Tag: A Kashmiri Tourist in Kashmir

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Visiting Baba Reshi

Near Ramboh village in Baramulla District, three miles from Tangmarg, on way to Gulmarg, the shrine of Baba Reshi is situated at about 7,000 ft. The tomb (Ziarat) is of an ascetic actually named Baba Payamuddin (Pam Din) and to whom the Chak Dynasty Rulers of Kashmir paid courtesy visits during the Mughal period.

Born around 1411, he is said to have died around 1480. This Reshi, a highborn son of a nobleman but turned ascetic after observing hardworking ants too closely one day, was a disciple of  Baba Zainuddin Rishi (born Ziya Singh or Jaya Singh, some say) of Aishmuqam who was one of the principal disciples of Sheikh Nur-ud-din (Nund Rishi) – the first of the Reshis; the disciples, his four Jewels: ‘Buma’ Baba Bamuddin Rishi, ‘Nasar’  Baba Nasruddin Rishi, ‘Zaina’  Baba Zainuddin Rishi and ‘Latif ‘ Baba Latifuddin Rishi.

In  his later years, on the direction of Zainuddin Rishi, Baba Payamuddin moved to village Ramboh, and like others of the order, performed miracles, helped the common people and spread the name. Baba Reshi famously built a daan, a fire place at this place. People came from far and wide to plaster  this daan, to offer sacrifices. They still do. All to have their wishes granted.

In the 90s, this place also faced fire.

On way to Gulmarg, I had no idea we were going to make a stopover here. So it came as a pleasant surprise. After visiting the house that wasn’t there anymore, it came as a pleasant surprise from my parents. My mother couldn’t stop gushing about the place. I guess she has inherited the devotion to this place from her mother who must have been here often thanks to Nana’s job at Gulmarg.

Inside the shrine, in the center of the hall, there is some wonderful woodwork around the tomb of the saint. As I walked around the tomb, circling it, appreciating the art, ‘Is it walnut wood?’, noticing something strange, I  came to a sudden embarrassing halt. There was something wrong with the place where I stood. One look around and I realized that I had been circling in the outer circle and had unwittingly walked into the women section. There were women sitting all around. The right side of the hall seemed women only. Women praying, crying. Baba Reshi is famous for granting ‘child wish’. According to an old tradition of this place, the children thus born, taking a vow of celibacy is attached to the shrine for life and at any given time forty such saints (Reshis) are supposed to serve the shrine.

I traced back my steps and this time started to walk the other side. My mother took up a corner and did her own bit of praying and crying. I walked into the inner circle, taking a closer look at the tomb, ‘Is it a tomb?’, again I realized something wrong. This time it was the direction. Circling, left to right, I found myself facing a teenage boy coming from the other direction. The boy, praying under his breadth, was cleaning the woodwork using his fingers, measuring the woodwork inch by inch, picking up pecks of dust. An old practice, I have seen Pandits do it at the new shrines of old saints, at Jammu.

After spending some more time inside the shrine, as I started to step outside, I noticed an attendant at the door was handing out something wrapped in Newspaper to the people walking out of the shrine. Prashad? Prasadam? Something sweet? Something to eat?Tabarruk? I too streached my arm for the handout. Walking a distance outside, I opened the paper packet. Inside I found broken down stones and rocks. Others found ash, dust and soot. 

Later someone told me a funny little anecdote. A couple of years ago, a small group of Pandit families had come to visit the shine on the urs, death anniversary, of the saint. A group of separatists was also present. After the common prayers, the separatists raised their hands and asked the saint to grant their wish, ‘Kashmir bane Pakistan, Let Kashmir be Pakistan’. The crowd said, ‘Ameen, Amen’. The Pandits shaking their sideways, under their breath added, ‘Zah ti ne, Zah ti ne, never, never’

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Visiting Ahdoos

She stands in front of the wall, looks at the door, stopped, a little confused. She call the waiter over.

‘There used to be toilet here! Where did it go?’
‘Madam the toilet is now down stairs. This is the…’

She looks around. At the ceiling, at the walls. I look away, miss the last word. I believe the word was ‘lift’. Her old legs slowly lead her downstairs.

