Baul minstrels keep their tradition alive almost entirely by word of mouth and shared experience, passing songs and wisdom from one heart to another. Apprenticeship under a guru remains the cornerstone: a tender, often lifelong bond where a disciple learns through listening, watching, and mimicking the subtle inflections of each melody. It’s much like watching a chef in the kitchen—observing the pinch of spice, the timing of the stir—then practicing until the rhythm becomes second nature.

Gatherings at village melas or urban festivals—think the annual Poush Mela in Shantiniketan or the Dhaka Baul Festival—serve as open-air classrooms. There, seasoned Bauls join voices with newcomers, trading verses, improvising lines, and weaving personal insights into the age-old tapestry. Instruments like the ektara or dotara become teaching tools, too. By hand, string, and breath, gurus demonstrate the interplay of sound and silence, encouraging disciples to explore their own spiritual journeys through song.

Oral transmission thrives on repetition and memory. A single poem might echo in the mind long after the last note fades, ready to be reshaped or expanded upon. Lyrics carry metaphors of love, devotion, and inner searching—messages that shift subtly from one performer to the next, ensuring each rendition feels fresh while honoring its roots.

These days, digital platforms are lending a helping hand. Smartphone recordings, YouTube tutorials, and UNESCO-funded archives have opened new channels for Baul teachings. Yet nothing replaces the crackle of a campfire, the shared breath before the first chorus, or the knowing glance a guru and disciple exchange. By melding ancient oral practices with modern outreach, Bauls continue to hand down their mystical songs much like a torch—nurturing a flame that flickers through centuries, across borders, and into new generations.