Fishing
Tulmul Camp
Photographs of camping pandits at Khir Bhawani, July 2010
Kashmir Photographs, 1904
Vintage Kashmir Photographs from the book A lonely summer in Kashmir (1904) by Margaret Cotter Morison.
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| Temple of Payech, south of Pulwama district. |
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| A family of Hanjis |
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| Kashmiri Boatman |
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| Kashmiri Villagers |
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| House Boat and the Cook boat |
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| The Mar Canal |
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| Shah Hamadan |
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| Temple at Chemar Bagh |
[Update March, 2017]The house on the left belongs to Ravinder Raina, now living in Jammu post violence of 1990. |
| Near Wular Lake |
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| Rice boats for rasad |
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| View of Haramuk peak from Gangabal Lake |
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| Ruins of temples in the Wangat Valley |
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| Women at the river bank |
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| Bridge over Liddar |
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| ‘Honeymoon Cottage’ at Dulai, now on the other side of the LOC |
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| Bridge at Kohala, now in Pakistan. |
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| The Pir Panjal Pass |
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| Lal Mandi |
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| Fishing on the Jhelum |
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| Camping near Haramuk (previously) |
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| Sind Valley |
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| Balti people |
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| A Hanji woman with Kanz and Muhul |
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| Previously: Post about Kashmiri hair braids and other things |
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| A Kashmiri Doonga boat |
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| Gulmarg |
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| Rare photograph of a Kashmiri Sweet shop |
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| House on Canal. (Something like that from present time) |
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| Irrigation wells of Kashmir. [Called ‘Tol’e’ in Kashmiri] |
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| Kolohoi near Pahalgam |
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| Pahalgam |
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| Ruins of Martand Temple. (Previous posts about these temples: post1, post2 ) |
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| Islamabad or Anantnag. The locals must have already started calling it Islamabad back in early 1900s. |
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| Fakirs. (previous post about Kashmiri Fakirs) |
Kashmir The History & Pandit Women’s Struggle For Identity by Suneethi Bakhshi
Bought it from Ghalib corner of the inner circle Connaught Place. Printed price is Rs.695 (which I think is a bit too steep) but the mian let me buy it for 500.
The first thing that I noticed about the book was the profile of the author. Born in 1931 to Malayali parents in Mumbai, Suneethi Bakshi became a Kashmiri by marriage to a Kashmiri Pandit in 1957. She moved out of Kashmir in the 90s.
The Kashmir history bit, especially the period of later Kashmiris Kings, Mughals, Afghans, Sikhs, Dogras and the British is really well handled, concise and useful. However, it is the ‘Pandit Women’s Struggle for Identity’ bit that really stands out. In her own words the seeds of the book go back to 1965 when she wrote a paper titled ‘The Rites of Passage of Your Community’ for her Sociology course at the Maharaja Sayaji Rao University of Baroda.
That rite part can certainly be seen in the sections about the traditions followed by Kashmiri Pandit women and in history tracts about the famous Kashmiri women of past. But the best part of the book is when she writes about the achievements of the early pioneering women who decided to get an education and then went on to excel in their fields. Equally enlightening is the part in which she writes about the efforts that were put in by some exceptional Kashmiri Pandit women in running various services for their migrant community. Towards the end it gives details of with various educational programs that these women are running. Her observations on post-migration have an insight of an insider and an outsider, like she noticed how Kashmiri almanacs now run messages about turning vegetarian and subtly claiming the Non-Veg was to blame for most of the wrongs that the community suffered.
The book doesn’t go into what the life of Kashmiri Pandit women was like in the past or what it was like in the 90s or even now. You won’t read about stuff like how these days ashrams of Kashmiri Pandit Saints in Jammu (yes, the old ashram culture in now thriving in Jammu) have colorful charts posted on walls advising women and girls visiting the ashrams to not come in Jeans or something like that. It doesn’t detail the subject of how sometimes (maybe often in their history) the fear of losing their culture and identity makes the life of a common woman difficult. How the weight of culture and identity is put on their shoulders. The book is more about the ability of Kashmiri Pandit woman to come through in tough times, its almost a celebration of their lives.
