video link
Directed by Hamid Bala. A re-enactment of Hafiz Nagma set to love lyrics popular among Pandits as a Bhajan ‘Harmokh Bartal’ and believed to be dedicated to Shiva for reference to Harmukh mountain. A similar attempt at re-enactment was made in early 1980s.
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In 1920s, HafizNagma was banned in Kashmir by the ruling Dogra Maharaja. The Ruler felt that this dance form was losing its sufi touch and was becoming too sensual, debased and hence judged by him as amoral for the society. It’s place was taken up by Bach’a Nagma, or the boy dancer, much like Bacha bazi of Afghanistan, although Kashmiri would claim minus the nasty exploitation bits.
A page from a government of India publication on Kashmir, 1955
Mohanlal Aima singing to a group of tourists on a houseboat on Nagin Lake in 1964. Found this photograph by James Burke at Life Magazine archive
James Burke has caught this prolific Kashmiri musician at a delightful moment. It the classic stance of a Kashmiri singer. As the backing artists pick up the refrain, as the tempo picks up, the lead singer spreads out his arms like an eagle, doesn’t close his eyes, looks his audience, his patron for the night, straight in the eye, and trying to keep his neck unmoving, moves his head left-right-left-right even as his shoulders blades shove the arms, right-left-right-left. And then the arms drop.
Guest post by Man Mohan Munshi Ji.
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Bache Nagma Dance being performed on the Mehendirat night during the
marriage in a Kashmiri Pandit family. This tradition is still very much alive .
Besides the artists the family members and and guests are take part
in the dances as seen in the last picture.
Notice Chakkar pirouettes, round spins, somewhat like Chakar of Kathak and the fast footwork meant to produce music from ghungroos ankle bells, somewhat like tatkar of Kathak.
Here’s something interesting:
Tatkar is also mentioned in a 13th century AD work on music called Sangeeta Ratnakara (The Ocean of Music) composed by one Sarangadeva, a Kashmiri Pandit, son of one Sodhaladeva of Kashmir.
“ A monumental work came to be written in 13th century AD. This was the Sangeeta Ratnakara(The Ocean of Music) penned by Sarangadeva, an emigrant from Kashmir, who became the Chief Accountant of Raja Sodhala, a Yadava king of Devgiri in South India. A work so stupendous in depth and extent is it that it is difficult to believe that it could have been scribed by the one man. The Ratnakara gives in great detail description of scales, raga, talas, musical forms, instruments, and many other subjects. Of greater significance is the fact that it is, perhaps, the first major work dealing with Northern and Southern musical systems. It is opined by many scholars…that it was during this period Indian music got bifurcated into the two systems of North [Hindustani] and South [Karnatak.]”
– Bigamudre Chaitanya Deva, An Introduction to Indian Music (1973), p.74.
The dancer is known as Bacha, the Kid – usually a lithesome (at times, effeminate) boy/man who dances, sometimes comically, always attired like a woman in a multi-colored frock-like dress. The song-dance proceeding are known as Bach Nagma Jashan – Kid Dancer’s Celebration. Presently, the most popular song-dance for marriage celebrations.
In this performance, just like in case of Bach Nagma, songs were usually set to Sufi lyrics or Sufiana Kalam, but the dancer who performed on these songs was always female and known as – Hafiza. These dancers were much celebrated at weddings and festivals.
In 1920s, Hafiz Nagma was banned in Kashmir by the ruling Dogra Maharaja. The Ruler felt this dance was losing its sufi touch and was becoming too sensual, de-based and hence amoral for the society. Now, songs being the same, in an odd parody, female Muslim dancers were replaced by young Muslim boys who dressed like women. It came to be known as bacha nagma and remains a popular for of celebration at Kashmiri weddings. Hafiz Nagma also survived but in an increasingly Islamic going society, kept losing ground.
This wasn’t the first time that Kashmiri people had a brush with effeminacy. Kashmiris believe that Mughal Emperor Akbar, after his conquest of Kashmir, in an attempt to counter manly valour of its people and remove any possible future trouble, decree-forced Kashmiri men to were feminine gown like dresses – pheran.
