Rhythm Divine

Wherever you go in Gwalior, the myth and magic of Tansen are inescapable, as Sam Dalrymple finds out.

Our quest began over cups of coffee sipped in lotus-columned cloisters. We had come to Gwalior in Madhya Pradesh just as the summer rains were beginning to subside, when the wild foliage sparkled a vivid green, and dramatic clouds swirled around the Gopachal Parvat. Striking up a conversation with a sitar player at our hotel, we were told how, five-hundred years ago, Gwalior's greatest musician Tansen had composed melodies so powerful that he could summon or dismiss the rains at will. The history of Gwalior, he explained, was impossibly intertwined with music. It was only through its music, he told us, that we would truly understand the city.

A car arrived the next morning at 5.30am. We watched, groggy-eyed, a scattering of crumbling palaces and colourful matchbox houses pass by. We began to climb up a steep forested cliff peppered with medieval-era Jain monuments. We passed through intricately carved sandstone gateways and suddenly, a vast hillfort came into view. At the top, 20-odd people had gathered to perform their morning sun salutations, and as the dawn turned pale pink, the music of temples and mosques began to ring over the city.