The santoor resonates in dual tones, blending percussion with strings, composing melodies that range from folk to classical
Under a starlit sky, in a quiet reverberation at Woods at Sasan in Gir, a retreat surrounded by a 16-acre mango orchard, it was not the rustle of mango leaves nor the breeze's soft hum, but the santoor's sacred strain, from mango wood, that strummed. In a mesmerising display of musical prowess, 29-year-old Shahrukh Kawa, hailing from the venerable Sikar gharana, held the audience spellbound as he deftly manoeuvred his fingers across the instrument, unleashing a cascade of classical melodies that transported me on a three-hour journey of sonic bliss.
Shahrukh and his cousin Zubair Kawa on the tabla seamlessly interspersed intricate rhythms and soulful melodies, evoking memories of the legendary jugalbandi between Pandit Shivkumar Sharma and Zakir Hussain. With each resonating note of his classical rendition, the essence of tradition was resurrected that transported me on a nostalgic trip, a memory frozen in time.
Witnessing Kawa’s mastery of the santoor from the soulful Raag Pratiksha to Raag Basant ignited my curiosity about its history. The santoor may seem like a modern instrument, but it boasts an ancient lineage. The word ‘santoor’ itself is Farsi for ‘hundred strings’ but unlike its cousins the sitar and sarangi, the santoor relies on neither plucking nor bowing for sound. Instead, it uses mallets, similar to a piano, for a unique approach to sound generation.
There is also, Kawa points out, in the playing of the santoor, a deeply personal essence, characterised by improvisational techniques such as alap. “Variations in tone are achieved by striking the strings closer or farther from the bridges on each side, as well as adjusting the grip on the mallets. Much of the performance is open to the musician's interpretation,” he says.