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Of White Gods and Dark Subjects


Yarkand anan zenan

Khoni keth doda-not ware heth
bari drav
Lokan chu sapharun tav
Tahkhith doda-gur Jenatuk bagwan

Yarkand anon zenan
Watal dop watje bonay sara zah

Chim mangan dalomuy ta kah
Tsoratsh ta or heth met hay, pakanawan


A few lines from a lost song ‘Phorsat Sahibn Shar Yeli Yarkand Zeneni Gau‘ [The song of Forsyth Sabib when he went to conquer Yarkand]’ by a Kashmiri folk bard named Sobir Tilawon recorded in Sir Aurel Stein’s ‘Hatim’s Tales: Kashmiri Stories and Songs’ (1928), recorded with the assistance of Pandit Govind Kaul. It talks about the turmoil created in lives of Kashmiri working class by Sir Douglas Forsyth‘s mission to Yarkand in 1873-4. In lives of workers, cobblers, tillers and carpenters. It probably is the first recored instance of the native consciousness in a work of folk art acknowledging the presence of Western men in their land and the impact it having on them. I wasn’t content with the translation of the lines given in the book. Kaul sahib seemed a bit lenient on the British Imperialists. Or, may be a bit too smart. He translates ‘Jenatuk bagwan’ as ‘Heaven’s Gardner’ and doda-gur as ‘cow herder’…but if going with the way Kashmiri words work really, if Bhagwaan is actually Bagwaan and Doda gur is actually reference to color of a horse, these lines could as well mean:

Yarkand he is conquering
Carrying a milk-pail in his haunch,
earthern pots in a load
he goes forth
For people
journey is exhaustion
He , forsooth
White horse
Heavenly God
Yarkand he is conquering
Cobbler said to Cobbler’s wife
“I shall not remember forever,
they want my leather and lace,
leather-cutter and awl,
and they want me.
O, they are taking me too”
Yarkand he is conquering

Punting up the river Jhelum, a gentleman aboard a dourmjah with two attendants 
Punjab Hills, early 19th Century
If from one side we have a consciousness that ‘other’ was like a God, with power to move men and matter at his whim, from the other side too we see a consciousness of a Godly impunity, a consciousness that ‘We’ have even intruded into domains where ‘they’ would only let ‘their’ Gods intrude, and a consciousness about what havoc it must be having on ‘their’ simple minds, and an unassuming confidence in ‘his’ power to get into the mind of these sorry creatures, and define the relations between ‘Us’ and ‘Them’.

In ‘Indian Memories: Recollections of Soldiering Sport, Etc.’ (1915) by Sir Robert Baden-Powell, father of Scout Movement, we find this curious little incident showcasing white man’s God moment and white man’s consciousness of it:

At Bidjbehara, which I found too tempting to be resisted and stopped there a whole day, our charming bagh was invaded towards evening by the Resident of Kashmir and his camp, and 40,000 coolies (more or less), escort, tagrag and bobtail.  

Just opposite to where I lay moored was a Hindu temple. I had been interested in watching the ways of the devotees, and I took my dinghy and rowed unobserved close under their bank and listened to what they were saying. A priest came to them while they were eating their midday meal. He talked, not directly to them at first, but rather at them, steadily harping on one thing. ” Life is vanity, the great river flowing by is like the Destiny of Life ; it rolls on ceaselessly, unmoved by the desires, or prayers, or tears of men; quiet but irresistible; calm but inscrutable.” They seemed to forget their meal as his impressive refrain began to hold their attention.  

“Aye, brothers,’ he continued,” look at those straws, those bubbles borne along by the current. What are we but such as they ? borne along by Father Destiny, the Great River, whence ? it matters not: whither? we know not : what use for us to have ambitions, loves or hates ? Can we, mere straws, turn the Great River to suit our little aims? Do you, my brothers, not see the might of the great God ? Yes, in your heart you begin to comprehend his greatness and your own littleness. He comes to you – he comes -” 

Yes, he does, or the next thing to him does. An English tourist, kodak in hand, nose in the air, walks in, stepping through the assemblage as if they were so much dirt, and proceeds to ” snap” their best idol. 

