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I glance at my watch, it is 09.00 pm. We have been waiting for Him. The last two hours have been sheer bliss. As I settled in my seat at 7 o'clock this evening anxiously awaiting the performance of Zakir Hussain, people still poured in. Somehow, all this resplendent, dazzling audience did not catch my attention for more than a second. My fixation was that huge array of speakers in front that was letting out a mesmerizing recording of ultra-fast cyclic rhythm; some invisible rain-god moving his thunderous fingers on the hard surface. This is "Rela", a technical term in Tabla-speak for continuous rhythm cycles played in increasing repetitions over a fixed interval.  The clap of fingers had the signature of "Tabla-Nawaaz", the Master of Tabla, Ustad Zakir Hussain himself. As moments passed, the piece ended and the melodious notes of Hamsadhwani flowed out of the magic Flute of Hariprasad Chaurasia.

The first Act

My mind goes off a bit to survey the musical exploits of this evening so far. It started at 0700pm sharp with the local Flute wizard Milind Date playing with his troupe of a talented Tabla-player, Guitarists and percussionist. The flute has this soothing sound touching the depths of heart and it can also have the piercing, haunting pitch that brings out the anguished call so well. Milind is a revelation for me tonight. He stared with a composition in  "Raga Bhatiyar". The lilting light Flute suddenly played out those pensive notes of Bhatiyar and I felt as if I was roused from a reverie. I am struggling to categorize the note in my mind... beautiful? yes but not quite the word...  touching? not quite so again.. Ah!! yes, hauntingly beautiful!! That's how he played! A thunder of applause followed as his last note faded and the guitarists looked not the least exhausted by his stupendous jamming! Same with Yogesh Deshpande on tabla. Truly, what a band! After another superb treat in Bhupali, this time augmented with the classy elegance of Kathak dancers, he came to his signature tune, The Origine. This was undoubtedly a heavier composition, with more stress on fast beats and the unconquered, accelerating melody of the Flute. It began with the invocation to the Absolute from Isha Upanishad,
"OM! poorNam adah poorNam idam
 poorNAt poorNam udaCyate
 poorNasya poorNam AdAya
 poorNam eva avaSiSHyate ||1||"

All in all a truly fantastic composition! 

So here presently Milind stops and introduces to us the giant from Chennai, Sivamani! The colourful man appears onstage and wastes no time with formalities. Gets right behind that maze of myriad drums, cymbals, conch-shells, kitchen utensils, steel-ware and a number of strange-looking items that he can bring to life. The touch of pure talent is unmistakable. The drumsticks turn into an instrument of torrential thundering. He turns this way and that; handles the drums dexterously, while playing the cymbals and the gongs with effortless ease, all the while singing out the "Bols" or beats from his mouth.  I can now understand why they call him a multifaceted genius. 'He is a class act, no doubt': I think in awe. What follows is beyond mere words; actually the beats and the sounds transcended any worldly  description, so what if  my words can't grasp their overwhelming essence: beauty.

I can't remember where I was lost during that one hour when Sivamani played, striding the stage like a colossus doing the unimaginable magic of percussion, except that the world he unraveled before us was beautiful beyond any comparison. When he took a bow, he was sweating in the chill of the night. We followed in with the applause in a daze, half-smiling in ecstasy.

The Second Act

Tea & Snack time followed. Minutes pass in aimless wandering in an expectant wait for the maestro of Tabla himself.  Everyone settles down again and the announcement follows, "Ladies and Gentlemen! We now present to you the Master of Rhythm himself! Please welcome Ustad Zakir Hussain!!"

Instinctively everyone rises for a standing ovation to the genius, the Master of Rhythm. He is politeness personified and feels slightly shy when he sees elderly men and women standing in his honour.  He bows to the audience in complete reverence and settles onto the 'Baithak'. The instruments of his art are there before him. He touches the Tabla and Dagga and then touches his forehead. I am reminded of an incident a friend told me about. Sarang, my friend, loves Tabla and unlike me he plays it too.  Once when Zakir Hussain came to his town, these young lads presented before him their Tabla-wizardry. You can very well imagine the scene with Zakir standing over and these pupils playing out the instrument before him. But then came Zakir's turn to give these young learners some souvenir lessons. So he sat down and put his hands on the Tabla and Lo, Behold!! All these pupils instinctively took their hands off their Tablas in an instant, all in complete synchrony. They certainly did not want to be irreverent and it's an intuitive realization, I guess.

His nimble fingers strike on the Tabla and that resounding clap goes through the expectant silence like a thunderbolt. He adjusts the mike a bit, takes up the puny steel hammer and strikes a couple of delicate blows on the sides of the "Vaadi", the skin of the Tabla in a nonchalant act of tuning the percussion instrument. People are waiting. Not a sound comes from the more than 2,500 audience gathered in the spacious open air arena made up for this fusion concert. He instructs the sound engineer on adjusting the different sound levels of the various mikes surrounding his Tablas- yes, he has before him a couple of Tablas today- and his Dagga. Those little details that make the whole complete. Nobody has stirred in the audience. Everything is being looked upon as the rituals preceding a pooja with everyone in rapt attention.

He looks up at the audience and smiles to some familiar face, then speaks into the mike,
"Thank you all of you for being so patient with me tonight! You see, I was waiting backstage as Sivamani went through his mind-blowing repertoire of percussion and I said, 'Oops!! That was exactly what I had planned on playing tonight! There again!! I love presenting that piece too!'.  So, I must say, I hardly have anything better left to offer you tonight. But you have been so patient and I will try to do justice to all your expectations tonight, the best I can. (Cough! Cough!!) Sorry, you'll have to excuse me for that, I am down with severe cough and a bout of Brochitis. I promise, though, that I will not disappoint you!"