The little woman must have been in her early Sixties. When we took a table, she was sitting at a nearby table with two men who looked like her sons. They were having a full table, a full meal. Dinner.

 ‘They are Kashmiris too. Must be Punjabis.You know the business class. Stayed here for generations.’

I know.

She did the ordering. This was her place. The place. She must have been here a lot -“We must try this, the place served  best of this.’

Tea arrived at our table in a metal kettle. Milk. Sugar.We prepare cups of tea.

‘They will bring a fresh hot kettle when this one runs cold. Great service! They have the best tea. Try it.’

This is embarrassing but true. As I take the first sip, the taste on my tongue makes me feel like I have never had tea before in my life. ‘What leaves do they use? This is almost a new taste.’

‘After four in the evening, this place used to be alive with people. They would crawl out of various government offices, in groups, alone and head for Ahdoos. The place would be filled with cigarette smoke. On one table a group would loudly be pro-government. At a nearby table a group would be loudly subversive.  Tea kettles would turn cold and be duly replaced with a hot bellied one. Discussions went on.’

My father remembers. This was Ahdoos.

It’s late evening. The table to the left is occupied by two men, in early thirties. Kashmiris. Almost done about to leave. Newspapers on the table. The two are still talking, but both in friendly conceding tone.  I don’t notice them leaving.

Waiter arrives with Chicken patties.

‘ Ah! Chicken patties! Try them’

Chicken is soft, unlike leather and strangely has a taste. It has been minced to butter.

‘The size has become smaller. They used to be bigger.’

Waiter smiles a little. Almost detached from his environment, the man was an old fashioned waiter, in his forties, a pencil moustache, he could have been a government employee. ‘Would you like to order anything else?’

‘Yes, a serving of Gushtaba.’

‘Anything to go with it. Rice. Roti.’

‘Nothing.’

Waiter comes to life. ‘Nothing. Okay. If you had told me earlier that you were going to have Gushtaba I would have kept tea and patties for after.’

‘It’s okay. And you are right. But who knew?’

‘Anything else?’

‘No. That’s it’

‘Soon.’

Father looks at me and say, ‘We will be having dinner with the rest at the hotel. They won’t be pleased to know that we came here without them. Hotel owner has been specially asked to prepare a non-veg dinner tonight. So we can’t have anything heavy. But Gushtaba will do’

Will more than do.

We  were soon digging into those soft meatballs called Gushtab. Dense and Delightful. Stupendous. Before leaving we ordered another serving, around twelve balls, for the folks back at the hotel. To return empty handed from Ahdoos would have been unforgivable.

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Cinema Hall of Kashmir

The mini-van entered city limit, someone inside mentioned Khayyam. Soon they were off rattling mesmerizing names and old tales of visiting this of that theater of Kashmir. They mentioned:

Broadway near the Army cantonment area,
Neelam at the back of the Civil Secretariat,
Shiraaz at Khanyaar,
Palladium and Regal at Lal Chowk, 
Naaz near Iqbal Park,
Shah in Qamarwari,
Firdaus in Hamwal,
Khayyam near the chowk of same name.
Then there was:
Heaven/Hewaan in Anantnag,
Thimaya in Baramula,
and Samad/Summer Talkies in Sopore.

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Kapra in Sopore
Amrish/Regal Talkies at Residency Road:
Regina cinema of Baramulla
Marazi cinema in Kupwara
Heemal at Handwara
Nishat at Anantnag
Zorawar Theater on Srinagar-Baramulla Highway near Pattan,
run by army

These thanks to commenters (see below). Now the total is about 19.
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Image: Remains of Palladium Cinema Hall, Lal Chowk, Srinagar. June, 2008. Burnt down in 1992.

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Palladium

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

I couldn’t put my eye to the viewfinder. I didn’t want to draw attention. I didn’t want anyone to know that I was taking a picture. I was afraid. It seems stupid.

