Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
From: My Music My Life by Ravi Shankar (1968) pps 51-58

My Revered Guru

A famous disciple of Wazir Khan and an extraordinary teacher and performer himself is Ustad Allauddin Khan of Maihar in Central India. This saintly and learned man became my revered guru, and it is to him that I owe my devotion and love for my musical training.

I saw him for the first time at the All-Bengal Music Conference in December, 1934. In contrast to the other musicians, who were wearing colorful costumes, turbans, and jewels, and were bedecked with medals, he seemed very plain and ordinary, not at all impressive. But even in my immaturity, it did not take me long to realize that he had qualities that far outshone the gaudiness of his colleagues. He seemed to shine with a fire that came from within him. Although I did not know enough about music then to discern his musical greatness, I found myself completely over whelmed by everything about him. Baba has always been a strict disciplinarian with his students, but he had imposed upon himself an even stricter code of conduct when he was a young man, often practicing sixteen to twenty hours a day, doing with very little sleep, and getting along with a minimum of material things. Sometimes, when he practiced, he tied up his long hair with heavy cord and attached an end of the cord to a ring in the ceiling. Then, if he happened to doze while he practiced, as soon as his head nodded, a jerk on the cord would pull his hair and awaken him. From early childhood, Baba was ready and determined to make any sacrifice for music. Indeed, his entire life has been devoted to music.

Allauddin Khan was one of the sons of a quite well-to-do peasant family in Bengal. They did not have a great deal of money, but were very rich in the land they owned and the animals they kept. His family were Bengali Muslims, converted to Islam only three or four generations before. The village they lived in was predominantly Hindu, and they all spoke Bengali. And so, even though his family were Muslim, Baba knew all the ways of Hindus and was well acquainted with their customs and ceremonies. Later, he was to follow a way of life that was a beautiful fusion of the best of both Hinduism and Islam.

His father used to play the sitar for the family and for his own pleasure. And Baba's older brother, Aftabuddin, was a very talented and versatile musicianwho, too, did not perform professionally but played solely to express the music he felt within himself. In his later years, he became a very religious man and was revered equally by the Hindus and the Muslims who knew him. So it was natural that the musical inclinations of little Alam, as my guru was called by his family, were intensified by listening to his father with the sitar and his brother playing a variety of instruments, including the flute, harmonium (a small, boxlike keyboard instrument), tabla, pakhawaj, and dotara (a plucked-string instrument with two strings). Young Alam used to steal into the little music room at home to try to play some of his older brother's musical instruments - and was frequently punished for it. When his family realized that Alam had this burning love for music, they became worried that he might decide to be a professional musician and did not encourage him, for music was not thought of as a respectable profession for a young man. When young Alam wanted to leave his home and devote all his life to music, his brother, the influential one in the family, refused to let him go. The family much preferred that he take up regular studies in a school.

Baba has told us that by the time he was eight he could no longer take the strict discipline and enforced study of books. He hated studying and was constantly being punished for pursuing the thing he loved most - music. So, he left his family without saying a word and traveled to a nearby village, where he joined a party of traveling musicians led by a very famous player of the dhol. (Though the drums known as dhol or dholak are found all over India in different sizes and shapes, the dhol mentioned here is indigenous to Bengal. It is a one-piece drum with two faces and is played with the hand on the right side and with a stick on the left.) Baba told the musicians he was an orphan, and they accepted him into their group, feeling sorry for the lonely little boy. Then he traveled with the musicians as they toured, and they reached the city of Dacca, the capital of the present East Pakistan. While he was a member of this musical group, Baba had the opportunity to learn to play quite proficiently many varieties of drums-the dhol, tabla, and pakhawaj-and he also took up the shahnai and some other wind instruments-clarinet, cornet, and trumpet. During all the time Baba toured with this troupe of musicians and later stayed in Dacca, he did not communicate with his family. They were of course distraught when they realized he had left. They searched and searched for him, but finally had to give up. The following sketch is taken from Ravi Shankar's book, 'My Music My Life'.
Courtsey : Rajan Parrikar Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
Baba's Early Adventures

The first forty years of Baba's life were full of adventure, and he underwent many unusual, almost unbelievable, experiences through his intense love of music. Baba was never clear about how long he was with these musicians or how much time he spent in Dacca, but he says that he arrived in Calcutta when he was about fourteen or fifteen. I remember his telling me about the hardships he suffered there.

He went to one of the most famous Bengali singers of the day, Nulo Gopal, a very devout and orthodox Hindu. Baba instinctively thought it might be better if he said he was a Hindu himself when he approached this teacher, so he took a Hindu name. Nulo Gopal saw the tremendous ardor and talent for singing this boy had, but he warned Baba that he himself had learned music in a very old, traditional style and said that he would teach Baba only if Baba had the patience to learn in the same way. That is, Baba would have to learn and practice nothing other than the sargams, palta, and murchhana (solfeggio, scales, and exercises) for twelve full years. Only then would Nulo Gopal start teaching all the traditional compositions. This, he said, would not take a very long time, because Baba would already have a firm background! Baba did agree to the arrangement, and arduously devoted himself to his study, but unfortunately, after only seven years or so, Nulo Gopal died. Baba was so grieved by his death that, out of respect to his teacher, he took an oath never to take up singing as his profession. According to Baba, the excellent training he received from this guru in those seven years caused his musical sensitivity to grow to such a degree that he could notate in his mind as well as on paper any music he heard. This ability was to prove very helpful to him later.

