WHERE MONEY TALKS
It is ironical that Islamic orthodoxy should call music “haram” and persecute a talented young Assamese singer just when China is trying to use music to strengthen relations with India. As the two maestros, Tarun Bhattacharya and Subhankar Banerjee, said when “China Story: A Music Tour for India” was performed so superbly in Calcutta, under the aegis of China’s imaginative consul-general, Ma Zhanwu, the language of music is universal. Being Bengalis in a city that renamed Theatre Road Shakespeare Sarani in 1964 to mark the Bard’s fourth birth centenary, I am surprised they didn’t burst into “If music be the food of love, play on…” from Twelfth Night.
“China Story” could have played on, and music lovers would have loved every moment of the beautifully rendered concert that sounded at times like modern Western music even though the 12 young players and their instruments were Chinese. It’s a shame the hall was not packed, and that some of those who did take advantage of the Chinese consulate-general’s beautifully embossed red and gold invitation card seemed more interested in clicking their mobile cameras, chatting with friends or trying to cosy up to more important guests. Not only was it a painful distraction from the virtuosity that so triumphantly conveyed an extensive range of moods and expressions on a variety of stringed instruments but it impeded the concert’s larger purpose of building bridges between two neighbouring peoples, who know so little about each other’s art.
Sitting next to me, Masayuki Taga, the Japanese consul-general, was quite sent by the music, nodding away and keeping time to it with his hands. He told me that the Japanese koto or sou with 13 strings is a simpler version of China’s zheng or gu zheng, which had 12 or 13 strings in Han times but can now have anything up to 25. “The santoor must have hundreds!” he observed as Bhattacharya took the stage with Raga Janasanmohini. The santoor probably has the same Persian origins as China’s yangqin (hammer dulcimer), and is by no means the only instrument to demonstrate the universality of music. China’s erhu (niko in Japan) is similar to the Mongolian yatga, Korea’s gayageum, the Vietnamese àn tranh, and, possibly, India’s esraj, which also resembles Persia’s dilrubae. Scholarly works have been written on the commonality of music and musical instruments. My modest layman’s interest being music as a unifying factor, I cannot but be conscious of the hurdles that obstruct harmony.
My mind goes back to reading of last year’s Orange Festival of Adventure and Music in Dambuk in Arunachal Pradesh, some 186 miles from the Chinese border, where a 2,500-strong crowd waiting for the performance heard that a ferry carrying participants, vehicles and equipment was marooned on a Brahmaputra sandbank. The next piece of ill tidings was that the bus in which 50 performers were crammed was in danger of sinking into the sand on another stretch of the river. The most memorable feature of that episode was a local tribesman’s warning that if it rained up in the mountains of Tibet where the Brahmaputra (or Tsangpo as it’s called) rises before the rescue team arrived, the stranded passengers and their ill-fated vehicle would all be washed away in the valley.
It was a reminder of how closely nature has linked the destinies of India and China. It was also a message that an initiative like the Orange Festival should be a cross-border event to fulfil its promise. Perhaps Ma Zhanwu and the Indian Council for Cultural Relations (ICCR), which co-hosted “China Story”, could give thought to a more ambitious joint Sino-Indian festival. I gather the ICCR and China Shanghai International Arts Festival are already working on a stage version of Raj Kapoor’s epic 1951 musical Awara. Having savoured the passion and energy the Shanghai Ballet Company poured into Jane Eyre at its international debut at the London Coliseum three years ago, I know that Chinese artists can handle foreign themes with skill and feeling.
Setting aside disputed islands and stormy seas, Japan’s consul-general told me, “The Chinese musicians were really excellent and it was a wonderful performance!” An Indian can surely be equally objective, especially after the last number in which the versatile Liu Yuening, whose achievements include translating Rabindranath Tagore, was sandwiched between Bhattacharya’s rapid-fire santoor and Banerjee’s muscular tabla in a three-way conversazione. Her eloquent yangqin listened attentively and responded robustly. It was a contest of equals. Music’s euphony ensured no one encroached, demanded or yielded any territory.