PESHAWAR: Ejaz Sarhadi has been playing the sarinda since he was 13 years old, when he was started on the instrument by his virtuoso father.
Today, he is the last Pakistani master of the rare bowed lute, of which deep and high-pitched sound has for centuries resonated across the northern areas of the Indian subcontinent.
Carved from a single block of wood, the sarinda has three playing strings — two from steel and one of gut — and three dozen sympathetic strings which pass down a narrow waist and over an oval resonating chamber partially covered with animal skin.
Sarhadi's life is closely tied to the instrument and Pashtun culture.
His grandfather, sarinda legend Ustad Pazeer Khan, played it for All India Radio before the partition of the subcontinent into independent Pakistan and India in 1947. His father, Ustad Munir Sarhadi, rose to fame at home and abroad as one of the most recognized sarinda players and performers of classical and traditional Pashtun music.
"Playing sarinda is my life and is my passion," Sarhadi told Arab News at his home in Peshawar, once the main cultural center of Pakistan's northwest, where both he, his father and grandfather were born, and where he fears their legacy is likely to end, as there is no successor in sight.
"Sarinda will die its own death the day I die," he said.
The older generation still remembers how popular the instrument used to be before a wave of militancy and security operations swept the tribal Pashtun regions two decades ago, uprooting thousands of people.
"The tune of sarinda makes you forget all grief," Noor Alam, a tribal elder from South Waziristan said. "Our older generation still loves sarinda, but it is disappearing partly because of the displacement of the local population and the arrival of advanced musical instruments."
Composer Maqsood Maseed, who plays the rubab, which is also central to Pashtun culture, said the sarinda had a special place in traditional music as one of the oldest instruments, which people used to make themselves.
"Our elders used to play sarinda in the good old days," he told Arab News. "The sound of sarinda is thin and sharp. It pierces the listener's heart."
Sarhadi admits he has no students. One Japanese journalist has been taking classes from him, but their meetings are rare.
"She comes to Peshawar to learn some basics of Sarinda whenever she comes to Pakistan on a reporting trip," he said.
Rashed Khan, who leads the Hunari Tolana, an organization that works for the welfare of artists, told Arab News there will be no one to replace Sarhadi.
"We have no substitute for him," he said. "After Ejaz, the sound of sarinda will go silent."
What discourages young musicians from taking up the instrument, a very difficult one to master, is that with the amount of time required for rigorous daily practice, it does not guarantee a stable livelihood.
A famed maestro, Sarhadi's father died when the family was unable to pay his medical bills.
"I don’t see any bright future in my profession," he said. "I am living in a rented home but thank God that I get two-time meals a day with dignity."