During the seven years Baba was learning with Nulo Gopal, he took a job at the Star Theatre (run by Girish Ghosh, the father of Bengali drama) as a tabla player in the orchestra to make a little money, and he had some training in the playing of the violin from an outstanding Indian Christian teacher. Baba also participated in the frequent orchestral parties held by a prominent composer, Habu Dutt, who was the brother of the famed Swami Vivekananda. Habu Dutt had studied both Eastern and Western music and maintained an orchestra for which he composed in raga and tala framework; he used all the Western instruments as well as a few Indian ones. This later inspired Baba to create his own ensemble, the Maihar Band, which was quite famous for many years.

It was often frightening just to hear Baba talk about the hardships he suffered as a young man in Calcutta. The little pay he received at the Star Theatre and occasional extra income he got by playing a recital here or there all went to pay for gifts or offerings he brought to his teachers-fruits or sweets-in gratitude for their giving him lessons. Most of the time he had his one meal a day at some anna chhatra, a food dispensary provided for the poor by some rich families. (Until very recently, these existed in all the large cities as a common form of charity.) The rest of the day Baba either went hungry or nibbled at a handful of chick peas and drank the water of the river Ganges. He had no one particular place to stay. Sometimes he took a room in a cheap boarding house, and other times he stayed in the stable of a wealthy family.

When he was in his twenties, Baba went to a city called Muktagacha, then in eastern Bengal, now in East Pakistan. It was here, at the court of Raja Jagat Kishore, that he heard the celebrated sarod player of the time, Ustad Ahmad Ali, and for the first time, he experienced the full effect of the musician and the beauty of the music. In his studies under Nulo Gopal, Baba had felt he was approaching the field of strict classical music, but when his guru died, he thought he had reached only the threshold of the musical sanctuary. He realized he needed another good teacher to elevate him to a higher level in his playing and understanding. So, he decided just then, in the Raja's court, that he must take this musician as his guru and learn to play the sarod. Baba's burning desire to learn and a recommendation from the Raja persuaded Ahmad Ali to accept the boy as his disciple. When Baba began learning from Ahmad Ali, he gave up all his old dilettante musical interests and devoted himself solely to the sarod. The next four years or so were spent living and traveling with his ustad, serving him in every way, even cooking, and learning and practicing music as much as he could. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
After some time, Ahmad Ali left the court and traveled to his home, the city of Rampur, taking Baba with him. By this time, Baba had learned a great deal of the art and technique of the sarod and had absorbed most of the knowledge of his ustad. Some how, he felt that Ahmad Ali was a bit apprehensive about Baba's proficiency and was afraid that Baba might outdo him as a musician. One day, it happened that his guru called Baba and said that he had given him enough taleem (training) and praised him for achieving a fine standard of musicianship. Now, he said, it is time for you to go out and perform, and establish your own reputation, following the tradition of sikkha, dikkha, and parikkha (derivations from the original Sanskrit of shiksha, diksha, and pariksha, which mean training, initiation, and evaluation).

Since Rampur was the most important seat of Hindustani classical music, Baba was overjoyed when he learned there were almost five hundred musicians who belonged to the court of His Highness the Nawab of Rampur. Out of these, at least fifty ranked among the foremost artists and were famed throughout India. They included singers of dhrupad, dhamar, khyal, tappa, and thumri, as well as players of been, sursringar, rabab, surbahar, sitar, sarangi, shahnai, tabla, pakhawaj, and many other instruments. At the head of all these musicians was the truly great Wazir Khan himself, a member of the Beenkar gharana, and thus of the family of Tan Sen. He was the guru of the Nawab and, in his seat next to the Nawab's throne, enjoyed a position that was unique at that time. After taking leave of Ustad Ahmad Ali, Baba went on a kind of musical "binge," and he met all the ustads and studied a little with a great many of them for a year or so. He was completely intoxicated with the ecstasy of meeting all these great musicians. After Baba settled down a bit, he decided he must finally go to learn from the greatest musician of them all, and the one about whom he had heard so many stories - Wazir Khan. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
A Gesture In Desperation

Ustad Wazir Khan, a direct descendant of Tan Sen, was the greatest living been player of the time. Filled with enthusiasm and bubbling with hope, Baba went off to meet him, but the sentries who guarded Ustad Wazir Khan's gates, frowning at the young man's shabby dress and poor appearance, denied him entrance. In despair, young Allauddin Khan rather melodramatically decided that he would either learn from this great master or give up his life. Nourishing these severe thoughts, he bought two tola weight of opium with which to kill himself if necessary. But fortunately, he met a mullah (Muslim priest), who dissuaded him from such extreme measures and suggested another plan.

The mullah composed a letter in Urdu on behalf of the young aspirant, explaining how he had come all the way from Bengal especially to learn from Ustad Wazir Khan, and if that were to prove impossible, he would swallow a lump of opium and end his life. But there remained the problem of presenting the letter to the Nawab. While the spirit of desperation was mounting, young Allauddin happened to hear that the Nawab would soon be on his way to the theater, so he stationed himself on the road, hours ahead, and as the Nawab's vehicle finally approached, he threw himself down in front of it. The police dragged young Allauddin Khan away to face the Nawab, who, when he heard the whole story, was so impressed by the fervor of a young man ready to use such grave methods that he called him to the palace to play for him.