The spell was broken. Poor old priest, I quite felt for him. All his high-falutin thrown away. The disenchantment was complete. The women covered up their faces from the white man, and the men resumed their eating and began jabbering to each other their various experiences of the “mad sahib logue” they have met. 

Mad Sahib log indeed.
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First Govenment Madrasa in Kashmir, 1868

Sometime History teases us with waggish little tales that make up this world and its present complexities. In fact, it often does that. You just have to read.

This is the funny little story of how the first government sponsored Madarsa for Kashmiri Muslims opened in the state, a school for the rich; the odd consequence of a Pathan sending his sons to read English language.

The story is told by W.J. Elmslie, the first medical missionary in Kashmir who after facing much difficulties and harassments did manage to operate in the kingdom, and her burning yearning of Christian pity to save souls for heavenly Lord did sow some seeds of good christians in what was then considered most fertile land for such deeds in the Empire. Also, during his five years in Kashmir he discovered what came to be coined as ‘Kangir Cancer’, and driven by his problems at communicating with natives, Elmslie was the first to compile a proper guide to Kashmir Vocabulary for future visitors [published in 1872, here].

The incident of interest happened during Elmslie’s fourth year in Kashmir, an account of which appears in a letter he wrote to his mother and dated 6th May, 1868. The letter appears in his biography written by his wife, ‘Seedtime in Kashmir: a memoir of W.J. Elmslie by his widow and W. B. Thomson’ published in 1875. In the letter he excitingly tells his mother:

“A little progress is being made in the valley. The first school established in Kashmir by the Maharajah has just been opened. Its history is the following. The father of the family of which I have already spoken, was particularly desirous that his two sons, two very fine lads, should learn a little English. He asked me if I would teach them. I said I had not time to do so, for my medical and other duties; but I would allow one of my assistants, who knew a little English, to teach his sons. One of the two lads has been very regular in his attendance, and has made some progress. A report of all this was carried to the Diwan, the Maharajah’s representative in the valley. Thereafter, a vigorous effort was made to get the father to give up sending his son to the mission bungalow to learn English. The effort failed, however. The father, I must tell you, is a Pathan, and is not so much afraid of the Kashmir Government as indigenous Kashmiris generally are. The Maharajah, in due time, received a full account of all that was going on; and His Highness, after some time, gave orders for the opening of a school for the teaching of Arabic, and desired the Diwan to try to prevail upon Sher Ali, my Pathan friend, to desist from sending his sons to the Doctor Sahib to receive instruction in English. In this effort, I am happy to say, the Diwan has failed. The boys came daily to us. This class for Arabic, got up primarily to decoy Sher Ali’s sons away from us, is the first Government school the valley has seen during the reign of Gulab Singh and his son, the present Maharajah. The class, I am told, is intended exclusively for sons of those who may be called the nobility of Kashmir. It is a pity the language was not Persian, and the school intended for any who was willing to attend. This is trying to boil the kettle from above.”

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Punditji on Jew Question, 1896


In 1911, at the age of seventeen, much before he became a skeptic, much before he become famous for investigating Helen Duncan – the last ‘witch’ of England, C. E. Bechhofer visited Kashmir as part of his great adventure in the East, or as he admits, as part of cure devised by his father “to knock the nonsense” out of him, rid him of poetry, Marxian socialism, women’s suffrage and other such ideas.
At ruins of Martand, in the faded pages of a visitor’s book he discover traces of a terrific controversy of many years ago. In his book, ‘A wanderer’s log; being some memories of travel in India, the Far East, Russia, the Mediterranean & elsewhere’ (1922) , he writes:

A certain old gentleman, Colonel Coburn, who, besides his other activities, started a timber firm and a visitors’ agency, claimed in ten scratchy pages of hysterical Christianity that the Kashmiri Hindus (most of them now forcibly converted to Mohammedanism) were originally Jews who had fled from Palestine after the Crucifixion, and that they had built this temple after the style of that in Jerusalem. Thus he explains to his ‘dearly beloved brothers and brethren in Christ’ the faithlessness and treachery of the modern Kashmiri.
“If,” concludes the old gentleman, “you should find a wounded viper lying on the road, do all you can to care and restore it to life, for he will be grateful to you for it and repay you the debt of gratitude he owes you for what you have done for him, but if you find a Kashmiri in the same condition, get off your horse and kill him outright, for if you do him a good turn and save him, he is sure to be ungrateful and do all the damage he can in return! But all the fingers of one’s hands are not the same length, as a native saying her is, and there are many noble exceptions to the above rules, and a good Kashmiri servant, like a good Scotch or Irish tenant out of their own countries, is about the best one can find.”

