The author of this piece on Shakar Saheb aka Shakar Shah Padshah [approx. 1794 to 1830] is Late Sona Bakaya Moza, daughter of Shri Nand Lal Bakaya and wife of Shri Amar Nath Moza]. Sona Bakaya was a direct descendent of Sat Ram Bakaya [elder brother and guardian of Shakar Sahib who had no children].
Sona Bakaya Moza had written the piece in Hindi (original manuscript included in PDF) recollecting the family lore told by paternal grandmother. The work has been translated by Mr. Anil Bakaya.
Aum Shakar Sahibaya Namah
I heard this story on Shakar Sahib from my father’s mother, Veshmal Bakaya. Veshmal Bakaya was the wife of Shri Narayan joo Bakaya. I wrote the same story 60 years ago in Bhajans.
Now I am writing this from the perspective of the Bakaya khandan (family).
Shri Keshav Ram Pandit was the father of Shakar Saheb. At that time, Keshav Ram Pandit was the collector of Kamraj division. In those days, Pathans were the rulers. Shri Keshav Ram Pandit was a rich man, owning lot of land, property etc. People were jealous of him. His wife’s family lived on the banks of the river which also passed the house of the Bhans.
The pathans were cruel to Keshav Ram Pandit and he was stoned to death by the pathans in front of the eyes of his wife’s family. The descendents of Keshav Ram Pandit believed there was a famine in Kashmir during which Kehav Ram Pandit showed kindness to the farmers by not forcing them to pay taxes. The Pathans were furious because they didn’t get the taxes.
Later a bridge was built at that spot and the bridge was named Kani Kadal. A stone is called Kani in Kashmiri.
After Keshav Ram Pandit’s untimely death an outstanding amount was declared as debt owed by him. Bakaya is a term used to describe debt.
Because of this reason the family was called Bakaya family. Bakaya continued to be the last name of direct descendents of Keshav Ram Pandit.
The elder son of Keshav Ram Bakaya was Sat Ram Bakaya. The second son was Himmat Sahib. Govind Ram Bakaya was the third son. The youngest son was Shakar Sahib Bakaya. Shakar Sahib was only one year old when his father was killed.
The elder brother of Shakar Sahib, Sat Ram Bakaya was married to someone in the family of Birbal Kaul who was famous for his senior role as adviser and Minister of the Mughal emperor Akbar.
Maharaja Ranjit Singhji had given him a very good position.
He also got good properties with that position. He spent lot of the money on dharmarth.
His other brother Govindram Bakaya could not cope with the trauma resulting from his father’s terrible death by stoning. Haunted by the memory of that traumatic event, he left Kashmir with his wife and moved to Lahore. Later we were told he eventually moved to Allahabad .
Sat Ram Bakaya and family continued to live in the Kani Kadal house.
Shri Shakar Sahib also stayed with his elder brother, because Sat Ram Bakaya did not have any children.
Govind Ram’s wife went with her children to Sathoo Barbarshah. When Shakar Sahib was 5 or 6 he started going to school. There he got a takhti and pen.
Shakar Sahib used to take his takhti and pen to school and on the takhti he used to write only RAM RAM on the takhti repeatedly. He had no interest in studies and was immersed in RAM.
One day on his way back from school, Shakar Sahib bought a kabab and roti from a Muslim shopkeeper.
In those days there were lot of differences between Hindus and Muslims. Hindus who saw him eat the food prepared by a Muslim, resented this act.
They went to his mother asking her to expel Shakar Sahib from their house. The poor mother was very sad and asked him: Why did you do this? You brought so much anguish to our society. They won’t let you stay here.
Seeing his anguished mother, he took her to the riverbank next to their house. He took out his intestines and washed them. The kabab and roti were still intact as if no one had chewed them. Every person watching this miracle was amazed. It was so unbelievable that someone could take out consumed food by emptying his stomach.
He asked all the spectators “Am I purified now or not?” The astonished spectators were dumbfounded and left the place silently.
Shakar Sahib’s mother also forgave him and allowed him to stay in their house.
This way he was engrossed in his bhajans.
His elder brother Sat Ram Bakaya owned lot of properties. He bought land in Rambagh and when asked what the purpose was for buying the land, Sat Ram Bakaya said it should be made my samadhi after I die. My brother Shakar Sahib is a “mastana”, what will he do?
At that very moment Shakar Saheb gave him a vardaan [a promise/blessing] that he will be blessed with a daughter. Her offspring will continue the family clan for generations going forward.
After some time he was, indeed blessed with a daughter. Our Bakaya family are direct descendants of Sat Ram Bakaya’s daughter.
In those days Kripa Ram was a very wealthy person. He was a disciple of Shakar Sahib. Whenever he would pass by the river in front of Shakar Sahib’s house, he would visit Shakar Sahib. His boat had ghungroo made of silver and pedals for the boat were also made from silver. These would make a specific sound because of which Krima Ram was nicknamed Krip shrone [shrone means a particular sound made by a pedal pushing the water].