Baba gave a very impressive performance on the sarod and on the violin, and then was asked if he could handle any other instruments. The Nawab was quite amused when Baba, replying, boasted that he could play any instrument available in the palace. So, all the instruments were brought out and, to the astonishment of everyone present, he did just that - one by one, he played them all, and quite deftly, too ! The Nawab asked him if he had any other talents, and Baba said that he could write anything played or sung. The Nawab was overwhelmed when Baba did this easily on the first attempt. The Nawab then sang him a very difficult gamak tan, a complicated embellishment in a phrase. Fortunately, young Allauddin had detected that the Nawab was becoming a little annoyed at the thought that such a young man might know more than he, and so he meekly replied that such a tan would be difficult to write down. The Nawab was so pleased at this that, in a benevolent mood, he sent for Ustad Wazir Khan and recommended young Allauddin to him as a deserving student. The Nawab himself called for a large silver tray full of gold sovereigns, sweets, material for new clothing, a ring, and new shoes. All these were given to Wazir Khan on behalf of the disciple, and the binding ceremony between Wazir Khan as guru and Allauddin Khan as shishya took place on the spot.

As Baba has said, from the time he moved to Calcutta until he came to Rampur, he had communicated with his family and had visited their home several times. His family, hoping they could give him a reason to stay with them, forced him to take a wife on one of his visits, and later, had him marry a second time. (Muslims may marry up to four times.) But to their horror, Baba ran away from home on the day after each marriage ceremony. His fanatic love for music left no room for such things as marriage or a family then.

In his first two and a half years as a disciple of Wazir Khan, Baba more or less had the duties of a servant and errand boy to his guru and was not really being taught music by him. Baba was rather unhappy about this, but he still spent as much time as he could practicing what he had learned from Ahmad Ali and others on the sarod. Then one day, there came a telegram to him in care of Wazir Khan, asking him to come home immediately because his second wife had tried to commit suicide and was critically ill. She was an extremely beautiful woman, and the people of her village had tormented her, saying she could not keep her husband at home for all her good looks, and teased her to such an extent that in her unhappiness she tried to kill herself. Wazir Khan had the telegram read (it was in English) before passing it on to Baba. He was shocked and not a little angry to learn about this, because Baba had told him that he was completely alone and had no family. Imme- diately, he summoned Baba. After being interrogated, Baba tremblingly revealed the truth. When the great man heard the story, he was deeply moved. He realized that this was a young man with an unheard-of, abnormal desire to learn music, a love so strong that he would forsake anything else in life, including the love of two young and beautiful wives. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
In tears, Wazir Khan embraced Baba, saying he had never realized any of these things, and he felt extremely sorry that he had not paid any attention to Baba in those two and a half years. Then he advised Baba to go home for a while, and as soon as he had straightened matters out, to return to Rampur. Wazir Khan promised that he would consider Baba as his foremost and best disciple outside of his own family, and said he would teach him all the secrets of the art of music that the members of Tan Sen's family possess. "I'll teach you all the dhrupad and dhamar songs," he said, "and the technique and different baj [styles of playing] of the been, rabab, and sursringar." He qualified his vow, however, by saying he could never permit Baba to play the been, because it is traditionally restricted to the Beenkar gharana - his fam- ily - and he warned that if Baba were to play it Baba would never have an heir and his family would die out. Then Wazir Khan further explained that it would be quite possible for Baba to use all the techniques and styles of playing the been on the sarod, and he agreed to teach him to play the rabab and sursringar, two instruments that were going out of use at that time.

Wazir Khan did indeed keep his promises. Baba told us that many years later, when he was serving His Highness the Maharaja of Maihar, one day news arrived that Wazir Khan was on his deathbed. Baba rushed straightway to Rampur to be with his guru. Wazir Khan blessed him before he died, saying that Baba's name and the names of his disciples would live forever and carry on the great tradition of the Beenkar gharana and the glory of Mian Tan Sen. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
The Remarkable "Impurist"

Few people have any idea of the contributions Baba has made to the world of music, especially in the instrumental field. Above all, I feel, he is responsible for enlarging the scope and range of possibilities open to an instrumentalist. He has led us away from the confines of narrow specialization that prevailed in our music really through the first quarter of this century. Until then, one player would do only music of a light and delicate nature, and another would perform only romantic compositions, some musicians were purely spiritual and others emphasized the "materialistic" side of the music - the wealth of embellishment. Because Ustad Allauddin Khan, as a young man, was taught by so many masters, he learned a variety of styles of singing and playing and acquired a good many instrumental techniques - wind and bowed and plucked-string instruments, and even drums. And so he very naturally incorporated in his playing of the sarod some of the characteristics of diverse vocal styles and of the playing styles associated with a number of different instruments. He is known mainly as a sarod player, but he also performed on several other instruments. He was equally well known as a violinist, and as he did with the sarod, he played the violin with his left hand. Three stringed instruments that he did not perform on in concerts are the been, the sitar, and the surbahar, although he was acquainted with their techniques.

