A news bureau photograph of Kashmiri refugees who had been driven from their homes by the turmoil of 1947.
A group of refugees from Kashmir, who arrived at the Pakistan border recently are shown as they moved down from the mountains. Group were reportedly fleeing “the invaders from India.” They were ill-clad and suffering from the effects of hunger and hardship after their long trek to the order.
People who became refugees on this side of order. Stories of Dakotas and people carrying mothers on back were to become part of local folkfore.
“Air-evacuation of thousands of refugees to welfare centre was among the numerous tasks which the Transport-squadron of RIAF successfully carried cut during Kashmir Operations in 1948. An aged refugee couple from Poonch area, their sons killed and daughters abducted by the raiders, on their way on an airstrip in a forward area for air evacuation by an RIAF Dakota to a refugee welfare centre.” – April 1948. (Photodivison India)
Air-evacuation of thousands of refugees to welfare centre was among the numerous tasks which the Transport-squadron of RIAF successfully carried cut during Kashmir Operations in 1948. A refugee family from Poonch area.
– April 1948. (Photodivison India) -0-
Somehow it didn’t come as a surprise. It made sense, in a way. Yet it felt strange. This eager assimilation. Jagrata a day before Mendiraat ceremony! Jagarata may well be a common social event for most North Indian Hindus but I guess for Kashmiri Pandits it is a new way of expressing old religiosity. Cousins weren’t very excited about it, even a bit disappointed.’We have seen enough Jagarata in Delhi. We came for a Kashmiri Mehendi Raat.’
The event was hosted by most political Uncle of mine, ‘Stupid-Liberals-Glory-Be-Our-Culture’ kind, a kind now assumed to be quite common among Kashmiri people. Back in Kashmir, this Uncle of mine was thick with guys who went on to be the local representatives of JKLF. Thickness of this relationship can be measured by the fact that he even went for business partnership with some of them. He and these guys bought a Gypsy together which they would lent out to anyone in need. It must have been a profitable venture as this partnership didn’t last very long. After his partners short-changed him, relations turned so sour that his old mother had to intervene and get back his investment amount from these guys. Kashmiri Pandits and Kashmiri Muslims, it seems interacted based some unwritten principle of chivalry or bonhomie or whatever it may be called Kashmiriyat, Sanjha Chulha…whatever. ‘Why else would they have paid back the money at all? They could have turned the woman away! They could have taken over property without having to pay a single paisa.’
But by the end of 80s, principles were put to real test and people failed.
‘He had applied for Police service some years earlier. Made it to the training. It didn’t work out. His nose had a bleeding problem. It wasn’t meant for him.’
‘Is that why his name figured in that local Hitlist? Or was it because of his interest in politics, because of his writings or because of the kind of friends he always managed to find?’
‘Who knows? But he was on that bus out of Kashmir with your Veena bua when… ‘
‘The bus met with an accident near Khooni Nala and his front teeth got chipped. I know the story. Badi Mummy, back in Kashmir made Taher to thanks Gods. I know the story.’
After spending a decade in Bangalore where he took active part in community affairs, my Uncle came back to Jammu and was soon forging new friendships and reporting on Pandit affairs in Jammu for community magazines,
Musicians called for Mehandi Raat were the same Dogra musicians, the same Jagrata crew but this time center stage was held by a woman. For a while it was interesting to watch a Dogri woman shuffle between Kashmiri songs, Punjabi songs, Sufi songs and film songs, trying earnestly to get some kind of mojo going, but after sometime it became a drag, after all this is not what one expects from a Menzraat. The woman left just before mid-night but before leaving she apologized to the host’s old mother for her rendition of Kashmiri songs, ‘Mataji Mujhay Kashmiri nahi aati. Try kiya.’.
The old woman blessed her,’Ahee! Ahee! Bahut Acha Kiya!’
Later in the night, Bhabhi, my uncle’s old mother was on stage herself singing along with Sunny Bhaiya, a nephew of my uncle. Sunny Bhaiya sang a crowd favorite Kashmiri song about Jammu as Kashmiri Pandits first saw it. ‘Ye che Jem’ich Matador.Ye che Jem’ich Matador’ is a satire on Tata Matadors of Jammu, the common mode of transport in that city. Someone back in those dark found humor in crammed existence of community in Jammu. This ought to count for something. ‘Very humanizing, indeed.’