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She came back from school that day and ran straight to her mother who was in the kitchen at the time, sitting next to a reluctantly burning stove. Mother was decongesting stove’s snooty nozzle using one of those half-blackened-needle-tipped tools. There, it was fine now. Burning with that right gushing sound. It was quite a sight, but this didn’t make Mother happy. It never did, even though it was a dangerous thing to do, even though Mother was good at doing this thing. She knew what would make Mother happy. The news. The good news. She was now bursting with excitement. It was just too good. One look at her, and Mother knew her daughter had something to say. So. She told Mother the news, in single breath, she told her what she saw that afternoon on her way back (it wasn’t there in the morning) from the school: Poster of Rajesh Khanna’s Roti on Palladium’s hoarding wall. Finally it was here. They had heard the songs together on radio, they had hummed the songs – Naach Meri Bulbul Paisa Mile Ga, Gore Rang Pe Na Itna Gumaan Kar, Yeh Jo Public Hai Sab Jaanti Hai. And now the film was here. Mother walked into the hall, looked at the wall clock- they had time. They definitely had time. Mother offered her the afternoon meal, a plateful of hot rice, a thick Dal and some fried potatoes ( a treat just for her). ‘Finish all of it.’ While she ate, her mother got into a Sari. They were going to see the film, they were going to see Roti. There was no doubt about it from the beginning. She knew it would turn out this way, it always did. And as usual her big brothers won’t get to come along. What fun! They were still at School. They would be there for another hour or so. When they come back and find the lock on the front door, as always, to get the key, they would go to aunt’s house down the street. Boys didn’t seem to mind it at all, ever. After all, they did get to see the films later with gang of friends and cousins. And Mother paid for it all. So it was fine. Till: They all made it back to the house by the time Father got back from office in the evening. It was their little secret. Something on the side. They always had time on their side. So, the mother-daughter duo saw Roti that afternoon at Palladium cinema.

Later at night, after dinner, Father, as usual, did ask them, “So, How was the film?” And he got the answer, in one voice, “Rajesh Khanna, Mumtaz, Song, Dance, Pahalgam. How do you think it could have been?”
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Ganpatyaar in Photographs

Ganpatyar Temple, Ganpat Yarbal, near Habba Kadal

An ancient Ganesh temple of Kashmir.

Names engraved in stone.

Ancient deities at the door – Bhairav(? Update [2017: Vishnu, one face boar, one face lion, similar found from Martand temple]) keeps guard.

Ganeesh of Ganpatyar.

Wish.Threads tied to the window.

Residents.

Ganeesh Ghat School, right side wall of the temple.
Markings on the window indicate that it’s used as a camp by the security people.
I was told my maternal grandfather studied here till his third or second grade.

Right bank of Jehlum as seen from the Ganpatyar temple (also on the right).

Left bank of Jehlum
Jehlum, as it flows through Srinagar, is lined with ancient temples on its banks. 

An empty house.

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A security man posted at the gate said he’s from Chandrapur. I know the place, it’s near Nagpur in Maharashtra. In summers the temperature can go up to 47 degree Celsius and burn the skin off your back . He knows why he is here and doesn’t mix words while explaining it to the visitors. He said that the day they are out of here,’ none of this would stand’.

As I looked for the ghat, a Sikh security man explained that the ghat isn’t accessible from the temple.

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Houses at Habba Kadal. Old and New.

Some desolate looking old Kashmiri pandit houses and some new houses in the process of build. I knew we won’t be stopping to look at these monuments, we were heading for the temple at Ganpatyaar. So, as the mini-van drove down these ancient lanes of Habba Kadal, I clicked frantically. Terrible thoughts. Everyone glum. Van moves on. Fast. Only good thing: camera had some sort image stabilization that worked, almost.

That top floor is a dub construction – in which you get extra floor space.

 Cry rings out: Batte ghar. Batte ghar.
Gatkaar

 House next door.

Another dub. More floor space. Great joy sitting at the window on a warm and sunny winter day.
How do people manage to take wire free photographs. You won’t see them here.

 Two houses in intimate conversation.
Last night food had no salt. When he enquired, she told him, “Old fool, you have lost your mind. Just Eat.” So how was your last night. No they don’t share bed anymore. So how was your last night.

Old style brick work.