Musicians who follow Baba's example may now choose from a great many vocal and instrumental styles-alap, dhrupad-dhamar, khyal, tarana, tappa, thumri-and synthesize, creating a whole new concept in interpretation and performance. Baba faced much criticism in the beginning, as indeed, some of us, as his disciples, have been and are still facing. Early in his career, he was reproached for not playing "pure sarod" when he performed and was criticized for bringing other techniques into his playing. I myself, when I began public appearances, faced the charge of not playing "pure sitar" and of having sarod techniques in my music, because I had learned from a sarod player. And I remember clearly that even into the late 1930s, sitar playing was restricted to a very limited dimension, and the players kept to their favorite specialized areas of music. There were some who used a small sitar for the "authentic" sitar baj (here baj means style of playing) and played only medium-slow Masitkhani gats with simple tans (or phrases), a style of composition created by Masit Khan. There were others who played only medium fast Rezakhani gats and still others who used a rather large sitar and played it more or less in the way one plays the surbahar (a large, deep-sounding instrument with very thick strings). I have heard the well known sitarist Enayat Khan play the alap, jor, and jhala (first three movements of a raga) on the surbahar, then put aside that instrument and take up a small sitar to do the fast Rezakhani gat. His father, Emdad Khan, is known to have done the same thing.

The criticisms of "impurity" of style are likely to come from other musicians who use the same instrument, and they and their admirers can cause quite a storm of differing opinion. Also, musicians who do not belong to one strong and well-established gharana are often open to harsh judgments. A musician who is a member of a certain gharana may - and often does - change his style, enriching and expanding it after hearing other musicians and interpreting their ideas in his own way. But, if questioned about this, he has recourse to the shelter of his gharana. He can claim that there is a precedent for what he has done and trace it back through his own gharana's traditions. Often, though, I am amazed that a musician who upholds the highest tradition can be cruelly criticized if he also happens to be a creative artist and brings about many innovations. The great Tan Sen and then Sadarang and even Allauddin Khan faced this sort of criticism early in their careers, but later their "innovations" became part of our musical tradition, and , were well established through their disciples. That is one of the beauties of Indian classical music - that since the Vedas it has never stood stagnant, but has kept on growing and being enriched by the great creative geniuses of successive generations. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
As a teacher, Baba aims at perfecting the hand and finger technique of the student. No matter what instrument the student may choose, Baba insists that the student who shows promise should also learn to sing the palta, sargams, and other song compositions, carefully delineating the scope of the raga and its distinctive notes and phrases and correctly using the microtones, or shrutis, to give the proper effect to the music and make it come alive. The reason for this is, of course, that the basis of our music is vocal, and it is composed primarily of melody, of embellishment, and of rhythm; any melodic phrase, with or without a definite rhythm, that can be sung can also be played on an instrument, with each instrument's own features bringing a special quality to the sound. According to our tradition, even the instrumentalists are required to have a moderate command of the voice. This makes it easier for them when they take on the role of teacher to instruct their students, merely by singing the gats, or tans, or todas, or even the alap, jor, and jhala. Along with the ability to sing the melodies, Baba recommends that his students learn to play the tabla and acquire a good knowledge of taladhaya (rhythmics). In mastering the fundamentals, the student learns all the technique of properly handling the instrument of his choice, working in the particular idiom, tonal range, and musical scope of a given instrument by practicing scales, palta, sargams, and bols taught by the guru. Generally, Baba starts with basic ragas like Kalyan for the evening and Bhairav for the morning, first giving, many pieces of "fixed music" in the form of gats, tans, or todas based on the raga. By "fixed music" I do not mean music that is written down as it is in the West; rather I am referring to what we call bandishes, which literally means "bound down," but in this context means "fixed." These are vocal or instrumental pieces, either traditional compositions or the teacher's own, that students learn and memorize by playing over hundreds, even thousands, of times, to be able to produce the correct, clear sound, intonation, and phrasing. Thus, Baba lays a solid foundation for the student to know the sanctified framework of the ragas and talas.

When the student, after some years of training, has fairly good control of the basic technique of the instrument and has learned a few more important morn- ing and evening ragas (Sarang, Todi, Bhimpalasi, Bhairav, Yaman Kalyan, Bihag, and so on) and has some mastery of the fundamentals of solo playing, then he may expand his creative faculties and is encouraged to improvise as he plays. But he has to be careful not to impinge on the purity of the raga. That is, his playing must be correct both in technique and interpretation. The right feeling of a raga is something that must be taught by the guru and nurtured from the germ of musical sensitivity within the student. Unlike some other musicians, Baba has never been stingy or jealous about passing on to deserving students the great and sacred art that he possesses. In fact, when he is inspired in his teaching, it is as if a floodgate had opened up and an ocean of beautiful and divine music were flowing out. The disciple spends many hours simply listening to his guru, and then he endeavors to fill up the frame of a raga with improvised passages born out of the compelling mood of the moment or enlarged through his own attempts at improvisation as his understanding grows and he becomes more familiar with a particular raga. At first, the student may improvise only a fraction of his performance, but as his musicianship matures, so his confidence grows, and he improvises more and more. It is, in a way, like learning to swim. It is exhilarating in the beginning to feel your own body moving through the water, but you are afraid to swim far and there is always the fear of losing control somehow. So it is with a raga. You are always a little afraid at first that you will make mistakes, play the wrong notes, and go out of a raga or lose count of the rhythm as the raga carries you along, but your confidence keeps growing, and one day, you feel you have complete control over what you are playing. A truly excellent and creative musician of the Hindustani system will improvise anywhere from fifty to ninety per cent of his music as he performs, but this freedom can come about only after many many years of basic study and discipline and organized training (if he has a good deal of talent to begin with), and after profound study of the ragas, and finally, if he has been blessed with guru-kripa, the favor of the guru.