When Sat Ram Bakaya’s daughter was born, Kripa Ram gifted them two bracelets/bangles made of gold and a dussa shawl.
Kripa Ram had lot of faith in Shakar Sahib. But on one occasion he passed by and forgot to greet Shakar Sahib with a Namaskar. On this occasion his boat got stuck and was unable to move forward. Then he realized his mistake.
He started praying. He used a rope made of grass to anchor his boat to the house. He walked up to pay obeisense to Shakar Sahib. From that day whoever would pass by the bridge in front of the house would chant “Shakar Shah Padshah” before moving forward.
As the years went by Shakar Sahib got more and more respect from disciples. His disciples included reputed families in Safa Kadal and every day after making food they would take a thali to him for bhog. One day someone made the meal jootha [impure], and when the thali was sent to Shakar Sahib two men dressed in black clothes came and said Our Shakar Shah padshah said Our Shakar Sahib does not eat this impure food. Take it back.
The same day when they returned a member of their household who held a good position in was punished by black water in accordance with orders from Raja Ranjit Singh’s darbar.
Then he went to Mahan nand joo’s house who was a very wealthy individual. He came barefoot to Shakar Sahib and begged him for forgiveness. Shakar Sahib then comforted him and asked him not to be fearful; it was a mistake. When he was back at Maha Nand joo’s place he found his order was withdrawn.
One of the maids of Shakar Sahib’s mother was a Muslim but he would treat every one similarly without discrimination. One day that maid said she also does Shakar Sahib’s work and asked for his blessing. Shakar sahib asked her to tell him what was her wish. The maid said she wished for her family to eat from a thali [tram] made of gold. Shakar Sahib said: Tathastoo [So be it!]. Upto now people from that village Bachgam, are more wealthy.
Shakar sahib’s mother forced him to get married when he was only 10 years old. In those days Dila Ram was a very wealthy person. Shakar Sahib’s marriage was arranged with Dila Ram’s daughter.
When she was 13 she had her “gauna” after which she moved to Shakar Sahib’s house.
But whenever she would enter Shakar Sahib’s room she could not see him and could see only snakes and scorpions. For a few days she slept outside Shakar Sahib’s room. But after a few days she told her father about this experience. But her father had lot of respect for Shakar Sahib. Her father had a good chat with her and asked her to continue to stay in the house of Shakar Sahib. Sadly, she died when she was only 18.
Dila Ram did not terminate his relations with Shakar Sahib. He treated Shakar Sahib with lot of respect. He would still visit his son-in-law and take gifts to Shakar Sahib on his birthdays. The gifts would be typically a pheran made from pashmina, a dussa shawl and a pot of yoghurt/curds. When the father-in-law left, Shakar Sahib would distribute among his disciples, the birthday gifts received by him.
In Kashmir there was a village called Batgund where one of his disciples named Shankar would hold prayers for Shakar Sahib. One day Shankar’s family members came to see Shakar Saheb to give him the sad news of the passing away of Shankar. But Shakar Sahib did not believe them. He accompanied them to their village. On arrival Shakar Sahib sat next to the corpse; Shakar Sahib then lifted his cap from his head and placed it on the head of the corpse. At once, Shankar came back to life and sat up. On seeing this miracle all the people watching the miracle were stunned to see a dead man getting his life back. Since that time on that day people of that village perform a yagya/havan on the anniversary of Shakar Sahib’s birth as well as death.
Hindus as well as Muslims accepted Shakar Sahib’s extraordinary powers and Shakar Sahib was given a special title in recognition of his powers. A popular poem was composed In Kashyap’s Kashmir produced many saints but the highest level was attained by Shakar Sahib.
Several objects belonging to Shakar Sahib were preserved as relics: his sandals, his pillow, his cap, his hookah and a scroll (book) on which RAM RAM was written by him hundreds of thousands of times. It is not known where his Takhti is. But it is said touching his relics brought about quick healing to the sick. We observed his sandals were used by our family to bring to an abrupt halt natural calamities like fire and flood. Pointing the sandal towards the advancing fire or flood would stop it from creating further damage.
Shakar Sahib’s other brother who used to live in Sathoo preserved Shakar Sahib’s sandals and charpoy, [bed]. Shakar Sahib’s cap was preserved in Batgund village.
After some decades Sat Ram Bakaya’s daughter got married to a Kotru boy from Rainawari. Sat Ram Bakaya was rich and gave away sandals made of gold and silver as dowry.
This led to jealousy among people and they made verses to taunt the display of wealth selection was made from gold and diamonds.
Sat Ram Bakaya’s daughter gave birth to a son and daughter. The son was adopted by Sat Ram Bakaya. He was named Tota Ram Bakaya. Tota Ram got married to a girl from Kaul family in Alikadal. They had 3 sons. Shri Narayanjoo, Shri Man joo and Shri Damodar joo Bakaya. Narayan Bakaya got married at the age of 9 to the only daughter of Amar Chand Khosa. The marriage ceremony took place in Nageen Bagh. A few years later there was an earthquake occurred repatedly. Every person was evacuated from their houses. People had to live in boats because their houses had fallen because of the earthquake. All their belongings and documents. Information on the year of occupation in the house. In their house a cupboard was saved from damage. Tota Ram Bakaya’s daughter was young when she was widowed. It is not known if the earthquake occurred before or after Tota Ram’s death.
