The 'Guru–Shishya tradition' occupies a place of supreme importance in Indian classical music, for music is not merely learned—it is lived under the guidance of a Guru. Books on music can introduce the names of ragas, and notations can explain the structure of compositions. Yet the very soul of a raga, the subtlety of a single note, the spirit of an alap, and the soaring flight of a taan can be truly understood only in the living presence of a Guru. This is precisely why the Guru–Shishya tradition has remained the greatest strength of Indian classical music.
In earlier times, disciples spent years living in their Guru’s home, ashram, or gurukul. During the initial phase of their training, they often did little more than observe the Guru’s way of life, listen attentively to daily practice sessions, and absorb the discipline that shaped the master’s artistry. Formal instruction came gradually. By emulating the Guru’s daily routine, values, and relentless dedication, disciples slowly immersed themselves in the lifelong pursuit of music and, in many cases, rose to extraordinary artistic heights. Musical education within this tradition was never confined to technical training; it was, above all, a process of character formation.
One of the defining features of this tradition is that no matter how accomplished a disciple becomes, the Guru continues to occupy the highest place in the disciple’s heart. A celebrated anecdote involving Emperor Akbar and Miyan Tansen illustrates this beautifully.
One day, Emperor Akbar asked Tansen, “You are regarded as the greatest musician in the world. Then why do people still consider your Guru, Swami Haridas, to be greater than you?”
Tansen humbly replied, “Your Majesty, I sing for you, whereas my Guru sings for the Divine. There is effort in my music; there is complete surrender in his.”
Few stories capture the spiritual essence of the Guru–Shishya tradition more eloquently than this. Similarly, Bharat Ratna Ustad Bismillah Khan attributed every one of his achievements to his Guru and maternal uncle, Ustad Ali Bux ‘Vilayatu’. He often said that his Guru had not merely taught him how to play the shehnai; he had taught him how to seek the presence of the Divine in every note. For Bismillah Khan, music was an act of devotion, and his Guru was the guide who illuminated that sacred path.
Becoming a worthy disciple, however, has never been easy. The legendary vocalist Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, while still in his teens, left home in search of a true Guru. After a long and arduous journey filled with hardships, he finally reached Pandit Sawai Gandharva. Yet the great master did not accept him immediately. Bhimsen Joshi had to demonstrate unwavering dedication, patience, discipline, and humility over an extended period before he was formally accepted as a disciple. Throughout his life, he acknowledged that whatever he had achieved in music was the result of his Guru’s grace and guidance.
Listening to Indian classical music is an experience of profound joy, but equally captivating is discovering, understanding, and exploring the countless stories that have emerged from its timeless Guru–Shishya tradition. These narratives not only illuminate the making of great musicians but also reveal the values of devotion, discipline, humility, and lifelong learning that lie at the very heart of India’s musical heritage.
Books in Hindi that offer engaging and worthwhile reading on Indian classical music and its practitioners are remarkably difficult to find. Against this backdrop, Dev Prakash Chaudhary’s book, Shabd Uthaan Sur Tihai, comes as a melodious gift to Hindi-speaking music lovers.
It is no easy task to capture in words the struggles, self-respect and unspoken rhythms of the lives of Indian classical musicians through unusual reminiscences and true stories—especially when the writer is equally passionate about maintaining a lyrical cadence in both language and style.
When Ustad Faiyaz Khan’s music begins to flow in a railway compartment, it seems almost inevitable that the train will be delayed. The British guards become so lost in the music that they forget to signal the train’s departure. A self-respecting musician like Pandit Motiram compels the Nizam to sit before him on a simple dari, or floor mat. Elsewhere, there is Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia’s lifelong devotion to the flute, and Ustad Vilayat Khan’s consuming passion for the sitar.
Ustad Faiyaz Khan, Pandit Motiram, Annapurna Devi, Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia, Ustad Vilayat Khan, Gauhar Jaan, Pandit Sawai Gandharva, Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, Pandit Omkarnath Thakur, Girija Devi, Pandit Kishan Maharaj, Pandit Birju Maharaj, Ustad Bismillah Khan, Ustad Nasir Moinuddin Dagar, Ustad Nasir Aminuddin Dagar, Umakant Gundecha, Ramakant Gundecha, Ustad Amjad Ali Khan, Pandit Jasraj, Lucknow’s Ustad Haidari Khan, Ustad Amir Khan, Pandit Shivkumar Sharma, Kishori Amonkar and M. S. Subbulakshmi—alongside towering figures of film music such as Naushad, Roshan, Ravindra Jain, S. D. Burman, R. D. Burman, C. Ramchandra, Lata Mangeshkar, Noor Jehan, Manna Dey and Hemant Kumar—come alive through little-known and inspiring episodes from their lives.