When I myself start to perform a raga, the first thing I do is shut out the world around me and try to go down deep within myself. This starts even when I am concentrating on the careful tuning of the sitar and its tarafs (sympathetic strings). When, with control and concentration, I have cut myself off from the outside world, I step onto the threshold of the raga with feelings of humility, reverence, and awe. To me, a raga is like a living person, and to establish that intimate oneness between music and musician, one must proceed slowly. And when that oneness is achieved, it is the most exhilarating and ecstatic moment, like the supreme heights of the act of love or worship. In these miraculous moments, when I am so much aware of the great powers surging within me and all around me, sympathetic and sensitive listeners are feeling the same vibrations. It is a strange mixture of all the intense emotions - pathos, joy, peace, spirituality, eroticism, all flowing together. It is like feeling God. All these emotions may vary according to the style and approach of playing and to the nature and principal mood of the raga. We Indians say that in a performance of our classical music, the listener plays a great role. It is this exchange of feeling, this strong rapport between the listener and the performer, that creates great music. But wrong vibrations emanating from egoistic, insensitive, and unsympathetic listeners can diminish the creative feelings of the musician. Although I am not a Tan Sen, at times I have seen miracles happen with my music. Perhaps my playing does not cause rain to fall from the skies, but it has made tears fall from the eyes of my listeners. The miracle of our music is in the beautiful rapport that occurs when a deeply spiritual musician performs for a receptive and sympathetic group of listeners. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
A Legendary Temper

Besides being famous for his performances and innovations in music, Baba was also very well known throughout the musical world for his temper. I was rather apprehensive about meeting him for the first time in person. But I still remember how surprised I was when I found him to be so gentle and unassuming, endowed with the virtue of vinaya (humility) in the true Vaishnav spirit. It is only when he is wrapped up utterly in his music that he becomes a stern taskmaster, for he cannot tolerate any impurities or defects in the sacred art of music, and he has no sympathy or patience with those who can. His own life has been one of rigorously self-imposed discipline, and he expects no less from his students. Baba's views on celibacy and especially on intoxication through alcohol or drugs are extremely rigid and severe. He strongly insists that the students follow brahmacharya - for the disciple, a traditional Hindu way of life that includes only the absolute essentials of material needs. This way, with no thoughts of fine clothes, fancy foods, sex or complicated love affairs or anything else that satisfies and encourages physical desires, the student can channel all of his powers and forces, both mental and physical, into the discipline of his music. Music, to Baba, is a strict, lifelong discipline that requires long and careful training, and if a student is not prepared to regard music in this way, he had better not take it up at all.

Unfortunately, Baba no longer travels or performs now, although on special occasions he may be seen playing the violin or conducting the famous Maihar Band (an ensemble of Indian and Western instruments) of which he is still the director. He also continues as Principal of the Maihar College of Music which he attends every day. In 1952, Baba was made a Fellow of the Sangeet Natak Akademi (National Academy of Performing Arts), and in 1958, he was awarded the Padma Bhusan, an honorary title for outstanding citizens, by the President of the academy. Viswa Bharati, Tagore's university, gave him the honorary degree of Doctor. Thus, honor and recognition came to him in the evening of his life, but he remains, following the saying in the Geeta, unmoved and unruffled as he pursues his work and the study of music, never bothering, never worrying or looking back. Baba himself believes he is well over a hundred years old, and his centenary has already been marked. His true age is not known, because records have not been kept, but what does it matter if he is over a hundred or nearing a hundred? What he has accomplished in his lifetime many others could not do if they had three hundred years to live. He is respected and well regarded by everyone, including the most orthodox Hindu Brahmins, as a rishi, responsible for safeguarding traditions, for developing, teaching, and passing on to disciples the art of music.

There are so many things one could add about Ustad Allauddin Khan. He belongs to a school that seems so far removed from our modern industrial era, and yet, in every way, he has been ahead of his time, injecting a new significance and life into Indian instrumental music. With him will pass an era that upheld the dedicated, spiritual outlook handed down by the great munis and rishis who considered the sound of music, nad, to be Nada Brahma - a way to reach God.

Another excerpt follows....... .....The day came when we were due to sail, and we all felt the sadness of the departure. My mother, who had come to Bombay to see us off, was going to remain in India, and already, she was feeling the lone-liness of our absence. Somehow, she and I both had the premonition that we might not see each other again. While we stood on the pier, getting ready to go aboard the ship, she took my hand and put it in Baba's hand and told him, "I'm not going with you, and I don't know if I'll ever see my child again, so please take him and consider him as your own son." We all had tears in our eyes as we said goodbye, and as it happened, it was the last time I saw my mother.