Martand temple . Burke.  1870.
It is an idea, a theory that in a comic twist, sons of Kashmiri Pandits have now come to believe – We are Jews. Ironically, the answer to the theory was given in the same visitor’s book by an anonymous Kashmiri Pandit with a wicked sense of humour. 

On the next page I found this comment from “A Kashmiri Pundit”: I have read with interest the funny remarks of Col. Coburn about these ruins and the origin of the Kashmiri Pundits. After reading those remarks I am disposed to reverse Darwin’s theory and hold that people who live to a great age are likely to pass down into the same animal to whom Darwin has traced the genealogy of mankind.”

In the book the story ends there. But, there is more. The account of Bechhofer’s visit to Martand and Bhawan was earlier published in a magazine called The New Age – A Weekly Review of Politics, Literature and Art (Volume 13, Number 13. July 24, 1913). In it Bechhofer wrote that the comments were made around fifteen years ago (should make that around 1896) and Colonel Coburn’s establishment had since been taken over by an American (and “must be avoided”). And about that comment by Pandit he added: 

A Kashmiri Pundit, forsooth! It reeks of the Bengali lawyer. And I much prefer the statement of an English traveller, a little later: “Very interesting ruins, but saw no Jew at all”
And then, yes, and then there is this: “A very impressive place, interesting owing to my dear heathen forefathers and relatives believing in the sanctity of this spot, which I do not. – P.M. Rudra, Srinagar, 1898.”

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Unrelated post:
Ganga Yamuna in Kashmir
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Vinayak Joo Razdan
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Maps, 1590, 1652, 1792

From ‘Historical Records of Survey of India’ Vol 1-3,  Colonel R. H. Phillimore (1950). Probably most comprehensive work on early efforts at mapping India.

Father Monserrate’s Map, 1590

Map by Sanson d’Abbeville, 1652

Rennell’s Map 1792.

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Kasam Tonight, 1947

Palladium. October 1947.


Qasam: The film that was playing at Palladium  in October 1947 as Srinagar prepared for war.

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Remains of Palladium Cinema Hall, Lal Chowk, Srinagar. June, 2008.
 Burnt down in 1992.

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Freezer = Kashmir

Something like idea of Home.
Jammu. July. 2013. 

“One hot summer day when I was six years old, my mother opened the refrigerator, and pointed to the ice compartment and below it to the pears and the plums. She exclaimed:”This is Kashmir!” In our home at Jaipur, the capital city of the arid state of Rajasthan, every scorching summer our thoughts, like those of innumerable indians, would turn to the cool heights of the Himalayas. From antiquity to the age of the computers, countless Indians have been beguiled by Kashmir, a land of learning as well as of lakes and lofty mountains.”

~ Raghubir Singh’s opening lines from introduction to his beautiful photo-book ‘Kashmir: Garden of the Himalayas’ (1983).

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Manja Makers

Jammu. July 2013.

My first experience with kites was in Srinagar. It was a failed experiment. I tied a pangot thread to a kanni and ran around, pretending it was flying. That was the last summer.

I really learnt the art in Jammu. But it was a different art. In Srinagar, it was a leisurely sport. You just tried to fly it high. But in Jammu, kite flying was like learning to fight a war. The art of this war required you scream, run, fight and capture. You need the right weapons. The perfect threads. The Manja of rough thread with the sharpest of glass. For short plays. You could even make it at home, powdered glass, glue and flour. Or you could use thread with more smoothness. Surtis. For longer plays. You need the perfect kite. A tactical Guddi. Or a mighty Gudda. A bhoot is perfect. You need to learn to read the cane backbone of the kite. Is it hard? Is it soft? Should the thread be tied near or a bit further down. You need the perfect crew. Someone to give the perfect Kanni. You need to learn to read the wind. You need to learn read the signal’s from your enemies. Is he challenging you? You need to know when to pull the thread and when to let go. You need to burn the skin. Blend in. Sweat it out. Watch the skies. It is all an art. The only real art I know.