Narayan joo Bakaya’s maternal uncle used to live with them. One day he dropped a cup of food and he had marks all over his body. The marks looked as if some one had beaten him. The marks were seen as punishment from Shakar Sahib.
In about the late 1930s / early 1940s Maharaja Hari Singh’s brother-in law used to comefor home tuitions to the Bakaya family. His home tutor was late Shri Nand Lal Bakaya [also father of the author Sona Bakaya/Moza], son of Shri Narayan Joo Bakaya who was also a Master at Mission School.
The brother-in-law’s name was Omkar Singh. He used to spend a lot of time in the home of Shri Nand Lal Bakaya. One day Omkar Singh said he will go to Shakar Saheb’s prayer room in the Bakaya house. As soon as he entered the room, he got scared and thought Shakar Sahib was chasing him. Out of fear he ran away from the prayer room.
Footnotes
1. The author’s husband Amar Nath Moza did a good service to India in 1947. He happened to be in Baramulla when the Kabalis raided Kashmir. He was one of the first people to escape from Baramulla in 1947 and rushed to the Bakaya home in Kani Kadal, Srinagar. On arrival in Kani Kadal he asked his brother-in law Shri Prem Nath Bakaya to communicate news of the Kabali aggression to the right people in Delhi. Shri Prem Nath Bakaya took him to the nearest telephone at the fire station. The telephone was monitored by Pakistan informers. They called PNB’s contact, DayaNand Kachru who was Nehru’s Secretary. Daya Nand Kachru’s wife picked the phone, her husband was in the office with Nehru and his cabinet. Shri Amar Nath Moza cleverly uttered the following words “Shotur chav Varmul munz.” When Nehru came to know about the aggression, he immediately flew Indian troops to Srinagar.
2. The relics of Shakar Sahib are currently in two places Shakar Sahib’s pillow and Khadaon [footwear] are in the Jammu house of Shri Vijay Bakaya, IAS.
Anil Bakaya
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The article has been uploaded to archive.org with permission of Mr. Anil Bakaya, as part of SearchKashmir.org Free book Project
History of saint Shakar Saheb aka Shakar Shah Padshah [approx. 1794 to 1830] active during the Sikh rule era of Kashmir based on family lore of Bakayas.
The author of this piece on Shakar Saheb is Late Shri Prem Nath Bakaya, IAS son of Shri Jia Lal Bakaya]. Shri Prem Nath Bakaya was a direct descendent of Sat Ram Bakaya [elder brother and guardian of Shakar Sahib who had no children]. With permission of Mr. Anil Bakaya, uploaded by SearchKashmir.org Free book Project
Our family’s eminent spiritual legend, Shakar Sahib In our joint family we, even as children, were encouraged to have faith in some widely acknowledged saints. It started with an ancestor of our Bakaya family called Shakar Sahib. We were told about him as part of the Bakaya family folklore. He had been popular for his spiritual powers and some noteworthy events. In fact there were many stories of his miracles. The family maintained some of his relics in a pooja (worship) room in our Kanikadal home on the bank of the Kutakul stream which had branched out from the river Jehlum.
One of the stories was about an arrogant governor who ruled over Kashmir as representative of Maharaja Ranjit Singh (Maharaja of the Sikh empire 1780 to 1839). It was said that the governor took frequent tours in the city of Srinagar as a part of his inspections. He used a large boat driven by twelve sturdy rowers. He liked the sound of their rhythmic rowing; he was known by Kashmiris as Kripa – Shruni (Lover of the sound produced in perfect unison while his boat was rowed). It was said he was going in that boat, one day over the Kutakul stream. His boat could not proceed beyond the point at Kanikadal, where Shakar Sahib lived. He urged his team of rowers to proceed. They did their best but the boat did not move. He was enraged; he started scolding them. But one of the boatmen who knew of Shakar Sahib dared to stand up to suggest that they should land and pay respects to the saint. It was a practice for passersby on the boats to say “Shakar Shah Padshah” (meaning Shakar Sahib is king). The arrogant governor felt there was no option, he agreed and was taken to visit the saint. He greeted him. Shakar Sahib spoke, “It is good you came; there is a bad news, people feel you are a good ruler but a complaint has been made to the king in Lahore, you are being called and a different governor is being sent to Kashmir. You should go, explain your position. The king will be convinced and you will come again. Have faith in God almighty. Do not be arrogant, you can go.” The governor was taken aback. He became pensive. He went back to his boat which started moving. It was said this prophesy came true after about a month. He was summoned to Lahore to be reprimanded by the King – Maharaja Ranjit Singh. He was able to explain his conduct. The king asked him to wait for his decision as his dismissal was possible. After a few days he was summoned again and told the complaint was found untrue and he would be sent to Kashmir again. But he was directed to be humble while governing with strength and strictness. After I grew up I read in a history book that one governor Kriparam was the king’s representative who was in Kashmir in 1819 was recalled on some complaint but cleared and deputed for a second term. The history book did not mention about the Saint’s warning and prophecy but this was part of our family folklore which was full of many other stories of Shakar Sahib’s miracles. It was said that as a child he was precocious. He mixed freely with all boys of his age – both Kashmiri Hindus and Muslims. Once his Muslim friends bought a cooked mutton mince delicacy (harsa) from a street shop. He