We can see that he is not his usual zestful self with frequent coughs and cough-drops in between. But that's hardly reason to dampen his mood. We know not to take him seriously when He says that there's hardly anything left to present tonight!! That's his modesty and he will always have some unimaginably beautiful gem up in his repertoire and he will throw it with such careless elegance and in such absolute precision just when you least expect it that you will experience what Bliss feels like. And I am sure nobody doubted that what was best at his dizzying heights was certainly more that what we could imagine.

Ustad Sultan Khan, that other giant among musicians, is sitting on his right holding his mellifluous Sarangi in perfect position. His eyes half-closed in contemplation and the bow resting in his lap.  Zakir Hussain looks at him and tells us,
"Tonight we have the honour of having with us Ustad Sultan Khan in whose hands the Sarangi literally speaks and sings! He has played all over the world and his greatness needs no introduction to the connoisseurs of music today. He has also been a very accomplished vocalist and tonight we shall be treated to one of his superb renditions.." The Ustad acknowledges the round of applause and Zakir continues,
"and to give me a hard time tonight, I have on my left my younger brother Taufiq Quereishi!"

Taufiq stands up from behind another maze of drums, bongos and congas. He is content to play second fiddle- sorry, percussion, tonight to his more famous big brother..

They settle down. Sultan Khan picks up his bow and as it touches the bridge of the Sarangi, the notes of sweet melancholy flow out of it. His voice rises above it's notes to start a soothing rendition and Zakir settles into a rhythm. The notes are slow at first and gather momentum as the melody creates a hauntingly beautiful picture. Zakir's fingers are moving faster, beating out the "Tin-taal" variations. He is accompanying the Sarangi everywhere it goes and the intervals where the Sarangi waits looking over the blue hills of Swaras, the rhythm scales new heights in tandem. The Sarangi soon settles to the role of "Lehra" or accompaniment. Zakir speaks into the mike again,
"This was the 'Peshkar' and what you will be listening to now is called 'Kaayadaa'. Nothing to do with the more popular, or should I say unpopular, 'Kaayadaa'!"

'Kaayadaa', the Law of Tabla itself! I remind myself. The beats rise in speed and I am left wondering how fast his fingers are moving. One-Two-Three, the "tihaai" repeats itself sometimes like the lightening and the repetitions go on. Twice the rate of acceleration, now thrice, now still more...!! When he finishes the Kaayadaa, the beats of Tabla are hardly drowned in the thunderous applause. Next comes the magic. The train pulling slowly out of the station, picking up speed, now roaring down the rails with it's engines hissing and yes, that Shrill whistle going off there... the hard rains beat on it's metal roof...all out of the Tabla! Everyone is stunned at this witchcraft. Then follows the creation of  Kishen Maharaj of Benares gharana, the Cannon fire beat. Here it goes.. "DHOOOOm...DHOOOm...DHOOm", the guns boom unmistakably.

More intricate cycles and more exquisite weaving of Taal's follow. Finally, one of the best in the armoury, the continuous call of the  high-pitched conch-shell, 'shankha', only the Tabla speaking now to the hard raps on the black circle, the shaai. The sound reverberates and in  comes another rap, and another and another, the reverberation of Tabla rises in the air and the shankha is blown by it's mighty lungs. I can't believe my eyes and ears! 'Wah Ustad!!' The applause hardly stops when Zakir calls Taufiq onstage and Taufiq rises behind his drums. His hands are playing the conga now,  now they shift to the bongo. The same magic is flowing through different instruments this time, the same signature clapping, the  same dexterity but the halo of curly hair is missing on the player. He is more subdued in appearance, bespectacled. Zakir joins him in rhythm, the brothers are seamlessly shifting from one beat to another, their counting not one beat amiss or out of synch. 'Laya' envelopes the surroundings and it calls on some ancient innate instinct to silence every other thought. Sarangi has stopped now and Sultan Khan is savouring the marvels of Taal.

Taufiq picks up the plastic water-bottles and plays out incredible beats with them, them he takes to more basic instruments: viz. his hands and his cheeks. How can you play out such heavy cycles on the delicate skin? but it seems he can! The crowd has gone into  raptures. The duo exceeds all expectations, indeed!

The encore comes with Sivamani taking to the stage once again.  He can not keep his fingers crossed, literally, while the Taal dances in all it's glory. The incredible trio now engages in such a great rhythm experiments that it is futile to defile them with words. One after the other beats speed past me, sometimes the boom gets under my skin and I feel goose bumps. They are now going through maddeningly fast beats and I can only stare awestruck. There hasn't been a single thought in my mind except for this sheer beautiful feeling. They end their cycles in total harmony and silence envelopes the gathering like the waters parted by Moses drowning the Egyptians. I was wonderfully lost in the world of rhythm and now I was brought back to this silence. The concert had ended. it was 11.30 pm, well past the timing imposed by court directives.

We stood up in ovation and these Men who had transported us to this blissful world stood on the stage. Could it not have continued forever?

I am still in the sweet hangover of this evening and I don't mind it at all. I know now that Zakir and others like him hold the key to some higher experience, some higher sphere of possibilities and they are kind enough to lead us by the hand to that magical state. We can't go there alone though and ours is the momentary experience. But so what? Even one moment of sheer joy is enough to enlighten, I believe.

The announcer had proclaimed the arrival of the Master. I am more inclined to feel that we were touched by God himself. 

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