October 2004. Vienna Central Graveyard. It is huge. I am standing outside the main entrance. My heart is beating fast, so fast that I thought it might explode in my chest any moment. It took some time to pull myself together. In a faint voice I asked the guard, “How far do I have to walk till I reach Beethoven?” “Around fifty metres sir,” he said. To walk those fifty metres it took me half an hour. Numb, so numb my feet were!

As I was getting closer, all his compositions, especially The 2nd, 5th, 6th, and 9th symphony, Sonata Pathetique, Moonlight Sonata, E flatMajorconcerto for Piano, String Quartet in C sharp minor... all of these were playing randomly in my head. Something like this happens only in our dreams, more like a collage of dreams. His streams of music were crisscrossing my existence in a way that my vision got blurry. I could hardly see what was around me. I had to sit.

From a distance I could see the Maestro's Monument. It was still ten metres away. I stood up, resumed walking. I looked around. It was as if I was surrounded by millions of spirits, all with various instruments in their hands. As if it were another world where the Maestro is standing tall before the largest orchestra and conducting all his music, and they are playing whatever he wants with great joy, and I am the sole lucky listener — flowers in hand, tears in eyes.

I thought those teardrops had carried all the possible feelings a human being can have. I also thought they purified my soul. Finally, I was there with the flowers. But my flowers seemed inadequate and meaningless as I could feel the vibration of his charisma even though he was beneath the sod, for nearly 200 years. I stood there speechless for ten minutes, looking at his grave, thinking what if I was born in his time? I would have definitely somehow managed to become his pupil. I was in such a state of mind that all the impossibilities seemed possible to me.

We know Beethoven had no significant pupil, not even his own nephew Carl. A man named Schindler went to him to become his pupil but ended up becoming his secretary till the Maestro's last day on earth. Possibly, Schindler is the only person whose love for Beethoven was unconditional, because no one else could cope with the Maestro's fiery temper. Once a violinist came to Beethoven and said, “Maestro this part is very difficult, I cannot play it.” Beethoven, apparently with great anger answered, (as usual), “What do I care about your poor violin?"

But whoever has read the letter (http://home.swipnet.se/zabonk/ cultur/ludwig/beeheil.htm) written to his younger brother will have a completely different impression of him. My tour to Vienna is one my most cherished memories. During that tour I visited all the museums of Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert. Beethoven lived in 82 different houses in Vienna, of which, five are preserved as museums. For music lovers sparing some time at those museums would be like a ritual completed.

Swani Zubayeer received his Masters in English literature from Dhaka University, after which he went on to Sweden to study music and was the student of Gotlands School of Music Composition.