Next he sang a funny song about a woman who weighs in her options on the kind of guy she can marry, ‘Mummy’yay be Be Kyuthi Ghar’e Kariye’. Of course she rejects all kinds, some are fat, some are lazy, some are poor, some are lame…stuff like that…
‘He is a really great guy. Great job. Good nature. Decent. He could have easily married. Only his legs condition…’
I remember Sunny Bhaiya from our Panjtarthi days in monkey infested old Jammu city. We were putting up in the Durbar Hall of some Dewan’s Kothi. We divided up the hall into rooms and kitchen using bed-curtains. There were at least seven other Pandit families living in other room of the ‘Palace’, but all sharing one latrine. We had space. Sunny Bhaiya’s family was living nearby. He was always full of life, never let his ‘leg condition’ dampen the spirit of something like Holi celebrations. He would come charging in, all painted red and green, ready to tear people’s clothing on Holi.
‘It’s surprising how these ill-tuned amplifiers are in fact capable of transmitting real music. He can really sing.’
Next he sang a song about Kashmiri Pandit’s and their loss of Chinar Shade, ‘Ase Chu Rovmut Boonyi Shejar’ or something like that. Everyone, old, was singing along, everyone was pensive.
‘That’s a Panun Kashmir anthem. Do you realize that?’
Next day, on the day of Baraat, I got into a light conversation with Sunny Bhaiya. I don’t know how it happened but soon we were discussing massacres.
‘It never happened. It’s all a Muslim lie. 20000 people. Is that possible? All propaganda.’
‘It did happen. It was terrible. People did die,’ intervened my Uncle’s Dogra neighbor who must have overheard our heated discussion.
‘Our family came from the other side of LOC that time around. There was in terrible bloodshed in 1947. Who do you think ran Kashmir back then ? Take a guess. It was Dogras. We lost a lot. We were rich…’
And then he went into glorious past. I was back to wondering how in popular memory of India the golden question was ‘How come Kashmir was peaceful in 1947 when the whole country was burning?’ I guess Gandhi is partly to blame for this simple assumption, after all he did ask rest of the India to take lessons of brotherhood from Kashmir. And now no one cares about testaments of people who back in 1947 were moving into what is today ‘Indian Held Kashmir’ from what is today ‘Pakistan Occupied Kashmir’. Our minds held and occupied by cosy inconsequential pneumatics of conflict
‘It’s all propaganda. Maybe something happened. But 20000. I know handle these lies.’
It turned out Sunny Bhaiya spends a lot of time online fighting Kashmir trolls. Think Rediff forums, comment section of newspapers and Youtube videos. I tried to explain to him how actually fighting an online troll essentially makes a troll out of you too.
‘I make my bread and butter based on my ability to understand behavior of people online. Listen. I make social games. It’s a game you play. It’s a game you don’t want to play in real life. You are deadlocked in a game-play that doesn’t have any logical out in any case.’
‘You have grown up.’
‘You can really sing.’
On the day of reception, other guests arrived. There was head of one section of Panun Kashmir and there was poet-writer-father-of-a-writer exilee.
‘Come take a picture.’ I was called to take a group photograph. Through the viewfinder I saw more than a dozen people.
‘No everyone will come in the frame.’
‘Go back a little more. Everyone should come.’
My uncle was with his colleagues (or should that be ex-colleague) from Kashmir. These were his old Kashmiri Muslim friends from work. And I counted a couple of women too. It seem the entire department had come. It was an open invite and all of them had come to attend the wedding of my ‘Stupid-Liberals-Glory-Be-Our-Culture’ Uncle’s daughter, the youngest of my cousins, the last of them born in Kashmir.
Among this group, I was able to identify at least one face from my memory of Kashmir. He used to visit our house a lot to meet up with my Uncle. This was my ‘Stupid-Liberals-Glory-Be-Our-Culture’ Uncle’s best buddy from office.
In case of Kashmir, this inverted part of the world, I think it would be better if people start preaching what they actually practice.
Musicians and Dancing girls (figure on left, in foreground, looks more like Bacha).
