The secretary of an important Arab dignitary and businessman in the Middle East, worked long hours on computers. He suffered from insomnia and had had an unhealthy lifestyle for several years at a stretch. It started off as fatigue, headaches, slight dizziness, blurred vision and short-term memory loss. As time went by, he began to get palpitations. One day, while driving on the main highway, he had an extreme attack of vertigo. He swerved the car sideways onto the grass verge, flung open the door and lay flat on the ground. He began to shake violently, as if he was having an epileptic fit. Some people gathered round and took him to hospital.

After a lot of investigations, including brain scans, nothing substantial showed-up. He was put on a tablet for vertigo and it was diagnosed as an inner ear problem. This is the most common diagnosis for extreme dizziness and vertigo.

I was in the country on a routine visit. I examined him and my diagnosis was the lack of blood flow to the cerebellum, due to extreme tightness of the neck muscles. His boss half-believed my diagnosis and gave me the benefit of the doubt. As requested, he joined me with a group of patients on one of my health trips to a remote castle in Rajasthan in India.

He responded positively to treatment and he felt very relaxed and energetic. One day we had to take a 3 hour bus journey on a bumpy road. He fell asleep on the bus and had his neck in an awkward position. When we reached the castle, he tried to get up but had another attack of vertigo. His eyes moved rapidly, as if following the whirling of the world around him and he was almost unconscious. He then had a mild seizure. I had just got off the bus when this happened. I went back and had him lie on his back in the passageway and immediately began to work on his neck. I gave it a bit of traction with my hands. As soon as he felt a bit better he tried to get up but had another attack of vertigo. He panicked, as do the majority of people in this situation. It is very scary, as you feel you are going to die.

There wasn’t a stretcher, as it is a remote castle. I used a blanket and, with the help of a few people, carried him to his room – the round gun room – where, 300 years ago, stood the main cannon that defended the fort from invaders. We had the maestro, Ustad Sultan Khan, a very well known musician in the group, who played an ancient instrument called the Sarangi, a stringed instrument which is played with a bow, it is very similar to a small Cello. Without any hesitation, he sat in the centre of this large, round room with a dome and began to play a tune. The sound of the Sarangi is very similar to the human singing voice. As my patient lay flat on his back, without a pillow, I gave him some water to drink, with the help of a tablespoon. He could not lift his head, lest it triggered another attack.

I gently treated his neck and felt the misalignment of the neck vertebrae. Sultan Khan’s music was divine when it echoed in the domed room. I have never treated anyone in such superb ambiance. I was totally enchanted by the music of one of the geniuses of Indian classical music. My patient drifted-off into a deep state of relaxation. About half an hour later, he got-up to use the toilet. It was miraculous. The notes of the Sarangi had enhanced the therapeutic effect of my treatment a thousand times.

Next morning he was in the courtyard talking to a few people in the group who were enquiring how he felt. He was calm and relaxed, joking with everyone. It was impossible to imaging the situation he was in the previous evening. His treatment continued and he is now totally cured. I met him seven years later; he had taken a couple of years off to study, but he had returned to his job. He never had another vertigo attack again.