Story has it that in the 1930s, there was a Uygur elderly who came out of prison on wrong charges. The first thing he did after returning home was to go directly to the place where he used to hang the Duttar, a long-necked plucked lute with two nylon (formerly silk) strings. But he found only a        bloom hanging there. He took it down and began to play it like he used to with Duttar.
    "You would not doubt the truthfulness of the story if you come to the field ends of Southern Xinjiang, to any place that look so shabby to urbanites and see Uygur natives singing and dancing scenes amidst flying dust," said Mr. Zhou Ji, who has studied Uygur music for four decades.
    Why do Uygurs show such strong emotions for music?  "It is the geographical features that have made them so fervent about music," said Zhou. A step apart between oasis and deserts in Xinjiang represents life and death and people living there receive more survival tests than people living in any other areas. It is such tests that have shaped up their characters of seeking pleasure in their battles against nature. Apart from the harsh living environment, people have to bear the torment of loneliness. Just imagine that a person walking in a vast desert, the song is his only companion. Muqam has thus become an indispensable part of the life of Uygurs. The melody of Muqam floats everywhere, on the big streets and in small lanes, at tea houses and in restaurants, in the country fair and on the road and among camel fleet and by the bonfire. It accompanies a Uygur from his birth to grownups till his death. In no time, a Uygur departs from Muqam.
    In Xinjiang, Muqam can be heard only in places where Uygur people live. People say that a man who does not know how to sing and dance would have no girl to marry him.