Quiet rhythm that speaks volumes

The beat of a dhol or the beat of a tabla travels from the ears to the heart and slowly takes over the body, making listeners nod their heads.

Soon, feet are moving and fingers are tapping. When he plays the tabla, people gather without being called. Be it a ghazal, thumri, folk song, tappay or maahi, the tabla gives music its rhythm and meaning.

However, before this rhythm reaches a musician’s hands, the tabla itself goes through a long and patient journey shaped not by machines but by skilled hands, trained ears and years of experience.

While Peshawar has long been known for making musical instruments, Punjab has its own lesser-known center of this art: Dijkot. Known for its agricultural implements and iron tools, the city is also home to artisans who quietly keep alive the tradition of tabla and dholki making.

In a small workshop in Dijkot market sits Israr Hussain, a craftsman who has spent 35 years shaping sound with his hands. His tablas and dholkis are played in Multan and Bahawalpur districts, and some reach as far as Lahore.

Making a tabla is slow, careful work. Israr explains that preparing a single dholki can take six hours, while a balanced pair of tablas requires even more attention. The process begins with the puri, the drum head made of carefully selected goat skin (capra hircus).

The skin is washed, cleaned and gradually stretched, the artisans of the tent call khenchna. Leather straps are tied at the ends to give strength and balance. In the center of the drum head is the soul of the tabla the syahi.

Internationally, in India and other regions, this is also known as “black point” or “gab”/”gaab” – a very special black paste made by mixing iron filings and other organic materials. Artisans often use soft metal scraps from forging or furnace to prepare this syahi.

Applied layer by layer, this syahi is what gives the tabla its distinctive tone. “It’s not just a black circle,” Israr told APP. “It is the heart of sound; sur, lay and the language of sound.”

The tabla is not a single drum but a pair, known as a jodi. The biggest drum is called Bayan (nar in the local language). produces deep bass. The smallest drum is the Dayan (madi), usually made of wood, and produces cleaner, sharper sounds.

In India and Pakistan, tabla players and teachers also refer to the drum surfaces as: Syahi/Gab/Gaab — the black circular spot in the center. Puri/Pudi – the skin surface of the animal, Chati – the outer white area – produces higher tones.

When a tabla player strikes the center of the syahi, the tone produced is called “Na” or “Tin”, while strikes on the outer white area produce sounds known as “Ta” or “Tun”. These bolts are like syllables in music – the language of rhythm.

Together, sur (tone) and lay (rhythm) bring the instrument to life. Israr explained that a deep understanding of sur and lay is essential for a craftsman. Without knowing a sound, he said, “you can’t make a good table.”

Craftsmanship

Most tablas are traditionally made of wood, specifically: Sheesham (Indian rosewood), Kikar (Acacia) and Mango wood. However, some enthusiasts and connoisseurs also request tablas made of copper or other metals, particularly for the bayan.

Metal body tablas produce a slightly different resonance, often preferred by advanced players. Once the skin is applied, the drums are carefully tuned using wooden pegs and gentle hammer adjustments. A well-tuned tabla can cost between Rs 2,500 and Rs 3,500, although it is often sold later at higher prices.

For Israr, this work is not just a profession, it is a legacy. He told APP that the art he practices is the soul of the music of the subcontinent, passed down from his forefathers. He learned the art from his maternal uncle and his grandfather, Mushtaq Hussain Goga, practiced the same art in pre-Partition India.

Today, Israr’s son Hussain works with him and is actively learning the art to advance it. Many shops in the market make tabla-related parts and supplies, Israr said, but the final instrument is “made right here, by hands trained over decades.”

“Demand for handmade tablas has gone down,” says Israr, noting that wedding seasons and festivals once brought heavy orders. “Now people’s purchasing power has gone down,” he adds. Yet at Dijkot, the craftsmen persevere, quietly setting the pace as digital sounds dominate modern music.

Silent until struck, the tabla commands attention with centuries of discipline and tradition in every beat. Between leather and iron dust, in hands guided by instinct and families intent on preserving tradition, the tabla endures—softly speaking, steadily, with timeless grace.

As hands beat the drum head and ears search for rhythm, the tabla endures, not just as an instrument, but as the voice of culture, memory and heart.