felt ‘tempted’ to taste this too. His Hindu companions complained to his mother that he had outraged his religion. His mother was sad, called him over and reprimanded him sharply and said he had despoiled himself and started crying. He was upset and pleaded with his mother that there was nothing to worry as all the boys were brothers there was no difference between Hindus and Muslims but she was disturbed. He assured her that he would cleanse his stomach. So he was reported to drink glasses of water which he excreted after an hour or two it contained the stuff that was said to have cleared out and off. It was said that to reassure his mother of his purity, he vomited out his intestines into the river, washed the intestines with the river water and swallowed back his intestines. Shakar Sahib’s parents forced his marriage to a young pretty daughter of a wealthy Kashmiri Brahmin, Dilaram Mandal. He resisted but was overruled and the girl joined the family as a favorite daughter-in-law. The story goes on when the girl was pushed into his room for the first night, she felt that Shakar Sahib was in deep meditation and was surrounded by a circle of very bright light. She felt endangered and could not stay on. She cried and ran out. She told her mother-in-law who was amazed, but consoled her and asked her to not be afraid but should try again next day. She could not summon the courage but she helped her mother-in-law to serve Shakar Sahib. But when she entered his room she thought she saw a snake surrounding him. She reported her experience to her own parents and her motherin-law, who also saw a snake. Her father felt it was a mistake but was convinced that her daughter may be destined to be a serving disciple of a budding saint. He used to visit Shakar Sahib on his birthdays and present him a nice Pashmina Shawl (a warm soft wool wrap) every such day and wrap it over him. It is said, Shakar Sahib, by this time had accepted a Muslim disciple. This gentleman would take over the shawl and keep it safe in his possession while Shakar Sahib looked quietly on unconcerned. When on the third or fourth anniversary the wealthy father-in-law (Mr. Dilaram Mandal) put yet another shawl around Shakar Sahib’s body, he offered his respects and left. The Muslim disciple started removing the expensive nice wrap. Shakar Sahib stopped him and said – “No, you have received back all the value of the amount I owed you as a repayable debt in my earlier birth, now onwards this will be given over to someone else deserving it.” The message in this episode is there is a limit in every relationship imposed by karma on what you owe and what needs to be repaid. Shakar Sahib’s guru was Mirza Kak Sahib and we often visited Kak Sahib’s Samadhi, the place where he was cremated on the banks of a beautiful stream a few kilometers from Kokernag on the way to Anantnag/Srinagar. In the Bakaya family we lived with these delicious but inspiring stories and always remembered the heritage of an inspiring spirituality. While we were growing, we were encouraged to join our elders’ visits to the third storey small room used as the family’s prayer room. The room was small but enriched with precious Souvenirs of our family saint, revered Shakar Sahib. A part of the headgear turban he had worn, a small notebook packed by a tiny sized writing of ‘RAMA- RAMA’ in Hindi letters, a little stick usable as a help to lean on while holding a prayer book and a worn out pair of wooden clogging which Shakar Sahib used for walking outdoors. We enjoyed the rhyme and rhythm of the hymns either Sanskrit or Hindi or even Kashmiri that the elders recited with devotion. We could remember some of the easier ones but we were attentive while the recitation was going on. The Puja – worship and prayers was a daily routine – led either by my Dad or uncle Nandlal or uncle Jejkak. This time period of half an hour to 45 minutes was very quiet and elevating. This routine daily exercise created a curiosity in me and my cousin sister Sona three to four years elder to me and we talked it over and decided to find details about Shakar Sahib. So one day the two of us approached the eldest living member of the family, NandLal’s mother Vishimaal. She told us she had not seen Shakar Sahib in person but heard many legends about him and his spiritual prowess. She said that Srinagar, at that time had a number of saints, many of them used to visit Shakar Sahib to pay respect to him. She had heard that one saint, Labi Shah who lived mostly at Tulamul (Khir Bhawani) shrine used to tell everyone “Kashapani Kashiri Mastana Setiha, Shakar Sahib chhu Sahibi Dasgah” which means, in Kashmir there are a number of Saints, Shakar Sahib has lot of power. This made Shakar Sahib known and many people visited him to pray for his favors. A Muslim lady from the neighborhood used to visit Shakar Sahib, to help serve him she told him she was very poor, she had no house of her own. Shakar Sahib asked her to walk with him in the neighborhood. He took her and they walked over around an area then he suddenly stopped and told her she would own this piece of land and have a house of her own. She felt this seemed impossible and asked him “How could this be? The land belongs to a rich man and I have no money to buy” The saint smiled and told her this was what “God willed”. After a few days the owner of the piece of land, who had lost his wife about a year ago, sent a message to this lady whether she would agree to marry him. She was aware that she was a poor woman, while he was quite rich. She felt this was not possible but the man repeated the offer. They married and constructed a house on that plot of land and he gifted this house to her while they lived there as husband