In fact, I even mastered the highest level of it. At the peak of my prowess, I could even lapet-in a lost kati patang. Sometimes two.

And I did it all but never ever even buying a Manja. My Manja was always put together from the threads that came in with the kites I looted. A Manja both Smooth and Sharp. With threads of colours red and greens. And blue and grey. And yellow and white…

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Kadalnama – Bridges of Srinagar

Compiling all the bridge data from previous posts into a single post for easy reading…

First one to build was Pravarasena-II.

7-9-13-

2008
[Photograph 1]

Zor Kadal/Zar Kadal/Zero Bridge. The zeroth bridge. Said to have been constructed by a deaf contractor in 1950s.

– from the book ‘Afoot Through the Kashmir Valleys’ (1901) by Marion Doughty. Also from the book:  note on how these bridges were built in Kashmir
[Photograph 2]
[Photograph 3]
1950s.
[Photograph 4]

Omra Kadal/Womra Kadal/Amira Kadal/Amiran Kadal. First bridge. Built by Afghan governor Amir Khan Sher Jawan in 1774-1777.

From ‘Indian pages and pictures: Rajputana, Sikkim, the Punjab, and Kashmir’ (1912) by Michael Myers Shoemaker (1853-1924).
[Photograph 5]
1950s
[Photograph 6]
2008
[Photograph 7]
Habb’e Kadal/Habba Kadal. Second bridge. Built by Habib Shah, ruler in 1551. Or believed to be by Yusuf Shah Chak (1510-17) and named after Habba Khatoon.
from ‘The Romantic East: Burma, Assam, & Kashmir’ by Walter Del Mar (1906)
[Photograph 8]
from ‘Our summer in the vale of Kashmir’ (1915) by Frederick Ward Denys.
[Photograph 9]

Fateh Kadal. The Third bridge. Built during Fateh Khan’s rule (1510- 17 AD).

from ‘The Romantic East: Burma, Assam, & Kashmir’ by Walter Del Mar (1906)
[Photograph 11]
[Photograph 12]
from the book Irene Petrie : Missionary to Kashmir (1903). Photographs by Geoffroy Millias.
[Photograph 13]

Zaein Kadal/Zaina Kadal. The fourth bridge. Built by Zain-ul-Abidin (1420-74). 

By Francis Frith around 1875.
Via: V&A
[Photograph 14]

A’el Kadal/Aali Kadal/Ali Kadal. The fifth bridge. Built by brother of Zain-ul-Abidin, Sultan Ali Shah (1413-19) in 1415.

Nawa Kadal/Naw Kadal. New Bridge/Boat bridge. The sixth Bridge. Named after one Nur Din Khan in A.D. 1666.* Rebuilt in 1953 by Sheikh Abdullah, completed by Bakshi.
from ‘Our summer in the vale of Kashmir’ (1915) by Frederick Ward Denys.
[Photograph 15]

Safa Kadal/Saifa Kadal/Saf Kadal/Safr Kadal. The seventh Bridge. Clean Bridge. Or bridge of departure. Said to be the Oldest. Built by Saif-ud-Din urff Suha Bhatt, Chief Wazir of Sikandar Butshikan and Ali Shah.  Or by one Saifulla Khan.*

And…
1950s
[Photograph 16]
Kani Kadal. Stone Bridge.

Dareesh Kadal

Gaw Kadal

Badshah Bridge…

1912
[Photograph 17]

Bohri Kadal…
…Rajvir Kadal/Razvir Kadal.** Built over Mar Canal by a princess from Rajouri.

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* ‘Kashmir in Sunlight & Shade: A Description of the Beauties of the Country’ by Cecil Earle Tyndale-Biscoe. (1925)
**’History of the Panjab Hill States’, Volume 1 by John Hutchison, Jean Philippe Vogel

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Kadalnama

Zero
Zor Kadal/Zar Kadal
First
Omra Kadal/Womra Kadal/Amira Kadal/Amiran Kadal
Second
Habb’e Kadal/Habba Kadal
Third
Fateh Kadal
Fourth
Zaein Kadal/Zaina Kadal
Fifth
A’el Kadal/Aali Kadal/Ali Kadal
Sixth
Nawa Kadal/Naw Kadal
Seventh
Safa Kadal/Saifa Kadal/Saf Kadal/Safr Kadal
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Ram Joo’s Lament for Sheep

Puj Waan
Kani Kadal
Srinagar
2008

As told by a grandaunt.