These are stories that conventional histories have often overlooked. Dev Prakash Chaudhary has carefully gathered them and presented them in his poetic prose in the recently published Shabd Uthaan Sur Tihai for readers who listen to music not merely with their ears, but with their hearts.
The author writes, “The history of music is not merely the history of ragas, gharanas and techniques. It is the history of human beings and humanity.” He reinforces this thought through the celebrated vocalist Girija Devi’s belief: “Those who cannot cook good food cannot produce the right note on the tanpura either.” Like the flavour of a finely prepared dish, thumri too has to be cultivated and perfected with care.
The fascinating anecdotes about film composers and musicians add immensely to the charm of the book. Whether it is the story of composer Jaidev’s years of penury or the amusing episode of Jagjit Singh passing an examination by copying—something made possible because his teacher was an ardent admirer of his musical talent—such stories lend the book a vivid and deeply human dimension.
Born in Motia, a prominent village in Jharkhand’s Godda district, Dev Prakash Chaudhary has long been known as a traveller between colours and words—someone more interested in the meanings hidden within the paths than in the paths themselves. His journey, which began in Motia, has in fact been less a journey through geography than a journey of sensibility. The earthy fragrance of his native soil, his education in Bhagalpur and Delhi’s intellectual landscape have together shaped a distinctive vision—one that enables him not merely to look at things, but to delve deep beneath their surface. Inevitably, in this constant quest to penetrate the inner layers of things, a certain creative restlessness accompanies him like a shadow.
It was this very vision and restlessness that led Dev Prakash Chaudhary to painting. He participated in several important art exhibitions across the country and received awards and recognition for his work. When he became active in the field of art criticism, he undertook specialised studies of the works of major Indian artists, including Ramkinkar Baij, M. F. Husain, Ganesh Pyne and Arpana Caur. He has designed more than 1,500 book covers for publishing houses in India and abroad. He has also received a fellowship from the Ministry of Culture, Government of India, and undertaken three research projects.
The restlessness within Dev Prakash Chaudhary has never allowed him to remain satisfied with what he has already accomplished. Following extensive research on Bihar’s Manjusha folk art, he wrote Lubhata Itihas, Pukarti Kala, a work that was widely acclaimed in the art world. He has also authored books on social activist Anna Hazare and Osama bin Laden. His outstanding book on the art of renowned painter Arpana Caur, Jiska Man Rangrez, continues to be discussed and appreciated even years after its publication.
It is this same vision and creative restlessness that has now led Dev Prakash Chaudhary to the world of Indian classical music. Yet, true to his instinct to delve beneath the surface, he does not confine himself merely to the stage or to the public persona of any particular artist. Instead, he ventures behind the brightly illuminated stage to uncover stories of the sadhana—the lifelong discipline, devotion and artistic pursuit—of classical musicians: stories that have largely remained unexplored, unseen and untold.
To make the book more engaging, the author has divided these little-known episodes from the lives of legendary musicians into seven sections. Since the book is centred on music, these sections have appropriately been named after the seven notes of Indian classical music—Shadja, Rishabh, Gandhar, Madhyam, Pancham, Dhaivat and Nishad.
At the beginning of the book, in a section aptly titled ‘Mukhda’, author Dev Prakash Chaudhary shares his introductory reflections. In keeping with the musical spirit of the book, he expresses his gratitude—in the language of music itself—to music connoisseur and journalist Raghubir Singh, Iqbal Rizvi, an avid collector of material on cinema and culture, and his wife, Pritima Vats, for their invaluable support in bringing this beautiful book to fruition.
Chaudhary dedicates the book to his son, Anhad, an engineer in the automobile industry, with these evocative words: “This ascent of words is dedicated to the speed of his dreams hidden in the lines of a car.”
One hopes that, for connoisseurs of music, this book will prove to be not only a rewarding read and a volume worth preserving in their personal collections, but also one they would gladly present, with affection, to their friends and loved ones.
The books consulted in the preparation of this volume, along with the names of their authors and publishers, are listed at the end under the evocative title ‘Jod-Jhala’, a term drawn from the vocabulary of Indian instrumental music.
The book is published by Sarva Bhasha Trust and priced at ₹225.