See how the bricks fall in place and window fit in.

A by  lane.

Snubbed out of frame.

New brick work. It means hotter summers.

Squeeze.

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Oldest drawings of Khir Bhawani (1850s) By William Carpenter Junior

William Carpenter Junior(1818-1899), London born water colorist son of a portrait painter Margaret Sarah Carpenter, came to India in 1850 to draw people and scenery. In 1854, he came to Kashmir, staying for a good enjoyable year till 1855, producing some of his best works. William Carpenter Junior returned to England in 1857 and exhibited his new Indian paintings at the Royal Academy where they stayed on display for the next eight years. Many of these paintings were also reproduced in The Illustrated London News as special supplementary lithographs.

Following are two Kashmir drawings by William Carpenter Junior published in Illustrated London News, June 1858

old drawing khir bhawani

Caption: A Hindoo fair in Cashmere
[Update 2, Augm 2018: I finally managed to acquire the original image. The accompanying image makes it clear that the above image is of Jwala Ji shrine, Khrew. It is now obvious that the water body depicted is the spring at the bottom of the hill. ]

pandit pilgrim in river at Kheer bhawani kashmir

The caption for the drawing does not mention the location of the fair but without doubt this fair was held at the Khir Bhawani Spring located at Tulmul village in Ganderbal district of Kashmir.

This drawing presents the scene of Pandit pilgrims performing the ritual of purification bath in the ice cold waters of the stream that surrounds the holy island. The stream is called Syen’dh in Kashmiri (and originates in Gangbal-Harmukh ) and is not to be confused with Sindhu (Indus) River. In older days, the pilgrims mostly used to reach the island spot in boats, doongas and wade through swamps and marshy lands. The perspective of the drawing reveals that William Carpenter was looking at the island from across the stream. In the background of the drawing, one can see the camp tents of the pilgrims pitched on the central island under the shade of chinar trees. The fair is still held annually in the month of June with the pilgrims camping out at the wonderful location for days.

old image of kheer bhawani in kashmir

Caption: Hindoo Festival, Cashmere – from a photograph by W.J Carpenter, Jun

temple at kheer bhawaniIn this drawing we can see Pandit men and woman sitting, surrounded by chinar trees, around the sacred spring (not visible but its end corner marked by flags and staffs*). The scared spring (naag) is believed to be the manifestation of an ancient goddess, who manifested herself as a serpent (naag) at this location to a Pandit.  According to the local legend, one Pandit Govind Joo Gadru had a vision of the serpent goddess who revealed the spot to him in dream. The Brahmin then arranged a boat and rowed through the marshy lands of Tulmul carrying a vessel of milk. Upon discovering the spot revealed by the goddess, he pored out the milk. Soon afterward, Kashmiri Pandit, one Krishna Taplu, had the vision of the same serpent a goddess who led him to the same holy spot. As time passed, the spot, marked in the marshes by flags and staffs, slowly became popular among the Kashmiri Pandits. The goddess became known as Rajni (Empress), Maharajini(The Great Empress), Tripurasundari (the same deity at Hari Parbat), Bhuvaneshwari and most famously as Khir Bhawani. The last name because it became the religious practice for the people to pour into the spring a dessert called Khir made of rice, sugar and milk.

A temple was much later built on the island under the Dogra rule of Ranbir Singh(1830 -1885) and his son Pratap Singh (r. 1885-1924).  Also, a goddess idol and a Shiva linga ( both believed to have been found in the waters of the spring) together were installed in a high chamber built inside the spring. A Shiv Linga and an idol of Goddess together cannot be found in any other hindu holy place. The work on temple was completed in the time of Maharaja Pratap Singh in 1920s.

