Emulating the Cosmic Musician

This article appeared in The Hindu Open Page in May 2018 (https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/emulating-cosmic-music/article24001330.ece) 

Books have been filled with the transcendental qualities of music, and of how it knoweth no language and how it can cut across borders of hate and bring together people and beings of different origins and all that. The bard has written plenty about music in his plays, the great composers of the west and the east have created many an immortal tune which speak to us even today, and indeed our own mythological texts too have marked its divine power.

Some years ago I too, had the fortune of experiencing music's appeal across the species. I was on a trip to the hinterlands of Jharkhand, as part of my college rural exposure programme and was staying in a remote village with other members of my batch. As dusk gathered on our first day in the village, I decided to play my harmonica for a bit by the door of the hut we were staying in. As I sat there trying to play the notes of 'Bombay meri jaan' with some acceptable success, in that serene ambiance I, the 'city boy' new to the quaintness of village life couldn't help but think how Nature is said to have responded to the music of Krishna Himself, making rivers brim, trees bloom and the animals dance in joy and draw the cows to Him in rapt attention as the mellifluous notes flowed from His flute.

However, the comparisons of my lowly Harmonica playing with the timeless cosmic musician didn't go much further. As I blew on those notes, with the occasional word of appreciation or friendly jibes from my batch-mates I realized my music was beginning to attract some of the rural fauna. 'Well done, Kaustuv!', I might have thought to myself, until I looked more closely at the nature of the animals who came to listen. At the helm were a couple of beetles scuttling towards me in the dim light of the incandescent bulb hanging over porch. And not far behind, to my horror, a large scorpion.

My immediate horror was obviously augmented by the displeasure of my companions, as the creature crawled rapidly over the gravel with purpose, seemingly determined to remove the incumbent musician. In a trice the music stopped, and I started from where sat and was upon an adjacent charpai in a single leap, with an accompanying shriek. Several of us followed suit, perching themselves on plastic chairs and other elevated refuges, after which some vocal commotion followed - comprised of how to deal with scorpions, the dreadful consequences of it stinging you and some irritation towards yours truly for having attracted it in the first place! Several minutes passed as us hapless 'city folk' literally hung around out of harm's way, without a clue as to what to do whilst the scorpion showed no sign of leaving, until help arrived in the form of a fearless village lad who, in a bit of an anticlimax, simply kicked the insect away and sent it retreating hastily as we sheepishly looked on.

Well that was that! I got off the charpai, went straight to my rucksack and placed the harmonica firmly back in its box, lesson learnt. While I can look back at this now and laugh, I sometimes still console the inner musician in me that divine cow or menacing scorpion, they were both created by the same maker and I at least managed to gain the attention of one!