A DYING STRAIN

In the Kashmiri santoor, maestro Shiv Kumar Sharma found an instrument that created magic. But in Srinagar, the 300-year-old tradition is fading out. Ghulam Muhammad Zaz is shutting shop

In the Kashmiri santoor, maestro Shiv Kumar Sharma found an instrument that created magic. But in Srinagar, the 300-year-old tradition is fading out. Ghulam Muhammad Zaz is shutting shop
Hundreds of tools lie scattered in a tiny workshop on the banks of Jhelum. Light from a window filters in, illuminating an unfinished santoor. With a chisel in his hand, Ghulam Muhammad Zaz works on this hundred-stringed trapezoidal instrument.nbsp;

Zaz is the eight-generation of Kashmir8217;s only santoor-making family. Not much has changed since the first santoor was made by the Zaz family over 300 years ago. They still work in the same neighbourhood and continue to use rudimentary tools and methods to create santoors. But the day will soon come when 71-year-old Zaz will close his decaying wooden door for the final time. Last in the long line of Kashmiri santoor makers, Zaz has no son to take forward the business and his three daughters haven8217;t learnt the craft. But Zaz isn8217;t unhappy. He is, in fact, proud that one daughter is a doctor.

The Beginnings
Gazing through the window at Jhelum8217;s muddy waters, he recalls his maiden attempt at crafting a santoor: 8220;I was 15 when typhoid took over me. My memory became weak and I could not study beyond class XI. So, I picked up a piece of walnut wood and began imitating my father, Abdul Zaz, while he made a santoor.8221;
Zaz learned everything there is to know about the craft from his father8212;by observation alone. Words would complicate the process. 8220;I would watch my father and grandfather for hours in candlelight, trying to understand why he would do one thing and not another,8221; he says.
The tiny second-story workshop ruminates with history. The tools are rusted and the walls blackened from the decades of fire used to heat the walnut wood into a malleable state. But in the crowd of tools, there8217;s no measuring tape. 8220;As my father and grandfather did, we measure with our eyes,8221; he explains. An amazing feat of visual accuracy and craftsmanship. If one of the twenty-five bridges that line both sides of the santoor is off by a fraction, the sound produced will be off-key.nbsp;

Whenever Abdul Zaz would make an imperfect and thus useless santoor, he would hang it on the blackened walls for months. 8220;Then, out of nowhere, my father would have a vision, an intuition and would take the santoor off the wall. He knew what was wrong and would fix it,8221; says Zaz.
The santoor came to Kashmir from the Persian invaders in the 15th century. The word santoor itself is Persian and means 8220;a hundred strings8221;. Instruments comparable to the santoor can be found in other parts of the globe. A Chinese version contains 45 strings, its German counterpart has 135 strings and the Iranian one has 72.

The Kashmiri santoor is a trapezoid-shaped hammered dulcimer. The hundred strings are struck with a pair of curved mallets mezrab which are held between the index and middle fingers, producing a sound similar to the harp.
The santoor occupies an integral spot in Kashmiri folk and Sufi music. Its high-frequency and reverberation lifts the musical piece into another echelon, ideal for the spiritual purposes of Sufi music.nbsp;

From Kashmir to Mumbai
Till a few decades ago, the santoor was a little known instrument, confined to Jammu and Kashmir. Then, in 1972, a young Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma ordered a santoor from Zaz8217;s grandfather. He later altered the santoor to 87 strings and introduced the instrument to Indian classical music. The santoor was lauded for its unique sound and widely accepted in the classical Indian repertoire. 8220;Shiv Kumar learned the techniques of the santoor in Kashmir and went on to becoming an Ustad in Mumbai,8221; says Zaz. Today, an old picture of the Pandit8212;sitting with a santoor in a lawn8212;hangs on the wall. There8217;s another picture8212;that of a young and now renowned santoor player Bhajan Sopori striking with mallets at the steel strings of the santoor.

The Last Echoes
Before militancy took over Kashmir in 1989, Zaz made four santoors a month. Now, he makes one. 8220;The Pandits were the primary players of the santoor. After most of them left, sales plummeted,8221; he says. Now, it8217;s tourists or foreign customers he caters to. He8217;s just completed a santoor to be sent to a customer in Germany, after a two-month drought. He8217;s also taken to repairing other stringed instruments such as violins to make up for the loss.
Zaz is optimistic about the future of the 85-string 8220;Indian8221; santoor. He believes Shiv Kumar Sharma and his disciples will ensure it lives on. But he worries over the demise of the Kashmiri santoor. 8220;The Indian santoor will survive, but the 100-string Kashmiri type is unique and should be preserved. The universities should maintain its legacy. When it is played, the heart shivers. For Kashmiris, music is a healer and the santoor gives us bliss,8221; he says.
Zaz habitually holds tools in his hands whenever he speaks. He grips them tightly as he fondly recalls the years gone by. 8220;I enjoyed making this instrument. It has given me respect and fame,8221; he says.nbsp;As he prepares to stop making santoors, he is comforted by the fact that 8220;nothing is forever8221;. 8220;All things come to an end. I am prepared for that. I am not afraid of it. I will make santoors till my hands allow me,8221; he says, then clutches his chisel and closes his eyes.