Baba stayed with our troupe for nearly a year, and during all those months, I was his guide, interpreter, helper, and special companion. I suppose he missed Ali Akbar very much, and so he gave to me all the love and affection that would have gone to his son. While we were traveling, especially, I used to take care of Baba, finding the right restaurants and the proper kind of food for him. As a devout Muslim, he does not eat pork; but, like a Hindu, he does not eat beef either. One day, I remember, I wanted to do something special to please him, and recalling that he occasionally enjoyed smoking, I went out and bought him a pipe and pouch for tobacco and a lighter. When I presented the gift to him, instead of being pleased, he flared up in one of his unreasonable, furious angers. "Have you come to do the mukhagni with this?" he demanded. (The mukhagni according to Hindus is the ceremony of placing the first fire in the mouth of a dead man on the funeral pyre and is performed by the eldest son.) "I'm not one of those gurus you can buy," he raged. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
But most of the time, he was very gentle with me. He knew how serious I was about learning instrumental music, and I got him to begin teaching me the basics of sitar and voice. Sometimes, he would become upset and grow angry when I was learning, because, although I was a good student, he felt that dance was uppermost in my thoughts. It angered and hurt him that I should be "wasting my musical talent" and living in glitter and luxury. Baba insisted that this was no way to learn music from him, not in these surroundings, and he swore I would never go through the discipline and master the technique of the sitar. Tauntingly, he called me a "butterfly" and made some very cruel remarks about my constant girlchasing, my dandy tastes in clothing, and all my other interests outside music - painting, writing, and reading. He often said, "Ek sadhe sab sadhe, sab sadhe sab jaye," which means if you do one thing properly and very well, then all other things will come easily later, but if you start with too much, you end up with nothing.

All the same, Baba enjoyed teaching me and I knew it. When he was nice to me, as he usually was, I learned very quickly and well, but when he was angry, I got stubborn, thick-headed, and dull and refused to learn. It must have been because I had never been scolded by anyone, even as a little child.

In the summer of 1936, we spent a few months at Dartington Hall, in Devonshire, England, a beautiful, open place, where Uday planned to work on a few new ballets. I had a great deal of time to pratice on the sitar and have lessons with Baba. This was the first time I played scales and exercises and not just whatever pleasing melodies came into my head, and all summer I worked on the exercises and fixed compositions and learned many songs. Inside me, I sensed something new and very exciting; I felt that I was coming close to music and that this music is what I was meant to devote my life to. But then in the fall, Baba had to leave us a bit earlier than had been expected and go back to India. At the time, there was a great turmoil brewing inside me - sometimes I thought I would continue with my dancing and become a truly great performer; everyone said I was well on my way. And then something within me would pull me the other way and say music, music. For many months I was torn between staying with Uday's troupe and giving up everything and going off with Baba to learn the art of music. In a way, it was unfortunate for me that Baba left so soon. Had he been with us just another month or so, I might have come to a decision sooner about my musical dilemma. Baba often repeated to me before he left that, although I had much talent and he would love to teach me, it would be possible for me to learn with him only if I could give up the sparkle and easy fame of my artist's life in Europe and come to the little town of Maihar, where he lived, and spend many years with him. And often, too, he expressed serious doubt that I would ever be able to take myself away from the glamorous life in the West.

When Baba left us, for some reason, I went back more strongly than ever to dancing and received much praise for my efforts, and I even put aside the sitar in favor of a sarod. I was soon able to perform on the sarod with our ensemble and also did some sitar solos, for, in the year with Baba, I had learned enough technique to understand what I was doing and had absorbed enough to use what I had been taught. Baba had encouraged me with the sitar because I was already acquainted with it and knew how to handle it a little, but when he left, I picked up the sarod, because his own playing of it had impressed me so much and I wanted to imitate him. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
The Long Road To Maihar

It was a year and a half before I saw Baba again, and throughout that time I was filled with worries and questions and indecision, and there was really no one I could talk to about it. Uday was quite convinced that I should keep up dancing as my primary interest, but he thought a few months with Baba wouldn't do me any harm. At this time, Uday was planning to disband the troupe and establish his center for the performing arts in India. He thought I could get a solid musical background with Baba, then come back and assist him at the center.

We finished our last tour and the troupe returned to India in May, 1938. While we were still in Paris, in the fall of 1936, a telegram arrived from India informing us of the death of our mother. A small house had just been completed for her in the village of my maternal grandfather near Benares, and at the time, two of my older brothers were with her. The news greatly saddened us, and me especially, because I had seen her so little since she returned to India in 1932. We had always been extremely close and had been able to speak very freely to each other. So, when we came back to India in 1938, I went straight to this little house of hers.

Back in India, with no immediate plans, I thought of a religious event which, for lack of time and opportunity, I had neglected for many years; and decided this was the time to go through with it. This is the sacred-thread ceremony that initiates a young Brahmin boy into the religion. Usually it is performed between the ages of seven and twelve, and although I was much older than that, I wanted to have the ceremony performed. In the month of May, my head was shaved, and I prepared for the initiation into Brahminism. Each initiate must spend a few weeks or even longer living like a monk, eating special food, and abstaining from all material things. I spent nearly two months living this way, free of worldly matters, before I returned to my normal life.

Before we came back from Europe, I had been secretly corresponding with Baba, who again told me he would be happy to have me learn from him, if I could abandon my fancy ways and come to Maihar, not just for a few months, but to stay. I said nothing to Uday about this correspondence, but he promised me that I could go and stay with Baba while he looked for a site for the cultural center.