and wife. Veshmal told us that she had heard of some stories of miracles performed by Shakar Sahib. She said the saint was approached by his neighbors to save them from an epidemic of cholera which had appeared and caused lot of panic, as a result of some deaths. He told them he would pray to God and asked them to walk with him from his house in Kani Kadal to Sathu, while he continued to pray in silence. It was found that the entire area was saved. No case of cholera occurred in that large area. In another instance, a relative of Bakayas living at a short distance was frightened when a house near his caught fire and had started moving in the direction of his house because of the strong wind. He ran to our house and took a holy relic, a Takhiti, a flat piece of wood on which the Saint had written “RAMA RAMA” and held it against the wind. He said that the fire changed direction and his house was saved. Veshmaal’s Dad said he was a personal witness to this miracle, while the saint was not personally living. I came to see an article written by someone whose name was not written there. Actually the K P Journal “Koshur Samachar” issued one or two issues exclusively covering stories about the many Saints and spiritually advanced Gurus (Teachers) who were very popular in Kashmir over a period and some who were living. I could not get access to the issue of that main journal which mentioned Shakar Sahib but the one printed journal I received seemed an auxiliary journal called the “Khir Bhawani Times” the issue was dated Jammu 1998. The article in this journal was purported to be written by one member of the Bakaya family. He has mentioned some instances of miraculous powers of Shakar Sahib related to him by a cousin, one Mr. Radhakrishan Bakaya. These seem to be stories of unbelievable character, but the world of saints and savants is believed to be extraordinary. For instance it says Shakar Sahib’s mother was scared when she saw him cross over the flowing kutakul with his wooden clogging in his feet or when he would climb a standing wooden pole. He is stated to invite other Saints and savants and entertain them, provide food on certain occasions and sometimes tea. Usually he remained silent and absorbed in meditation, feeling comfortable in their company. One story recites an occasion where Mr. Dilaram and his family took Shakar Sahib to Khir Bhawani – something happened and he felt upset and just walked away. They tried to stop him but he started running and did not stop. After some days he was found to have reached village Khrew, quite a distance, where another saint, Jeevan Sahib, resided with his disciples. The saint was expecting another saint to come over and asked his disciples to prepare to receive him. He arrived and saint Jeevan Sahib embraced him. His disciples asked who he was as they saw their Guru very excited and overjoyed meeting him. Saint Jeevan Sahib told them that in their previous birth both of them were co-disciples of a great Guru and he (Jeevan Sahib) was the elder one, and the time came for him to give up his body, he prayed to his Guru that in their next birth both of them should be born in places near each other so they could continue to meet and advance their spiritual career together. He told them that the great Guru had obliged and now he was expecting him to meet Shakar Sahib. After few days the story goes Shakar Sahib was told by Saint Jeevan Sahib that Shakar Sahib’s wife was very ill and nearing her death. He told him he should go and see her at Srinagar. Shakar Sahib reached Srinagar and went to the cremation ground where his father and brother Hemant had brought the dead body. He told his brother to perform the funeral rites treating her as his mother. His brother agreed and Shakar Sahib stayed on till the rites and the cremation ended. Then he went to stay in the Kanikadal house. After sometime he is said to have gone to a village Batagund near Sopore where he had two of his disciples one Shankar Lal and another Hyder Ali. He saw Hyder lying unconscious taken for dead but he called him, then he put his own cap on his head. Hyder woke and stood up to pay his regards. Shakar Sahib is said to have given up his body when he was just 36 years old. As I have said already, we in the Bakaya home used to attend the daily puja performed every morning by our elders. I recall that we felt very peaceful and happy. Whenever anyone in the family faced any problem, he or she visited the room and meditated, focusing on his memory and the holy relics. Doing this made them forget their worries and could feel the tension dissipate. My wife Parma lost both her parents when she was in her 20’s and used to cry for them for several years. She felt a presence of Shakar Sahib as a young boy consoling her. We used to pray to him for success in exams and other important occasions including marriages in order to receive his blessings.
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The article has been uploaded to archive.org with permission of Mr. Anil Bakaya, as part of SearchKashmir.org Free book Project
1 Take music video shot at live location in Srinagar. No editing, no frills.
“Rum Gayam Sheeshas”
Singer : Rahul Wanchoo, Afaq Shafi
Lyrics : Mirza Gulam Hassan Beg Arif
Music : Arif Mir
Line Production : Rishab Raino, Ayaz Rather
Color Grade : Fahad Firdous
Asst D.O.P : Shakir Bhat
Producer : SearchKashmir
Video : Umer Nazir
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Mirza Ghulam Hassan Beg Aarif was a scientist who wrote ghazals and poems in around 40s. This ghazal was particularly popular on Radio Kashmir in 60s and 70s. Sung by Naseem Akhtar and Raj Begum. Composition was by Syed Qaisar Qalander and music was by Virender Mohan.
