fter the four-day skirmish with India, the media is brimming with patriotic music numbers, leading with Aey Rahe Haq Kay Shaheedo, Wafa Ki Tasweero.

Many remakes and edited versions of the song have been aired across mainstream, streaming and social media platforms. All of it seems to have galvanised the emotions of a public that is constantly threatened and innately insecure.

Artists in the country are forever at the forefront – indeed, the front line – where they perform more than as vocalists, composers or recordists. They are being pitched into a warrior role. Just as it appeared in 1965, the onslaught now seems to be more the preserve of artists, who must speak, sing and defend whatever is being propagated through the mainstream media.

The song Aey Rahe Haq Kay Shaheedo, Wafa Ki Tasweero, originally sung by Naseem Begum, has since been interpreted many times; none perhaps surpass the original in terms of pure musical rendition. The song was recorded for the film Madar-i-Watan, likely released in 1966, and was directed and produced by Saifuddin Saif. A highly regarded poet, Saif belonged to an era when poets maintained a distinction between literary work and film lyrics, although some crossed that barrier without bias. In India, that line blurred earlier, with leading poets contributing openly to cinema.

People usually remember a song by its lyrics, then by the singer who rendered it. Some may recall the poet, but the least remembered, though most vital musically, is the composer.

Artists are being pitched into the warrior category, more than vocalists or composers; they are made to sing and defend what is being propagated.

The duo Salim-Iqbal composed many brilliant film scores. They were among the most gifted music directors in the first three decades of Pakistani cinema. As disciples of the legendary Ustad Sardar Khan of the Delhi Gharana, who migrated to Pakistan in 1947, they also sang for the radio before successfully transitioning to film.

These traditional compositions – once the preserve of the gharanas – were passed down through generations. But with the explosion of technology, remakes developed a distinct character. The sanctity of the original was often lost. Remakes, enhanced by sound production, editing and visual overlays, assumed their own identity, though rarely improving the musical quality of the original.

From Watan Kay Sajeelay Jawano to Aye Putar Hattan Tay Nai Wikday, many such songs, originally written and sung in moments of national intensity, gain new prominence when media demand grows for emotionally charged content. Yet, where music is concerned, there is often little respect for copyright or due credit. A better mechanism should be developed to protect the contributions of artists. Too often, the final product is valued more than those who created it. That balance must be restored in favour of the creative minds whose work is being traded.

The writer is a culture critic based in Lahore