Kashmiris love their pheran. Kashmiris love Bach Nagma.
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Bach Nagma Jashan on the night of Maenzraath
in swirls
Like a singing woman
Hands up- Hands down. Shoulder up-Shoulder down. On his knees.
thumkathumka
Even some Punjabi bhangra with young guys.
More people he manages to get on the dance floor, the more he is showered with money. When I got dragged to the dance floor, he started doing something like Kathak with his feet, really working those ghungroos. Only problem, his feet were hidden under his frock, and I had no idea what he was doing. What was I supposed to do. Made a fool of myself. I just followed his step.
Around 11:30 and already a sleepy audience.
Time to get them ladies dancing.
That what the bacha does, he is supposed to get everyone to dance. Someone from the family secretly and often overtly points him in the right direction.
In between folk song, a funny song to wake up people, it starts something like this:
Aav ai Aav ai Rajesh Khanna/Syeeth-Syeeth Dimpul Khanna (Chorus) Aav ai Aav ai Rajesh Khanna/Syeeth-Syeeth Tinkle Khanna (Chorus)
Here comes Rajesh Khanna, Here comes Rajesh Khanna, along comes Dimple and Twinkle Khanna.
(Then the singer say’s that he has seen many beautiful woman. All of the beautiful woman, ladies and girls. But…)
Korayv kor kissai tamaan/ Korayv kar’e bhumaye fanah
Girls put an end to the tale/ All girls purged their brows away.
(Then the singer sings about Men and purged turbans, Daughter-in-law and purged Mother-in-law, Mother-in-law and purged Daughter-in-law, and so on. and so forth. What’s Rajesh Khanna and his family doing in it all? Don’t ask me! )
Hikat Mikat on the night of Maenzraath, Night of Henna.
Hikat, the Kashmiri folk dance in which two young girls hold each other’s hand in a cross and try to swirl the other girl round in circles. First slowly and then as the beat of the music gets faster and as the laws of physics come into effect, a momentum, their feet come closer and body weight moves to the back , an orbit, now their toes almost touch, for a brief moment, laws of nature completely take over, no need to move, and in that perfect brief moment the two girls swirl around together in pure joy.
In 1863, Samuel Bourne, a British photographer during his work trip to Kashmir was having trouble trying to get a troupe of Kashmiri dancing girls to pose for a photograph. After successfully taking a satisfactory photograph, much later, in his Narrative of a photographic trip to Kashmir (Cashmere) and adjacent territories (British Journal of Photography, 25 January 1867), he recounted:
“By no amount of talking and acting could I get them to stand or sit in an easy, natural attitude . . . The English Commissioner resident at Srinnugur (Srinagar). . . gave an order to have a number of the best-looking girls collected, of whom I was to take a group. They were very shy at making their appearance in daylight, as, like the owl, they are birds of night. They came decked out in all their rings and jewelery. and all their silk holiday attire; but, on taking a cursory glance at them when they were all assembled, with the exception of two or three, one could not help coming to the conclusion that if these were the prettiest, the rest must be miserably ugly. Much to my annoyance, a number of gentlemen had assembled ‘to see the fun’, and their presence by no means added to the composure of my fair sitters. They squatted themselves down on the carpet which had been provided for them, and absolutely refused to move an inch for any purpose of posing; so, after trying in vain to get them into something like order, was obliged to take them as they were, the picture, of course, being far from a good one . . . (13) (plate 22).”
He also explains why the ‘fair’ Kashmiris appeared dark in photographs:
“A photograph hardly does justice to native beauty; the fair olive complexion comes out much darker than it appears to the eye, on account of its being a partially non-actinic colour.”
A couple of years later, these dancing girls seem to have posed happily for a photographer named John Burke. Azeezie, probably a popular dancing girl at time in Kashmir, posed no less than four times for him. Burke, in notes to these photographs mentions some other dancing girls named Sabie and Mokhtarjan. In fact, all three of them had earlier been photographed by Bourne. Around the same time, another visitor to Kashmir, Captain William Henry Knight in his Diary of a Pedestrian in Cashmere and Thibet (1863) mentions a Kashmiri dancing girl named Gulabie. These dancing girls had already been made famous by the western travelers through their travel writings and were given the misnomer of nach/nauch/nautch girls.