Guest post by Sushant Dhar. First published at News18.
Evening
March 1990
Jammu
“The truck pulls over by the roadside of this strange place that I’ve never wanted to go to. Behind me is the setting sun, which shone brightly over the dew in the courtyard of my ancestral house earlier that day.”
The truck pulled over for me as well, a two year old exile curled up in the lap of his grandpa who was sobbing incessantly throughout this journey of separation from his beloved home. Thousands of trucks pulled over for many days on different places along the Jammu-Srinagar National Highway in the year 1990, some stopped at Batote, some at Udhampur, Nagrota, Battal Ballian, Muthi camp, Jhiri camp, some went a bit far to Chandigarh, Himachal Pradesh and some pulled over at Delhi. Imagine you’re at home in the morning and as the sun sets you’re forced to arrive at an unfamiliar place, dotted by tattered canvas tents, away from your family, away from everything that belongs to you, to live a life of deprivation and perpetual exile. Imagine living in a camp for all these years, the first ten years in tents and the following sixteen years in one room dome shaped quarters, bereft of everything that was once yours. That’s where we lived, the children of exile, our parents, grandparents and thousands of other Kashmiri Pandits.
A Long Season of Ashes stands as a voluminous testament to the ever enduring humanizing power of literature, of memory, of written word. The author has relentlessly pursued the idea of displacement, time, disease, loss, longing throughout the book. The terse prologue sets the tone emphasizing the importance of preservation of memory; delineating the role of the exiles to fall back on what they’ve gone through, to remember, to retrace back their journey, to go on retelling their stories of persecution and forced displacement to their progeny. The forty two word blurb of the book depicts our human condition in the wake of insurmountable grief and trauma, ‘Those who yearned to return to their homes in Kashmir are long dead. An entire generation was wiped out in the camps. What’s left now is residue. This residue has now begun to cast a long shadow on our own personal histories.’
The year 1990 saw one of the most dehumanizing chapters in the history of our country when half a million Kashmiri Pandits were driven out of their homes by radical Islamists chanting slogans of ‘Yaha kya chalega, Nizame-mustafa (What do we want here? Rule of Shariah), Zalimo, O Kafiro, Kashmir hamara Chhod Do (O! Merciless, O! Infidels, Leave our Kashmir); hundreds of Kashmiri Pandits were killed by terrorists, declarations issued to the effect that Kashmiri Pandits are kafirs and informers. Many local dailies and newspapers published threats by terrorist organizations threatening Pandits to leave the valley in 36 hours. Several prominent Kashmiri Pandits including Tika Lal Taploo (BJP Leader), Neelkanth Ganjoo (Retired Judge), Lassa Kaul (Director Doordarshan Srinagar) were killed by terrorists in the year 1990. Those who stayed back were massacred in Sangrampora (21 March 1997), Wandhama (25 January 1998) and Nadimarg (23 March 2003).
The author of the book has painted an exhaustive detail of his childhood in Srinagar and the horrors he witnessed at the camps for displaced Kashmiri Pandits. The first seven nights spent by the author and his sister in a buffalo shed in Jammu are the most harrowing of all his experiences in a camp. The lips of his sister are dry and cracked, she’s terribly thirsty and asks for water but there’s no water, she has to wait till morning. What unfolds on the third night is bone chilling. The author goes back and forth in time, taking us to pre 1990’s when he was home, going on with his life, visiting temples with his grandmother, going on for picnics with his friends to Verinag, Pahalgam, Gulmarg, attending his school, learning skiing in Gulmarg, roaming around the lanes of his downtown home with grandfather, then post 1990’s in a camp for displaced in Udhampur, at a crematorium near the Devika Ghat meditating on the nature of death, watching the half-burnt bodies of the exiles, studying in a camp school under the scorching heat, at the banks of the river Chandrabhaga in Akhnoor immersing the ashes of his grandfather, someday in Delhi living in obscure towns, the next year in Varanasi battling the crisis within, on a journey of self discovery, visiting random places, houses of music maestros, then again in the camp school and back to his home at Safakadal in Downtown Srinagar, in his room writing his diary, arranging his bookshelf. In camps, he’s the mute spectator of life’s ugliness, he looks at the people who have been emptied of everything, atrophied; lost in the haze that never left them. In some other chapter, his father takes him to the site of the newly bought plot of land at Ompora, Budgam in the year 1988, in the next chapter he is watching a movie in a theatre in Srinagar, appearing for his matriculation examination in the school and the other day he’s being put onto a truck carrying him away from his home. Like several thousand Kashmiri Pandits of his age, the author witnesses the ordeal his community members are forced to go through.