Earlier in 1888 , British Land Settlement Commissioner to Kashmir, Walter Lawrence wrote about this place: 

Khir Bhawani is their favourite goddess, and perhaps the most sacred place in Kashmir is the Khir Bhawani; spring of Khir Bhawani at the mouth of the Sind valley. There are other springs sacred to this goddess, whose cult is said to have been introduced from Ceylon. At each there is the same curious superstition that the water of the springs changes colour. When I saw the great spring of Khir Bhawani at Tula Mula, the water had a violet tinge, but when famine or cholera is imminent the water assumes a black hue. The peculiarity of Khir Bhawani, the milk goddess, is that the Hindus must abstain from  meat on the days when they visit her. and their offerings are sugar, milk-rice, and flowers. At Sharka Devi on Hari Parbat and at Jawala Mukhi in Krihu the livers and hearts of sheep are offered. There is hardly a river, spring, or hill-side in Kashmir that is not holy’ to the Hindus,and it would require endless space if I were to attempt to give a list of places famous and dear to all Hindus. Generally speaking, and excluding the Tula Mula spring, which is badly situated in a swamp, it may be said that the Hindu in choosing his holy places had an eye for scenery, since most of the sacred Asthans and Tiraths are surrounded by lovely objects. 

Interestingly, just around the start of the 20th century, Maharaja Pratab Singh, weary of curious European visitors who insisted on walking on the island with their shoes on and who fished in the sacred river waters surrounding the island, issued government decrees putting a check on their movement to this shrine.

Today, there is no historical account to inform us whether William Carpenter Junior had his shoes on or off while he visited the spring of Khir Bhawani and worked on those beautiful drawings.

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Found these old images (albeit no mention of Khir Bhawani there) at the great resource columbia.edu

Rest of the photographs were taken by me in June 2008.

Photograph 1: A Hindu pilgrim, silently reciting some scripture, standing on one leg (with a little support) in water of the stream surrounding the island. I came back two hours later and he was still there.

Photograph 2: The view of the holy spring, flags, chinar trees and recently tiled ground of the island.

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*Flags and Staffs: Walter Lawrence, in the aftermath of great flood of 1893 in Kashmir,  recorded a curious practice prevalent among Kashmiri people. He wrote, ‘Marvellous tales were told of the efficacy of the flags of saints which had been set up to arrest the floods, and the people believe that the rice-fields of Tulamula and the bridge of Sumbal were saved by the presence of these flags, which were taken from the shrines as a last resort.’

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For more about Kheer Bhawani, you can read the book ‘A Goddess is Born: The Emergence of Khir Bhavani in Kashmir’ By Dr. Madhu Bazaz

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Vegetables of Noorbagh

Sabziwol, Vegetable Seller at Hazratbal

The sellers kept insisting all the vegetable are from Noorbagh. We had stopped here to buy vegetables for the overnight stay at Tulmul.

The marshy grounds of Noorbagh on is the source of the finest greens in the valley. The city’s manure also keeps that area fertile.

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To continue, however, our progress down the river and through the city. Immediately below the Alii Kadal, or fifth bridge, stands an old stone building, with an inscription, supposed to be Buddhist, in the Nagri character; and some few yards below again is an evidence of another faith. This is an old wooden mosque, said to be the oldest in the Valley, called the Biilbul Lankar, containing the grave of that fakir who, as before stated, is held by the inhabitants to have been the first and prime agent in their conversion to the faith of Mohammed. The Naya Kadal, or sixth bridge, comes next, and a little further down is the Sufifa Kadal, the seventh and last of the city bridges, below which, on the right bank, is a green open flat, called the ‘Eedgah,’ which reminds one of home, so like an English common does it appear. A fine old mosque, the Ali Musjid,stands at one extremity, shaded by some of the noblest trees in the Valley; and nearly opposite, on the left bank of the stream, is a spot of an ill-omened character, the Noor Bagh, or place of execution. In former days it was rare not to see the gallows at this place graced by some malefactor, but capital punishment is now seldom carried out; the Sikh religion discouraging the taking of human life; and the present Maharajah, a devout follower of this belief, acting so strictly up to its tenets that for many years the hangman’s office has been literally a perfect sinecure, his services having never been required.

 – W. Wakefield, The Happy Valley: Sketches of Kashmir and the Kashmiris (1879)

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Halwoi

 Parant’e, monj gooyl  (nadir monj of Kashmiri pandits) and other assorted fine Kashmiri snacks.
 Deep in Talks. A Shop near Hazratbal.

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