A Domestic Rice Mill: The charm of Kashmir is that it is distinctively itself. A walk through the bazaars, the huts and factories presents a living panorama of the India of the imagination. Here are to be seen the flashing colors, the turbaned heads and the picturesque groups of the populace at work and at play.
[Update: Photographer James Ricalton, 1903]
The Srinagar Club, always the scene of life and gaiety, has an ideal setting in the shade of a magnificent chenar grove on the mirrored waters of the Jhelum with the Takhat as a background.
Nishat Bagh
Temple of Pandrathan, when the tank was dry.
Plowing
Poplar Avenue. [Update: Photographer James Ricalton, 1903]
Rest house at Chakoti
Rest-house at Domel
Seventh Bridge or Saffa Kadal
Shankaracharya
Sher Garhi Temple. On right side of the image can be seen the dome of Gadhadhar Temple or Shri Sanatan Dharam Sabha. [Details of the temple here]
Shisha Nag Glacier
No one in Kashmir is in hurry. What isn’t done today will certainly be done tomorrow. But tomorrow is very slow in arriving.
Third Bridge on Jehlum, Fateh Kadal
The suspension bridge at Uri
View from Shankaracharya hill
Human Welcome. ‘While many think that the present rulers of India only play at royalty, that their thrones are but pleasing conceits and their scepters empty baubles allowed to them by an indulgent overlord, the Maharaja of Kashmir is a free agent in all material things and the allegiance of the populace to him is very real.’
That note makes this image all the more ironic.
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A story sent in by my uncle Roshan Lal Das. Growing up in Jammu, I spent most of 90s hearing stories like these.
Duck Hunter near Sopore.
He is re-winding the turban to be photographed.
His musket, lashed to the boat, projects forward.
From: The Romantic EastBurma, Assam, & Kashmir by Walter Del Mar 1906
One of the earliest photograph showing common Kashmiris holding guns.
In 1990 most of the Kashmiri Pandits left Kashmir as the emboldened terrorists had started their killings on a selective basis. One Shyam Kaul who was working as a public analyst (the one who tests food stuffs), did not leave, though he had already sent his family to Jammu. Maybe he was made of sterner stuff or maybe he was a little naïve or a little daft. The public labortary is situated at the base of Shankracharya Hill in Drugjan (historically known as Durgavanjni). A narrow road connects Dalgate to this labortary.This narrow road had become a den for gun-totting terrorists. Most of the time they would loiter in these lanes and bylanes which formed arterial ways to their hideouts.The place had an advantage that one could also hide behind the bushes in Shankracharya Hills.
During this time one terrorist who was nicknamed as ‘Cobra’ quickly gained notoriety. He was dark and he could climb drain pipes and gun down his victims right in their bedrooms. By 1994, the time our episode took place he had become the most feared terrorist of Drugjan, Gojwara and Dalgate area. Those days government employees in Kashmir did not do any tangible work so Shyam Kaul too did nothing in his office. He would usually visit the office of the physician in governor’s office and while away his time in idle gossip. He had a bad habit of bragging in his own office that he had close links with governor Saxena – a man who was anathema to the terrorists and their cohoots.
One day as he was entering his office he was accosted by a ‘pheran’ clad bearded chap. A Klashinkov could easily be seen hidden beneath the pheran. Soon he was joined by another person.
“You have been summoned by our leader Cobra Sahib”, the bearded guy informed him.
“I am a simple government employee, why should he ask for me,” Shyam Kaul said.
“He wants to check your antecedents,” said the bearded man, holding him tight by his collar now.
Shyam Kaul jerked himself free and ran inside to his office, for going in opposite direction would surely have invited a volley of bullets. Luckily for him, his head of the department popularly known as Sula Bhat was there to attend some meeting. Shyam Kaul excitedly rushed towards his room shouting, “I am being killed, please save me.”
Soon the terrorists also entered and overpowered Shyam Kaul. By this time other staffers gathered near the door and looked on helplessly. One of the terrorists took out his revolver, pointed it at the temple bone of Shyam Kaul and was about to pull the trigger. But for Sula Bhat’s timely intervened.
“Look here my brother, if you kill him here,the paramilitary persons will come and take us all to jail, there by affecting everyone of us present her and our families. It will be better if you do this when the office time is over. I will hand him over to you near the Dalgate bus stand, for handing him over near the office will again invite trouble from security people.”