As a reader and somebody who has seen it all, experienced it, I’m overwhelmed, deeply consumed by the powerful content of the book. It was difficult for me to read through all the pages. The book is personal because it’s the story of all of us, nearly half a million displaced Kashmiri Pandits scattered across India and abroad. Our stories of exile and persecution are intertwined. We all went through the same dark night of the soul. I’ve first hand witnessed the sufferings of thousands of Kashmiri Pandits in camps; a death every day, some died from snakebites, some from sunstrokes, some were taken over by strange ailments. The summer heat made our skin pale yellow. Our parents shriveled in the stifling heat and inadequate spaces. The toilets, which were around 200 metres away from our camp, were made of sticks, pieces of wood, scrap and tin. The doors were made of torn canvas. A dug-out was made to contain the faeces. It all remained there, the faeces, the dirty water and the urine in that little dug out area, all stacked, emanating a foul stench. We slept in snatches during the night, sometimes on the roads because of the frequent power-cuts. Many of us didn’t even have fans or coolers. The nights and the cries of distress were never-ending. Our bodies were drenched in sweat all the time. Hiding all day from the blazing sun was a routine game. Finding a corner untouched by the sun on the camp streets was a daily affair for the elders. The elders with ashen faces looked frazzled and wilted as if they were carrying a permanent burden on their shoulders. Elders were often seen loitering in the camp, expressing their longing through inane soliloquies and monologues. Many ran away from the camps and were never found, many drowned in the Ranbir canal while bathing, some which lost sense of place and time still live in the camps and old age homes in Jammu.
The author’s grandfather always kept his shirts, other clothes ironed every day. He polished his shoes every night in the hope that the Government can anytime take them back to Kashmir and that they should be in a state of readiness. He kept on with this habit for nine years until his death in the year 1999. My grandfather also passed away after two years of exodus at Garhi, Udhampur on the day of Shivratri in the year 1992. In exile, the author saw many lonely deaths and one of the deaths was of his own grandfather who lost his memory post exodus. He confused his wife for his mother, his son for his father, his granddaughter for his wife. An entire generation grew up in the shadows of the horrors inflicted on their ancestors. Many wished to be cremated at the crematoriums in their native villages, some still wish the same even after 34 years of exodus. Last year, my uncle with terminal illness wished the same before being shifted to the ventilator for 54 days. His last wish was that his final remains be immersed in the brook running adjacent to the crematorium in his native village in Trail, Anantnag. We fulfilled his last wish. The author’s grandfather pleads the same, “On his deathbed, Babuji implores us to take him home to Kashmir, but he knows he will not live to see that day. Therefore, he wants us to take his ashes there. And then he dies a lonely death, unable to even dream one last happy dream of homecoming.” A decade later, Babi (author’s grandmother) too dies but near her home in Srinagar at a hospital when she’s on a fourth visit to Kashmir with her family in the year 2012. This visit was important for her because she had promised herself that she’ll visit her home at Safakadal but little did she know that this won’t happen in this lifetime.
The author stresses that every day is a Memorial Day for the Kashmiri Pandit community. I’m reminded of literary scholar Kate McLoughlin’s words about Primo Levi’s book If This is a Man, “It’s hard to believe that the human frame can survive under such circumstances, let alone survive to write something like this.” It takes enormous efforts to put forth everything that has happened to us all these years, to carry this burden all along and be an instrument of catharsis for the entire displaced community. The author does this with most of his earlier publications which includes The Garden of Solitude (novel), A Fistful of Earth and other short stories, A Long Dream of Home (Anthology, co-editor), essays, poems; painstakingly writing about the exiles and their predicament.
All these years, I’ve tried to carve my own meaning of Nikos Kazantzakis’ home poem from his novel The Rock Garden.
O plum tree before my house,
I shall never return,
But you do not forget to blossom
Again in the spring!
Kazantzakis sojourned in Paris, Berlin, Italy, Russia, Spain, Cyprus, Egypt; translating books, writing novels, essays, spending most of his time in his second home at Antibes, France but kept returning back to his war-torn country, to his home at Crete and Aegina, keeping a large clod of soil from Crete on his work desk; asserting his longing for home and his beloved land.
The same happened with the exiles putting up in the camps in Jammu and other places across the country. In one of the chapters, the author shares that a Kashmir Pandit writer Arjan Dev Majboor had kept the water of Vitasta (river in Kashmir) in a bottle at his room in Udhampur and he used to show the bottle to all who came to visit his place. Many Kashmiri Pandit families bought soil from their native places in Kashmir and kept them at their places of worship in their tents, camp quarters. The soil, the water, the old photo albums, photo frames is now their family heirloom, to be preserved for generations, to be passed onto the people who will preserve the memory of their long lost ancestors. The eyes of our parents and grandparents are fixed at the place they once called home, then the eyes shift to the time of their persecution and forced exodus, thereafter to the experience of the horrible camp life which no human being should ever see or go through. We are refugees of Time; trapped in the beautiful and gory past. My mother only dreams about Kashmir. She can’t believe that she lived in those camps where she struggled/scrounged for the most basic necessities. She goes back in time and remembers the everyday ordeal of scraping the drains, cleaning the makeshift toilets used by a dozen families in one part of the block. She falls back to dreams which transport her to the beautiful house in Anantnag. She is at home only in her dreams; that is her only escape from the ugly reality. I’ll never forget the dreary nights of studying in the kitchen we had made adjacent to our one room quarter. It had a hanging roof made of tin sheets, supported by bamboo logs, which used to beat violently because of seasonal winds, many a times the kitchen caved in, tin sheets flung in the air from one block to another. During the rainy season, every year, the rain water would get into our quarters and into the shops of camp inmates and the terrible sight of people searching for their belongings in the drains was disturbing. At the face of this constant humiliation and incomprehensible adversity, the displaced had only one option, to remain steady, to continue dragging themselves all day, to live for a day, for a year, for their children, for their families, for the good days.
