Between the pages of the book, the reader will hear the notes of a petite flautist’s peace song, the thrush pouring her melodies on the gore-drenched ground, the sweet cadences of a boat-girl in Srinagar yearning for the halcyon times of yore, in rhythm to the undulating waves of the river Lidder, all notes merging together to become the white-cheeked bulbul’s plea for peace, and an end to the ‘eternal notes of sadness’. It is a heartfelt prayer that one never has to exclaim like Pablo Neruda," come and see the blood on the streets", or to explain what happened to the lilacs in his garden.
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