A Melody From the Past Returns to Life
In the eastern corners of India, far from the bustling cities and digital distractions of modern life, a soft yet haunting sound is once again echoing through small rooms, cultural centers, and rural villages. It is not the hum of a machine or the beat of an electronic song—it is something older, richer, more human. It is the music of the ravanahatha, an instrument born of legend and nearly lost to time.
At the center of this rediscovery stands Krishnendu Das, a young craftsman and music enthusiast whose deep love for his culture and curiosity for forgotten art forms led him on a journey that few would dare to take: to rebuild and revive a musical instrument that had gone extinct. With patience, perseverance, and the guidance of ancient scriptures, Krishnendu has not only brought back the ravanahatha but has sparked a movement of renewal that is reaching ears, hearts, and minds across India and beyond.
The Origin of a Sacred Sound
The ravanahatha (also known as ravanhatta or ravanastron) is more than just a stringed instrument—it is an artifact of myth and devotion. According to ancient tales, it was created by Ravana, the demon king of Lanka and a devout follower of Lord Shiva. As the story goes, Ravana fashioned the instrument to sing praises to the god, drawing divine emotion through each stroke of the bow.
Its very name translates to “Ravana’s hand,” and it is believed to have traveled from the southern regions of Lanka to the deserts of Rajasthan via Hanuman, who carried it north after the events of the Ramayana. Over the centuries, the instrument became woven into the oral traditions of folk musicians in western India and parts of Sri Lanka.
Traditionally, the ravanahatha was made using simple, locally available materials—a half coconut shell or gourd for the resonator, bamboo for the neck, and strings crafted from goat gut or horsehair. The bow was often strung with actual horsehair as well, creating a deep, earthy resonance that connected player and listener alike with something eternal.
A Young Man’s Quest to Rediscover Forgotten Music
Despite its mythological significance, the ravanahatha gradually faded into obscurity. With the rise of more modern instruments and the decline in traditional learning, the sound of this sacred string began to vanish.
But Krishnendu Das wasn’t content to let it be forgotten.
While studying music and cultural history, Krishnendu came across mentions of the ravanahatha in ancient texts and regional songs. Intrigued by the idea of an instrument with such spiritual origins, he began what would become a multi-year research project.
“I read everything I could,” he says. “Old texts, poems, carvings in temples—anything that could give me a clue about how it was built, how it sounded, how it was played.”
Without formal blueprints or living practitioners to consult, he faced an enormous challenge. His journey took him to remote parts of India, where elders could recall seeing or hearing the instrument once played by street performers or temple musicians. Piece by piece, sketch by sketch, he began to reconstruct it—one humble component at a time.
Building With Hands, Listening With Heart
What Krishnendu created is not a replica. It’s a resurrection.
Using a coconut shell for the resonator and bamboo for the neck, he replicated the ancient structure described in texts. He carefully hand-stretched natural skin to form the soundboard, and he used animal gut and fine metal for the strings. The bow, made from a slender wooden rod and horsehair, was shaped and tuned by feel and instinct.
The result is a ravanahatha that both looks and sounds as close as possible to the original. When played, it produces a raw, trembling tone—emotional, ancient, and almost voice-like.
“I didn’t know if it would work,” Krishnendu admits. “But the first time I drew the bow across the strings, it was as if something spoke back to me. Not just sound—history.”
A Cultural Ripple Effect
What began as a personal project quickly grew into something much bigger. Word of Krishnendu’s revival spread through cultural circles, universities, and traditional music communities.
He was invited to demonstrate the instrument at folk festivals, lecture on its origins, and even collaborate with musicians interested in blending classical Indian music with ancient folk tones. People were captivated—not just by the instrument, but by the idea of it.
“It’s not just a sound,” says Ananya Sen, a musicologist who interviewed Krishnendu. “It’s the memory of a people. It’s a story being told again, after hundreds of years of silence.”
Now, young artists across India are beginning to express interest in learning to play or build the ravanahatha. NGOs working in rural Rajasthan and Gujarat are even discussing integrating traditional instrument-making into their educational initiatives.
A Bridge Between Cultures and Time
Interestingly, some scholars argue that the ravanahatha might have influenced the evolution of the violin in Europe, having traveled through ancient trade routes into Persia and the Arab world, later transforming into the rebab, then the medieval European fiddle. Its bowed playing technique, resonating strings, and body design bear striking similarities.
Whether or not the ravanahatha directly fathered the violin, the connection reveals something beautiful: human cultures are not isolated islands—they are rivers that flow into one another.
In reviving the ravanahatha, Krishnendu is not only reconnecting with his Indian roots but participating in a global conversation about memory, music, and meaning.
The Road Ahead
Krishnendu dreams of establishing a permanent workshop and cultural center where students can learn how to build, play, and appreciate traditional Indian instruments like the ravanahatha. He envisions collaborations between tribal artisans, contemporary musicians, and historians to document and preserve this heritage before it’s lost again.
He is also working on a book that will document his journey, including blueprints, stories, interviews, and playing techniques. It is not just a manual, but a love letter to an instrument and a cultural mission.
“I don’t think of this as my project anymore,” he says. “This belongs to everyone who has ever wondered where they came from—and what stories their ancestors might have sung.”
A Final Note
As the day fades in his small workshop, Krishnendu picks up the ravanahatha. The bow glides across the string. The note trembles in the air—low, warm, ancient. It is the sound of something once thought lost now being heard again. And it is beautiful.