Editing of the book, as often is the case with Kashmir books, could have been better, but certainly worth a read.
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You can buy it from here: Buy Kashmir The History & Pandit Women’s Struggle for Identity from Flipkart.com
Building Bridges, late 19th century way
The various bridges (Kadal) under which we passed, the boatmen shouting together in chorus as they worked their hardest to keep the boat steadily in the middle of the stream, were all pf the same type; their foundation are of deaodar piles, then logs of wood about twenty-five to thirty feet long and two or three feet in girth are led two feet apart at right angles, alternately with layers of stone. So piers are built up from about twenty-five to thirty feet in height, and twenty-five feet square. These stand ninety feet apart, and are spanned by long, undressed deodar timbers. The force of the stream is broken by abutments of stones running to a point constructed on the up-stream side. These answer admirably their purpose, stemming the wild rush of waters and standing securely for hundreds of years, even when exceptional floods, like the terrible one of July, ’93, have swept all away. Even on that occasion the first bridge the Amiran Kadal though submerged, stood, but all the others were swept away. This was one of the worst floods ever known in Kashmir, and terrible destruction to city property resulted from it, more than two thousand houses disappearing in it. Mercifully, comparatively few lives were lost, though, of course, the amount of discomfort and misery it caused was very great.
– from the book ‘Afoot Through the Kashmir Valleys’ (1901) by Marion Doughty.
Finally found out the exact details of how those magnificent bridges were built in old times and a photograph of the build under process.
Strange case of Mrs. Aziza
Trusting for some means of escape when the hour had approached, and with a brief command not to create any delicacy that could not be made to get comfortably on my small dish, I tried to improve my acquaintance with the female portion of my crew. My task was not easy, for Mrs. Assiza suffered from shyness and a complete ignorance of all languages save Kashmirian; but I was able, as I tried to make myself understood, to admire her clear, rose-tinted, olive skin, the straight nose and brows, and the fine, brown eyes, set off by the tiny read cap worn under the homespun head-covering folded squarely on the head. The universal frock of puttoo disguised effectively her figure, but the short sleeves turned back with white displayed her well-firmed arms, and the brevity of her “pheran” showed her splendidly-developed calves. Good-looking and strong, like most of her compatriots, the little lady was well up to taking paddle or steering the boat, and during the day worked the long, heavy wooden pestle with astonishing energy as she crushed the grain in her wooden mortar with long, regular movements. The child toddled up to say, “Salaam, Sahib,” nearly falling over its toes in its efforts to bow with reverence and elegance, while clutching tightly a bunch of great purple iris, recently gathered from a Mahomedan graveyard, covering the whole of a small mound near by.
The passage and the photograph is taken from the book ‘Afoot Through the Kashmir Valleys’ (1901) by Marion Doughty. Everything is fine with the Sahib’s description except from one minor detail that can be observed in the accompanying fine photograph of beautiful Mrs. Assiza. The pheran that Assiza is wearing has a fold at the lower end below the knee. The fold is called laad’th and is unique to the pheran of Kashmiri Pandit woman. Even though on first glance the dresses of all Kashmiris may seem same, there were always some distinct differences between the dressings of the two communities. Kashmiri Muslim woman never wear a pheran with laad’th. The actual name of the woman is not given, she is just the wife of one Mr. Aziza, boatman of the writer. In fact that name should be Aziz, Kashmiris tend to add an a at the end of the name when calling out for a person, more so if the name happens to be Aziz.
So what were you writing Memsaab and what’s the story of Mrs. Aziza.
Fakir Kashmir, 1904
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| Found the photograph in A lonely summer in Kashmir (1904) by Margaret Cotter Morison |
‘Is he still around?’
‘Yes,’ the teenage boy took he eyes off the road, one hand still on the steering, turned back and with a victorious smile added,’they tried to shoot even him. But he just swirled and the bullets passed right through his pheren. Not a single bullet touched his body. Yes, he is still around. Wandering.’
‘Are you talking about the one that roamed in Ganderbal area?’
‘No. There were more with that name?’
‘It seems so.’
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On his one shoulder he always carried around a pot of burning coal. Whether summer or winter. As he walked past, one could see the molten flesh of his bare back.