The staffers seconded the solution and appealed.
The militants agreed and now waited outside in the street. At about 4 P.M, Shyam Kaul accompanied by Sula Bhat came down the street towards Dalgate bus stand. They had hatched a plan. A bus was about to leave. Shyam Kaul ran fast and jumped into the bus which had speeded by then. The militants could not do anything as the bus was full of people.
Shyam Kaul dropped down the bus near Badami Bagh cantonment. He went to the camp and narrated his sob story to the army people. They listened to him sympathetically. They asked him about all the details of militant hideouts in Dalgate and about the kind of ammunition these men had. They were surprised at the wealth of information he had. He stayed with them for the night and early next morning they sent him safely to Jammu.
Sula Bhat had managed to free himself from the militant’s wrangle by calling Shyam Kaul a wily fox and many other names. As soon as Shyam Kaul left, the army alongwith the local police swooped over whole of Dalgate area. They seized a lot of ammunition and arrested nearly a dozen militants including the two who had accosted Shyam Kaul. Cobra along with his mentor Bilal Lone escaped. Bilal Lone was one of the four most sought after terrorists of the valley. He escaped to Nepal. Cobra was later killed in an ambush.
After two years in jail and lot of torture most of these arrested militants gave undertakings to the authorities that they will eschew violence and lead a peaceful life, if let off. Some of these men later joined counter insurgency group known as ‘Ikhwane-Musalmeen.’ As soon as the two militant,s from whom Shyam Kaul had escaped, were let off, they confronted Sula Bhat. Now Sula Bhat was in trouble.
Three conditions were put forth before him: Either he should produce Shyam Kaul before them. Or he should procure two Kalashnkovs for them which was in replacement for the ones which had been seized from them.Or he should pay them Rs.4 Lakhs in lieu of the cost of two Kalashinkovs. Sula Bhat was given seven days to pick his option by the two men who seemed inclined to go into the new booming terror business as independent operators.
Now Sula Bhat was in quandary. Calling the cops was more dangerous. What could he tell them? What could he expect? But there was one person who could may offer a way out.
Dr. Rasool Raina, who lived earlier in Sula Bhat’s neighborhood, had taken to militancy in his fifties. His son, who had been a fierce terrorist, had been killed in a shootout and after the son’s death, his family was harassed by Security Agencies. Subsequently, Rasool Raina along with his family fled to POK. Dr. Raina was now conducting militancy related operations from POK.
Somehow, Sula Bhat got in touch with him and requested for a reprieve. “Don’t worry, someone will come over to your house, he will hand you a two rupee note which will have a large hole in the center. If anyone tries to harm you, just show him the note, he will not dare touch you,” Dr. Raina assured him. Sure enough, a two rupee note with a hole in center made its way to Sula Bhat. That day onward he never came close to harm (except may one other time, more of that story, later).
In 1999, the conditions of Kashmir were a little better, certainly different. That year I was transferred back to Srinagar holding an additional charge of Public Analyst. One fine day, those two ex-militants came to my office asking me if I had any information about Shyam Kaul. I treated them with cinnamon flavoured ‘kahwa’ and plain refused that I ever knew any man named Shyam Kaul
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Walter Del Mar, the man who may well have coined the term ‘Resident Sahibs’, and a man described by newspapers of his time as ‘an inveterate globe-trotter, but one of the best specimens of that class’, in his ‘The Romantic East Burma, Assam, & Kashmir’ (1906) tells us Kashmiris have nipari, mimuz and battekheu when they intend to have breakfast, lunch and dinner, respectively. In fact, he borrows these terms from an extensive list of workable, passable Kashmiri words provided by Walter Roper Lawrence in his ‘The Valley of Kashmir’ 1895.But some of these words, like battekheu (I had food, I have had food, Had Food?), are grammatically confusing.
Another word that Walter Del Mar borrows from Lawrence is even more interesting. He uses ‘Pairim gad’ for Mahseer. Lawrence translates it as “Punjab Fish”. Now, the thing is: Kashmiris have Panjayeeb G’aaer or Punjabi Singhara (Chest Nuts), and these aren’t called ‘Pairim G’aaer’ so why would Punjab Fish be called Pairim gad. In fact, Pairim in Kashmiri would mean Outsider fish. In Kashmir, Pairim is used to denote anything that comes from outside Kashmir.
