kachoris and malaiyyo, in dawn chants at the ghats, in Bismillah Khan’s shehnai, in the thumris, jhulas, and chaitis, and in the powerful bols of its tabla gharana. Immersed in this confluence, Mishra’s music absorbed the very spirit of Banaras , a space where the sacred and the sensual existed side by side.

On Thursday, Mishra passed away at his daughter’s home in Mirzapur, aged 89. He leaves behind a legacy of music that spoke both to the connoisseur and the common listener.

Reactions poured in from across the music world. Malini Awasthi, celebrated singer, said, “The passing away of Pandit Chhannulal Mishra is a huge loss for the classical music industry, especially for Kashi and the genre of devotional and classical music which resonates with the masses... Anyone who met him knows how down-to-earth he was. His life was full of simplicity , he lived in a one-room house. He was an ardent devotee of Lord Ram.”

Veteran violinist and Sangeet Natak Akademi Awardee Minoti Khaund recalled, “He was a legend in the truest sense, very progressive for his times. He had great regard for my guru, Pt. V.G. Jog, and once invited us warmly to perform at Ganga Mahotsav. He was delighted to see my daughter Sunita perform and blessed her. He mentioned how happy he was to see violinists of both styles , Dr. L. Subramaniam and Ambi Subramaniam, and myself with Sunita ,performing together. He was a true conservationist of Indian classical music, always bringing people together under one roof. His loss is immeasurable.”

At festivals and conferences, Mishra stood out not just for his khayal , which he softened to make more accessible , but also for his mastery over thumri, dadra, chaiti, and bhajans. He infused these so-called “semi-classical” forms with the gravitas of khayal, elevating them without losing their simplicity. Even when he sang folk pieces like sohar or rasiya, they were tied to ragas with a depth that pleased scholars while retaining a charm that touched lay listeners.

Mishra was also a consummate storyteller, often weaving in the kathakaar tradition. He would sing from Tulsidas’s Ramcharitmanas , narrating Ram’s birth and homecoming , or render verses like “Khele masaane mein Holi Digambar,” contrasting Shiva’s Holi in the cremation ground with Krishna’s Holi in Vrindavan.

Till the end, Banaras remained his karmabhoomi , the city that gave his music its soul. He was cremated there with full state honours. His voice, steeped in raga and folklore, ensured that classical music in Banaras was never confined to the elite but reached the hearts of the people , a true bridge between tradition and the masses.