When my religious duties were over, I prepared to leave for Maihar. It was about a day's journey away, and Rajendra accompanied me to the village on a day in July. As we traveled, I was all in a turmoil inside. I felt as though I were committing suicide and knew that I would be reborn, but had no way of knowing how the new life would be. I was extremely nervous and afraid of Baba's legendary temper, having seen a few small samples of it when he was with the troupe. Hundreds of doubts swept over me, and I wondered if I would be able to stay and go through all the discipline, because I knew very well my own sentimentality and my inability to bear a harsh word from anyone. And although I myself had made the decision to go to Maihar, I felt like a lamb being led to the butcher. When I arrived, Baba was really shocked to see me so transformed. My head was still shaven, and I wore simple clothes of very coarse material. With me I had brought one tin suitcase with a few belongings and two blankets with a pillow rolled up inside them. I had changed myself to the opposite extreme from the boy Baba had known in Europe, partly because I sincerely felt that I had to give up a great deal if I wanted to devote myself to music, and partly because I felt this new self would please Baba. In a way, there was some play-acting on my part, leaving behind my dandy habits and living as I thought I should. But I could see right away that Baba was pleased with me.

I went and stayed in the little house next to Baba's, and in the beginning it was very difficult for me. Maihar was just a small village, and it was very quiet. Alone at night in my house, I was frightened when I heard the howling of the jackals and wolves nearby, and the deep croaking of the frogs and all the racket of the crickets. After eight years of luxurious living in Europe, it took me months to accustom myself to sleeping on the cot made of four pieces of bamboo tied together with coconut rope. Every morning, I remember, a maidservant used to come in very early to tidy up and put the water on for tea and prepare a little breakfast. After I'd been in Maihar for some time, another student came and stayed with me, but Baba beat him on the second or third day and he ran away. At least thirty different boys came to share the little house with me, but none of them ever stayed longer than a week or ten days because they could not bear Baba's temper and strict discipline. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
''GO - GO AND BUY BANGLES !'' I was quite lucky to have already spent a year with Baba when he was traveling with Uday's troupe. In that time I had gotten to know him quite well - all his little weaknesses and the peculiarities of his nature. Some of these poor boys who came to Maihar had no idea how to interpret Baba's moods. Normally, he was the humblest, gentlest person imaginable, filled with vinaya, like a devout follower of Vishnu. But often, when he started teaching, he turned into a violent, irascible follower of Shiva and would not tolerate one little slip from the student. He even used to scold the maharaja who employed him! I really have the record, though. Baba never once struck me or even raised his voice to me. Well, just one time.

Once, when I had first come to him and he was teaching me an exercise, I was not able to play it correctly. "Ha!" he exclaimed, "You have no strength in those wrists. Da, da, da," he cried, as he smacked my hands. Well, I had been trying my best, and I felt terrible that he should be angry with me. From my childhood, no one had ever spoken angrily to me, although I was quite spoiled and sometimes behaved badly. So when Baba raised his voice to me, I began to get angry myself, rather than frightened. "Go," he taunted me, "go, go and buy some bangles to wear on your wrists. You are like a weak little girl! You have no strength. You can't even do this exercise" That was enough for me. I got up and went to the house next door where I had been staying, packed my bedding and belongings, marched off to the railroad station, and bought a ticket home. I had just missed a train and had to wait a while for the next one. In the meantime, Ali Akbar came running up and, seeing my bags, asked what happened. "I won't stay," I told him. "He scolded me today." Ali Akbar looked at me incredulously and asked if I were mad. "You are the only person he has never laid a hand on. We're all amazed by it. Why, do you know what he has done to me? He's tied me to a tree every day for a week and beaten me and even refused me food. And you run away because he gives you a little scolding!" Adamantly I insisted, "No, I will leave on the evening train." Ali Akbar persuaded me to go back to the house with him, and I temporarily set my bag down again in my room. By then, he had told his mother what happened, and she told Baba. Ali Akbar came to tell me they wanted me to have lunch with them, and when I went into the house, Ma (Ali Akbar's mother) said to me, "Come. You are leaving soon, but just go and sit with your Baba for a few minutes." I went over to him and did a pranam, and I saw that he was cutting out a photograph of me and putting it into a frame. Neither of us said a word, but I saw that he was moved. After a little while, I finally said, "I am going today." Slowly, he looked over at me, and asked, "Is that all? I mean, I just told you to wear bangle bracelets and it has hurt you so much that you are going to leave?" I had tears in my eyes already, and had never seen him like this. He stood up and came over to me, and said, "You remember at the pier in Bombay how your mother put your hand in mine and asked me to look after you as my own son? Since then, I have accepted you as my son, and this is how you want to break it?"

Naturally, I didn't leave Baba after this scene. And ever since, whenever he felt angry because of something I had done, he would go and beat someone else. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
In a way, Baba was extremely autocratic in his method of teaching. Often, he would be seated on a mat with some pillows on his hard sofa-bed, smoking a hookah, a big Indian pipe that goes hubble-bubble, when a student came in. He would say, "Sit down. Sit down on a chair." Now, one had to understand what he meant by that. If he was in a good mood, perhaps he really wanted the student to take the chair. But if he was in a bad temper and said, "Oh, sit down in that chair there," the poor unknowing student would sit down and Baba would jump up and hit him with the top of his hookah and shout, "See! He sits on a chair right in front of me. Hah! He think he is my equal!" It was really very difficult to know just what Baba wanted people to do.