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For any tourist visiting Kashmir, a Shikara ride is a must. During my Shikara ride in 2008, the Shikarawalla, acting a good guide, kept tour-guiding in a Kashmiri tinged Hindustani to my little younger cousins.
‘…Aur Yeh Loatus flower hai. Abyhi ye chota hai…’ (…this is a Lotus flower. Yet to bloom… ) and at this moment my uncle suddenly interrupted him, ‘Tche Kyoho Chukh Pairim Karaan! Dopuy na as Che Kashir.’ (Why do you speak in outside language? I told you we are Kashmiri.) Hearing this, the guide, half-smiling, switched to Kashmiri, for sometime. Soon enough, nasal vocals, high treble and dumb beats of a hit bollywood song hit up coming from the stereo deck mounter at the back of a distant Shikara. As if on cue, the Shikarawalla again shifted to Pairim. Soon enough my uncle again interrupted him, ‘Hye Dal Batta. Koshur Karu.‘ (Hey you Dal eating Pandit! Speak in Kashmiri.) and shot a laugh. The Shikarawalla was too young, I don’t know if he understood the reverse joke, but he too was by now laughing. Maybe he understood it. I am not sure if my little cousins, all Pairims, understood it, but they too were laughing. Maybe they didn’t. I looked at the dark waters beneath us, the dark waves we were cutting through over the noises. I saw weed that gave the deceptive illusion of friendly shallowness to the waters of Dal. Like you won’t drown. Like you would somehow bounce back on the boat. A little niece dropped her hand in water. Wait. I remembered my first Shikara trip over the waters of Dal. A trip taken years ago, one evening, when I was a kid. I remembered how afraid I was when one of my elder cousin put his hand in the water and pulled some water hyacinth on board. Now I laughed.
Photographs from ‘The Romantic East: Burma, Assam, & Kashmir’ by Walter Del Mar (1906)
Shankracharya Hill
Wular Lake
Bund
Sher Garhi Palace, the Summer place of 19th-century Dogra ruler, Pratap Singh. Most of it destroyed in a fire some years ago.
Fateh Kadal
Biscuit Tin Temple [ Shri Sanatan Dharam Sabha or Gadhadhar Temple near Sher Garhi Palace ]
I believe the above image is of the Gadhadhar Temple or the Shri Sanatan Dharam Sabha as it looked in 40s. This was also the site of old Secretariat. [Check comments on post Kashmir in 1945 ]
Update: Thanks to questioning by Man Mohan Ji and some subsequent self-questioning, I now believe that the above image is not of Gadhadhar Temple of Srinagar but may well be of Gadhadhar Temple of Jammu. It seems that Dogras built two temples with the same name in the two capitals of their Kingdom. [Check comments for more on this.]
Update: The above image may in fact be of a Jain temple in Calcutta. Check original post (Kashmir in 1945) for updates.
Kashmiri Beauties
Jama Masjid or The Great Mosque
Zaina Kadal, the fourth Bridge
Shah Hamadan
Hari Pabat
On the River, 1906
On the River, 2008
Jhelum Bank
Leaving on House Boat
A village on Naru Canal
Duck Hunter near Sopore. He is re-winding the turban to be photographed. His musket, lashed to the boat, projects forward.
As promised I give you the OST extracted (and a bit cleaned up) from the film Mainz Raat. In addition to original compositions, I have included some interesting dialogues, background scores and folk melodies.
In all there are 13 tracks.
First 4 are background scores (my favorite being the track 3 for its very modern violinish touch).
5th Track is a harvesting folk song.
Track 6 covers some dialogues.
Track 7 and 8 are Kashmiri folk songs
Track 10 is a traditional Kashmiri song for Mainz Raat.
Rest of the tracks are original songs written for the film by famous artist G.R. Santosh and put to music by Mohan Lal Aima.
Singers for the film included Nirmla and famous Raj Begum, besides Mohan Lal Aima himself. (Because of lack of information, I can’t assign which songs were sung by Raj Begum (expect maybe Mustafa) and which one were by Nirmla)