As we journey from one book to another, from one city to another; embracing cosmopolitanism, building better lives for ourselves, we must carry our exile within us and not forget the struggle and sufferings of our parents and grandparents, we must not forget about the Kashmiri Pandit families killed by terrorists, families destroyed forever, we must carry the wounds of the entire community beyond time, we must narrate our stories every day, shifting to the oral transmission of history, the written word, making it a permanent ritual within our households to pass on what we endured. Our fulcrum of existence should revolve around what is ours now, memories of our native homes and grandparents, stories of displacement, poems/stories/essays/ literature of exile, it’s our duty to narrate what happened to us.
Babi’s prayer rings in my ears every now and then, ‘May we always be happy in our homes! May our hearts be warm and lit! May our children prosper and flourish, May we never get to leave our beautiful house, our beautiful land….May we live and die happily here in Kashmir.’ Babi’s prayer is the most endearing moment amidst all this great suffering. The entire brunt of exodus was borne by our grandparents who died in horrid camps, other places that they didn’t belong to, away from the land/home that was once theirs since time immemorial.
The author is hopeful that one day we will reclaim what was ours and reaffirms that our part of the story has not ended. He answers his own questions. “Do you think the long season of ashes will end one day? I am within striking distance of everything I’ve ever lost. Somewhere in the book he says that a day will come when someone’s diary entry will read: ‘Today, I am back home, where my parents and grandparents once lived. And it is going to be the longest day ever, with so much to do and so much to remember… But this time it won’t be a dream. When I open my eyes, I will find my home in Kashmir before me.”
A Long Season of Ashes is an essential read, a monumental attempt to make sense of the collective history of the persecuted Kashmiri Pandit community. It’s a moving portrait of the long dark time- camp existence of the displaced community. This memoir will go on to become a vital historical document on Kashmir history, immortalizing the lives/stories of displacement of thousands of unknown, forgotten Kashmiri Pandits who lived and died in the camps longing for their home.
Kashmiri Pandit refugee camp in tents, 1993. Garhi, Udhampur, J&K,India. My Uncle Vijay Dhar and his friends celebrate Holi.1992, Garhi Camp of Kashmiri Pandit refugees, UdhampurMuthi Camp quarters, Jammu where thousands of Kashmiri pandits lived for 15 yearsPurkhoo Camp of Kashmiri Pandits. All photographs from personal collection of Sushant Dhar
Bio:Sushant Dhar is a Jammu-based writer. His work has appeared in various magazines including The Punch, Outlook, The Fountain Ink, New Asian Writing, Kitaab, The Bombay Review, Muse India and others.
Article on Bhand Pather, folk drama art from Kashmir, by Moti Lal Kemmu. Translated from Kashmiri by Shashishekhar Toshkhani. From Sangeet Natak Journal of NSD. Vol XLV. No.3-4. 2011. From personal collection of Shashishekhar Toshkhani, shared by Pratush Koul.
This Essay is translated from Chapter 2 of Moti Lal Kemmu “BhandNatyam” (2001) written in Kashmiri [link to Kashmiri version]
Rehman Rahi & Shafi Shauq interview Dinanath Nadim for Radio Kashmir in around 1983. From personal collection of his son Ahinsa Kaul and daughter-in-law Vijay Kaul. Shared by Pratush Koul.
Note: Viceroy Lord Reading visited Kashmir in 1924. Coming of comets as portent of doom is a theme in Kashmiri history, going back to Śrīvara recording arrival of Halley’s comet in 1456 just before death of Budshah.
Kashmiri language documentary on life and work of Pushkar Bhan by Ashok Bhan. From around 2008-9 for DD.
Some evocative enactment by M.L. Kemmu of soundcape from 1940s Kashmir, the era in which Pushkar Bhan arrived on scene. With comments by artists/broadcasters Mehraj-Ud-Din, Sharif-Ud-Din, Mohd. Sultan Pandit, Rita Jitendra, Bashir Arif, AB. Rehman Bhat etc
And some sound extracts from radio shows “Machama” and “Zoon Dub” (no recording of which are still publicly available).
Some extracts from tele-show version of “Hero Machama”.
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From personal collection of his son Ashok Bhan. Shared by Pratush Koul.
Essay in Kashmiri, “Shhitha Pompur” by Dinanath Nadim. Radio Kashmir recording. From personal collection of his son Ahinsa Kaul and daughter-in-law Vijay Kaul. Shared by Pratush Koul.