Ram Joo made his living in an odd way. He worked for municipality. He job was to visit slaughterhouses and stamp the dead animals with seals of approval in ink, declaring them fit or unfit for human consumption. A sensitive man, it is said the violence of his job eventually drove him mad. While stamping the dead sheep he took to singing to them, asking them:

Kata Kha’sh Kya’zi Kor’voy
Hai K’yah Gh’oom
Kata Mash Kosho’ya
Hai K’yah Gh’oomKata Kalas chuya doon
Hai K’yah Gh’oom
Sheep, why did they slay you?
Oh, what it did to me!
Sheep, have they sheared you?
Oh, what it did to me!
Sheep, is your head aching?
Oh, what it did to me!

The neighbourhood kids took to teasing him with the same lines. A sensitive man, it is said the experience eventually made him a saint. Around Habba Kadal area, he came to be known as Ram Joo Tabardar – Ram Joo the Woodcutter.

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A note on an interesting word and a phenomena. Picked from an Uncle.

Slaughterhouses and the areas around them tend to have a peculiar smell that may offend most people visiting. But the people living in the area never notice it. In Srinagar, slaughter houses were around Chotta Bazaar area. The people living in that area never noticed the smell. They had developed a gaenz’nas – meaning their nose had got numb to the stink.

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Aside: Earlier this year caught one of the most famous documentaries on the subject of animal slaughter, considered a milestone in the history of realistic documentary film making, ‘Le Sang des Bêtes’ by Georges Franju (Blood of the Beasts, French, 1949). [link, avoid if you are too sensitive]. A film that isn’t completely repulsive because it wasn’t made in color. It is not known if any saints were born in France after the film came out.

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Complete song added by Narinder Safaya, Ram Joo’s grandson. He adds [via FB]:

He [Ram Joo] had joined Srinagar Municipality around 1920. He was happily married, sired 4 children , three sons and one daughter. He worked as sanitary inspector for fifteen years. He was a spiritual person. He abandoned the job for reason stated by you. For this he was also teased as Ram Joo Maskas. He abandoned his family. His wife probably died of tuberculosis the same year when Kamla Nehru succumbed to T B in Switzerland [1936]. It said in our family she died of “HeH”. His children were taken care of his younger brother.Pt Shyam Lal Safaya (Taberdar) . We are from Chinkral Mohalla are known as Taberdars. My great great great grandfather Pt. Ganesh Dass Safaya got the nickname Taberdar as he had a partner who was Taberdar and he had been taken by him as partner in supply of fire wood business to the city dwellers through river by boats known as Bahech [Cargo boats]. In 1960 or 61 when I was 8/9 years old I remember Ram Joo came one day,  took tea and left. For five years we could not trace him. Ultimately my father traced him living in Rock Temple Tiruchirapalli.

1.Four days before Nirwana 2.During his eight years stay at Rock Temple, Tricinapali, T.N.

After return from Tricy.TN.

The house at Chinkral Mohalla

Story of the house by Narinder Safaya:

Taberdar house at Chinkral Mohalla. It is about 200 years old. One Pandit Sukh Ram Safaya was a minister with one of the Afghan Rulers. He had a sister who was married to son of a big landlord in Marraz (now district Anant nag). The woman was very beautifully. From this marriage she had a son. The local Afghan governor of the area had an eye on her.  For protection, she was sent in the dark of night by her husband to her brother’s house. Her husband was killed by the said local governor. As Sukh Ram Safaya was very influential revenue collector, nothing bad happened to him. The woman stayed with the brother after being widowed. The child, Nank Chand, grew up under the protection of his maternal uncle and as such came to be known as Nank Chand Safaya. His uncle gave this house to him. Nank chand’s son was Pandit.Ganesh Dass Safaya Taberdar, grand father of Swami Ram Joo Taberdar. In the last decade of nineteenth century, the upper storey got gutted and was rebuild by Pandit.Ganesh Dass. We added a floor to it in 1970 and changed the roof to tin from birch and soil. From our kani we could see ring of mountains which cover the entire valley.

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