On a bridge one day, he stopped an angrez couple and much to their shock, announced that within an year they would have a baby boy. Married or not, whether they understood what he said or not, together or not. In an year, a boy was duly born.
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Anini sui, wavum sui, lajum sui panasui.
I brought the nettle, I sowed the nettle, and then the nettle stung me.
In explaining the origins of this Kashmiri proverb about “Ingratitude”, James Hinton Knowles in his book ‘A Dictionary of Kashmiri Proverbs and Sayings’ (1885) tells the story of a Kashmiri fakir who grew soi on his palm.
In olden times there was a famous fakir in Kashmir, who punished himself in the following way. He uprooted a nettle, and fixing some mud upon the palm of his hand, planted the nettle therein. All the day and all the night for several years he held out his hand with the palm uppermost, and the nettle in it. The plant grew and was strong and by reason of this, thousands of Hindus used to visit the fakir, and give him alms. The fakir had a disciple, who eventually became very jealous of the honour which his master received ; and one day in a fit of anger, he hit the nettle, earth and all, out of his master’s hand. The fakir then spoke the above saying concerning both the nettle and the disciple, whom he had brought up and nourished from his infancy. The sting-nettle is a plant sacred to Shiva, who is said to have first planted it. Hindus pluck the leaves, and throw them over the god’s favourite symbol, the lingam.
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Earthquakes, Gods, Bulls and Mosquito Buzz
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| Kashmir Earthquake 1900 by Captain Benson |
In one hand she held a steel glass and with the other,praying in whispers to gods, she was sprinkling the cemented ground with water. With the spring of childhood in my feets, I didn’t realize it was earthquake. It was my first earthquake and I had witnessed my aunty perform an old ritual. She was pacifying the angry gods. This was the day that I believed I had seen a UFO but now I believe it must have been just a CEMA tubelight fitted lamppost.
An early western visitor to Kashmir wrote a strange scene he witnessed in a village somewhere in Kashmir. There had been an earthquake that had turned one of the nearby village springs into a hot spring. When this news reached the village, the visitor noticed that the pandits of the village left for the spring with their batte deechas, big metallic pot with rice gains and placing them in the hot water proceeded to prepare race. Rice was going to absorb the furious energy of the gods. And bellies were going to have a fill.
As I retold the incident, I was informed that Kashmiri Muslims believed that the earthquakes were caused when the celestial bull that holds the earth on its horns is irritated by a (must be) celestial mosquito.
Following this lead I came an interesting belief from Judaic world.
Verrier Elwin, an early authority on Indian tribal people, in his book Myths of Middle (1949) wrote:
The traditional Hindu view of earthquakes is that Varaha, the board incarnation of Vishnu who supports the earth, is shifting the burden of the world from one tusk to another.
In Sylhet [now in Bangladesh] the Hindus say that below the earth is a tortoise; upon this a serpent and upon this an elephant. Should anyone of them move, there is an earthquake. The ordinary Mussalman of the same area is said to believe that the earth rests on the horns of the bull which has a mosquito at its side.
This Muslim belief finds its origins in Judaism.
Howard Schwartz tells the story in his book Tree of souls: the mythology of Judaism (2007)
Once, when Aaron the Priest, brother of Moses, was offering sacrifices on Yom Kippur [Day of Atonement], the bull sprang up from beneath his hands and covered a cow. When that calf was born, it was stronger than any other. Before a year was out, the calf had grown bigger than the whole world. God then took the world and stuck it on one horn of that bull. And the bull holds up the worlds on his horn, for this is God’s wish. But when people sin, their sins make the world heavier, and the burden of the bull grows that much greater. Then the bull grows tired of its burden, and tosses the world from one horn to the other. That is when earthquake take place, and everything is uncertain until the world stands secure on a single horn.
May be the mosquito buzz part was the Indian touch.
Chichir Ver
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| Chichir Ver – Kashmiri Rice Podridge (Ver) with Chichir (Goat’s intestine). From the engagement party of a cousin. For recipe check out The Mad Tea Party. |
Durga Nag Temple
Temple complex at the foot of Shankarcharya Hill.
July. 2010.