At first, I was very uncomfortable and unhappy with Baba in Maihar. My concentration suffered, and I found my mind wandering after only a few hours of work, yet I felt I was atoning for my eight years of materialistic living in the West. I thought I had lost many years and was trying to make up for what seemed to me a waste. Of course, I realized later that the experiences of my childhood in Europe had been very helpful.

It did take a few months, but I got used to the quiet, disciplined life with Baba. Usually I would wake up about four o'clock in the morning and have a quick wash, not the regular bath, and drink a cup of tea. I took my sitar and practiced the basic scales until six o'clock or so. Then I had my bath, did the morning worship that I practiced since my sacred thread ceremony, and ate two boiled eggs and a piece of Indian bread. After the little meal, I practiced the exercises or whatever I had learned the previous day, so I could play it well when I went to Baba later on. Everything had to be memorized, of course, because, except for some small reminders about the music, we don't write anything down - neither the notes nor any of the formal instruction. It must all be absorbed right away by the hands and the mind. A little after seven, I took my sitar, trembling and apprehensive, and crossed the little garden to Baba's house, where we would work for two or three hours. Sometimes he gave me a very difficult thing to learn, and the lesson would take only half an hour; then, I would go and practice for another hour or two, trying to play it properly. Baba realized immediately that, mentally, I was quite advanced in the music. But my hands were far behind, because I had spent so little time learning and practicing the basics. I used to hate the scales and exercises; it was a spiritual torture to me, because my hands could never catch up to the idea of the music inside my head. I went through months of depression when I felt I was getting nowhere, but when my technique improved, I learned extremely quickly. Baba would be inspired, and a half-hour lesson often lasted three or four hours. In the beginning, although I had great respect for Baba, I didn't completely understand what he wanted from his disciples. He is a teacher in the old style, demanding of the student total humility and surrender to the guru, a complete shedding of the ego. The disciple is only the receiver, and what he is being taught is all he should consider; he must not judge the guru, and must not criticize. Freeindia > Musicians > Allauddin Khan
I would have a small meal in the midmorning, and a rest, then I would practice again for several hours. There was a late-afternoon session, too, with Baba, once I had acquired some proficiency in the exercises and had begun learning some of the basic ragas. Although Baba knew all the techniques of playing the sitar, he did not play the instrument himself. He therefore taught me mostly by singing what he wanted me to play and learn. This is often done with our music, because by imitating the voice one can get a deep insight into the raga and a better understanding. To learn the correct finger strokes for plucking the sitar's strings, I first learned the spoken syllables that are used to identify each stroke; then it was easy to play them as Baba called them out - "Da, ra, diri, darar." To teach a slow part (vilambit), Baba usually sang; but for the faster, more intricate gats and todas he used the stroke syllables. Often, too, he sat with his sarod and played what he wanted to teach me, but this was difficult for me, because the tonics of sitar and sarod are not the same. Eventually, I devised a way of adjusting my tuning so that the two instruments could work together. This later inspired Baba to take me along to the music conferences with him, where I sat in the background as his disciple when he performed, and I was permitted to play a little from time to time. Many years later, this brought up a new idea that Ali Akbar and I developed - the sarod-sitar duet known as jugalbandi. Baba also taught me, and his daughter Annapurna as well, the technique of the surbahar; and later she and I performed duets with this instrument.

The only entertainment I had was going for walks along the river or on the lovely hillside, for there were no cinemas or "city" diversions. Often Ali Akbar accompanied me, and we would spend hours walking and discussing all our ideas. I used to tell him of my adventures in Europe, and he spoke to me of the problems he had. We would return to the house by dark and all have dinner about seven-thirty, then spend a few more hours practicing.

Most often, Baba taught me alone; but later Ali Akbar, and sometimes his sister Annapurna, would join me for the sessions. Ali Akbar and I became very close, even though I was two years older than he. When I came to Maihar and saw him after nearly three years (he had been in Bombay with us before we left for Europe in 1935), I was greatly surprised and pleased at the progress he had made in his music, for it had never before seemed to me that he had much enthusiasm for playing the sarod, and I knew the almost incredible degree to which Baba carried his strictness with him. Ali Akbar told me he had been compelled to practice for fourteen to sixteen hours every day, and there were times when Baba tied him to a tree for hours and refused to let him eat if his progress was not satisfactory. Ali Akbar was born with music in his veins, but it was this constant rigorous discipline and riaz (Urdu for "practice") that Baba set for him that has made Ali Akbar one of the greatest instrumentalists alive.

After I had made some progress with my music there was a period of several years when the three of us - Ali Akbar, Annapurna, and I - all sat with Baba and learned from him together. He would start to teach us, singing such serious and beautiful raga as Lalit, Multani, Yaman Kalyan, Bihag, Mian ki Malhar, Darbari Kanada, and sometimes he would just go on teaching for three or four hours and lose all perception of the passage of time. Many times we cried because of the intense beauty of the music, and no one would think of disturbing the spell.....