In the heart of Kumbakonam, a small house on Sollaiyappa Mudali Street stood, where Sri Sarabha Sastri, the visually impaired flutist, born in 1872, lived with his wife, Smt Ambuammal.
The air was thick with the scent of simple incense as Sarabha sat on his mat, his flute resting gently in his hands. Ambuammal was busy with her daily chores, but her attention always wandered to her husband, who seemed to live in a world of his own.
One evening, as twilight descended and the sounds of the village quieted, a visitor arrived. It was none other than Sri Kuppuswami Sastri, Sarabha’s maternal uncle.
Kuppuswami Sastri: “SastrigaLE, I’ve come to speak to you about something important.”
Sarabha, ever the curious and devoted, placed his flute down and turned his face toward the voice.
Sarabha Sastri: “Uncle, please tell me. I am always eager to hear your thoughts.”
Kuppuswami Sastri: “You have the soul of a musician, but the world still doesn’t understand the potential of the flute. I think it is time to make it heard beyond these streets.”
Sarabha’s face softened, and his fingers traced the contours of his bamboo flute with its tone-holes, as he pondered over his uncle’s words.
Sarabha Sastri: “I have always felt that the flute is capable of infinite possibilities - in some aspects, even more than Veena or the recently introduced violin to our music. Of course, there are other aspects where those instruments may have a narrow edge over the flute. That said, this instrument of Lord Krishna is supreme and deserves centre-state, rather than just accompanying classical dance or vocal music or as a folk instrument. But, you know as well as I do that today, it is only seen as a secondary instrument in the mighty and sophisticated Carnatic music. Of course, violin is also always accompanying vocal rather than centre-stage today, but it is seen far more frequently.”
Kuppuswami Sastri nodded, a deep sigh escaping his lips.
Kuppuswami Sastri: “Exactly. And it is high time for that to change. You have the gift to show the world its true potential.”
Sarabha Sastri: “I have spent many years learning from the greats, including Manambuchavadi Venkatasubbaiyyar. But I know my heart lies in the flute. However, the world has always treated it as a minor instrument. I do not need to mention to you that the continuity as well as the carrying power along with intrinsic sweetness, that the flute has, is not possible with the Veena”
Kuppuswami Sastri: “You are destined to change the current state of matters. You will make the flute a central instrument in Carnatic music. Within a few decades, it will have more popularity among the masses and classes”
Sarabha Sastri’s mind raced. His fingers, which had once merely explored the flute, now felt the power of this possibility. He smiled inwardly and then looked up at his uncle.
Sarabha Sastri: “But I am visually impaired, confined to home mostly. How can I bring such a change? How can I show the world the flute’s true beauty?”
Kuppuswami Sastri placed a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, his voice steady with conviction.
Kuppuswami Sastri: “Your blindness does not limit you, Sarabha. It sharpens your other senses. It connects you to the divine, to the melody and rhythm of the universe in a way that no one else can experience. You can teach the world to hear what they cannot see.”
Months Later – The Temple Festival
The grand temple festival in Kumbakonam had arrived, and Sarabha Sastri was to perform at the temple’s courtyard. The evening was filled with excitement as villagers and music lovers gathered to witness a performance that was rumored to change the history of Carnatic music.
Ambuammal stood near the entrance, watching as her husband prepared. Sarabha was always calm, almost serene, before a performance.
Ambuammal: “Are you ready please? The crowd is eager to hear you.”
Sarabha Sastri: “Ambu, this is not just a performance. It is a prayer, a meditation. I am not performing for the applause. I am performing to reach the divine, to allow the flute to speak as I feel it.”
She smiled, proud of her husband’s devotion.
The stage was set. The crowd buzzed with anticipation, and Sarabha Sastri walked onto the platform with his flute in hand. He could sense the energy around him, even without his sight. He closed his eyes and raised the flute to his lips, letting the first note flow like a river of sound.
Sarabha Sastri (to himself): “This is my offering to the divine. Let the flute sing its prayers.”
As Sarabha played, the sound of the flute filled the air with a divine vibration. The intricate gamakas danced through the music, and his unique fingering technique drew the audience into a trance. The fluttering sangatis flowed, creating waves of emotion. The people in the crowd were stunned; this was unlike anything they had ever heard before.
Among the listeners was an elderly man, a vidwans named Sri Sulamangalam Vaidhyanatha Bhagavathar. After the performance, he approached Sarabha Sastri with a look of deep admiration.
Sulamangalam Vaidhyanatha Bhagavathar: “Sarabha, I have heard many great musicians, but what you did tonight was beyond words. The flute has never been played like this before.”
Sarabha Sastri: “I am only the instrument, BhagavatharvaaL. The flute spoke through me.”
Sulamangalam Vaidhyanatha Bhagavathar: “You have done what I thought was impossible. The flute will now take its rightful place centre-stage accompanied by the violin and the mridangam. You have made the impossible possible.”
Sarabha Sastri smiled humbly, a warmth in his heart.
Sarabha Sastri: “The flute has always had its voice. I merely gave it the freedom to sing.”
After the Performance
Back home, as the stars twinkled above, Sarabha Sastri said: “The flute has finally been heard, Ambu. And it will never again be silenced.”
Years passed by. Sarabha Sastri had established himself as the first carnatic solo flute vidwan, an ace artiste.
One evening, he visited his dear friend and fellow vidwan, Sulamangalam Vaidhyanatha Bhagavathar, at his home. The occasion was a quiet gathering of learned musicians and devotees who had come to discuss spiritual stories and music. As they sat together, the conversation turned to a very recent development and Sarabha Sastri’s latest venture—writing Harikatha Nirupanams.
Sulamangalam Vaidhyanatha Bhagavathar: “We all know of your incredible skill with the flute. But I hear you are now composing Harikatha Nirupanams? How does a man of your musical brilliance weave words so beautifully?”
Sarabha Sastri: (smiling softly) “Bhagavathar, words, especially those that describe divine leelas, are like music to me. As nirupanam prose or poetry, they have a rhythm of their own, a beat that flows naturally when the mind is attuned to the divine. When I write Harikatha Nirupanams, I do not think of it as mere writing. It is like rendering a melody, where the story of Lord Shiva or Vishnu becomes the raga, and the words, the swaras.”
Sulamangalam Vaidhyanatha Bhagavathar: “That is fascinating. I’ve heard about your compositions for the Kalakshepams on the Nayanmaars. How do you balance the scriptural essence with the musical flow?”
Sarabha Sastri: “The key lies in devotion, Bhagavathar, as you know better than me. When I write about the divine, I do not view it as a task. It is an offering. The words come to me when I lose myself in the rhythm of the story..”
Sulamangalam Vaidhyanatha Bhagavathar: “Ah, so your Nirupanams are not just written as a task; they are heartfelt experiences. I can see how your music flows into your writing.”
Thus, Sarabha Sastri’s legacy was born—a visually impaired man who saw the music within the flute and brought it to the world. His technique, his music, and his devotion changed the landscape of Carnatic music forever, making the flute a central instrument in classical concerts, a sound that resonated with the divine.
His flute, forever a symbol of his journey, continued to inspire generations long after he was gone.
He left behind a legacy of both divine artistry and boundless devotion as evidenced by the harikatha nirupanams and compositions he created, which sadly are not accessible today.