Nothing beats nature’s ‘jal tarang’

The proclivity to listen to music created by water matured in my mind when I was a student of Mission High School, Dhariwal. A group of musicians came to the school to play instrumental music. The musicians had cups filled with water and were playing with sticks on them. The modulated music created ‘jal tarang’ or the rhythm of water. It was melodious.

Since then, anytime I happened to be near a water channel, canal or river, I would locate spots where such music could be listened to because of the fall of water. I observed the impeccable rhythm that was never possible mechanically or by humans. Though the music at different spots was variable, I could hear the perfect rhythm at that particular spot.

When I went to Government College, Dharamsala, I was supposed to stay in a hostel. I was not familiar with the geography of the area. On the very first night, I heard melodious music. Instantly, I guessed that it was because of the fall of water. Maybe, there was a canal or river flowing nearby, I thought and went back to sleep.

Early in the morning, when I woke up, I could not suppress my desire to visit the place from where the music had emanated. I went in that direction. Even the birds had not started chirping yet. I spotted the place. The music was so sweet that I sat on a stone that was naturally placed in that nullah, enjoying the music looking at the Dhauladhars in the east. I related the scene with a story in which Mughal emperor Akbar enquired from his minister Tansen at what time he could listen to the music of his master. Tansen replied that his master only sang at midnight, sitting on the riverbank, away from people, so that nobody could listen to him as he thanked the Creator through his music. The scene was similar, the music erupting perpetually without any break, but it was not to gain any award from anyone.

I used to enjoy that music every night, but I realised that the volume got dim during the daytime because of human activity.

Two decades later, when I went to Dharamsala along with my family, I went to the same spot one evening. I saw a lot of construction. Some industrial units were coming up. I tried to locate that particular spot, but in vain.

I was told that the course of the nullah had been diverted. Wandering aimlessly there for a while, but disenchanted, I returned, looking back a number of times hoping that I had arrived at some wrong place. But alas, it was not so.