 In these labyrinth lanes of downtown Srinagar, just a little away from Zainakadal and Badshah's tomb, as the Jailam flows almost without a ripple, a pair of hands is deftly at work in a workshop, which is more of an attic, really. The last of eight generations of craftsmen, Rahmanju, is perhaps more of an artist. As he sits in his workshop, shaping blocks of wood and turning them into instruments capable of emitting sublime notes of music. He makes almost all instruments, rabbams, sitars, but it is the santur which is his speciality. It is a string instrument and a direct descendant of the Vedvina, one of the oldest musical instruments to be found in India. As Rahmanju gazes at the Jailam from his window, he remembers the time his little workshop hummed with activity, a time when musical suaries, bethaks and Sufiana kalams were a part of everyday life. Yes, they used to sit here, they would play, sit there, the elders would listen to Sufiana music. Then, ill winds blew, changing everything forever. This century's old musical tradition was frowned upon and almost began to boom. Pundits, who played and taught the santur, left the valley in terror, leaving behind a silence and a void. By the time Normansi returned, tastes had changed, perhaps forever. But it is a matter of quiet pride for Rahmanju that all famous exponents of this instrument play santurs which have been made by him as they enthrall listeners at home and across the world. For him, his work has never been just merely a means of livelihood but... So, he continues to sit in his little corner, single-handedly shaping blocks of wood into instruments capable of creating divine melody.