As opposed to the first euphoric description of Kashmiri Beauty by Bernier, the new western travelers to the valley were trying to write a more reasonable and realistic account of Kashmiri beauty. Naturally, not all the nautch girls came out looking pretty in these accounts. In their accounts, these travelers noted that most of these dancing girls worked at Shalimar Bagh that was built by the Mughals. Here, lamps were lit at night and camps were set in the garden. And the tourists often used to visit these camps. Pran Nevile, a man who knows much about the history of nautch girls of India and author of the book Stories from the Raj: Sahibs, Memsahibs and Others,writes:
“There is a fascinating description by Lieutenant Colonel Tarrens (1860) of a nautch by Kashmiri girls in the Shalimar Gardens at Srinagar. The author was enchanted by the beauty of Shalimar, the queen of gardens, which he felt should be visited at night by the pale of moonlight when it is properly bedecked with torches, and crowned with lamps. Then “the proper thing to do is to give orders for a nautch at Shalimar.” Apart from the beauty of the place, Torrens was enchanted with the dancing and singing of the charming Kashmiri nautch girls whom he considered “vastly superior” to what he had seen elsewhere. Another witness to a similar performance in Shalimar Gardens was a reputed professional artist, William Simpson, who was so much enthralled by the sight of nautch girls dancing by torchlight that he describes it as “the sweet delusion of a never to be forgotten night.”
Often, in these accounts, they also noticed that Kashmir must once have been a great country but with years of cruel Pathan rule – it was in a state of slow decay.
“The village of Changus,** but a few miles from Achibul, was celebrated in times gone by as containing a colony of dancing girls, whose singing and dancing were more celebrated than those of any other part of the valley. I have heard Samud Shah and other old men breathe forth signs of regret, and expressions of admiration, when speaking of days that were past; and the grace and beauty of one of the Changus’ danseuses, whose name was, I think, Lyli, and long since dead, seemed to be quite fresh in their recollection. The village itself, like every thing else in Kashmir, has fallen to decay. A few of the votaries of Terpsichore still remain, but are inferior in beauty and accomplishments to those in the city, and continue to get a living by what would technically called provincial engagements. From one of them, whom I heard singing, I picked up the following air, which I believe to be original, although the first line bears, it cannot be denied, a striking resemblance to that of Liston’s “Kitty Clover.” Of word I know nothing, excepting that they were, as usual, of amorous import.”
“Unoppressed by any rigid code of etiquette, and naturally addicted to pleasure, the people of Kashmir find much of their enjoyment in female society, and from the earliest times have been noted for their love of singers and dancers. In former days the capital city was the scene of constant revels, in which morality was but but a secondary consideration, and now the inhabitants relieve the continual struggle against misfortune and despotism by indulging in gross vices, and drown the sense of hopeless poverty in the gratification of animal passions. The women of this delightful valley have long been celebrated for their beauty, and are still called the flower of the Oriental race. The face is of a dark complexion, richly flushed with pink; the eyes large, almond-shaped, and overflowing with a peculiar liquid brilliance; the features regular, harmonious, and fine; the limbs and bodies are models of grace. But all writers agree that art does nothing to aid nature, and it is not unusual to see eyes unsurpassed for brightness and expression flashing from a very dirty face. Among the poorer classes filth and degradation render many women actually repulsive, notwithstanding their resplendent beauty.
Travelers always remark the dancing girls who have acquired much renown in Kashmir. The village of Changus was at one time celebrated for a colony of these women, who excelled all others in the valley; but now its famous beauties have disappeared, and live only in the traditions of the place. The dancing girls may be divided into several classes. Among the higher may be found those who are virtuous and modest, probably to about the same extent as among actresses, opera singers, and ballet girls in civilized communities. Others frequent entertainments that the house of rich men, or public festivals, and estimate their favors at a very high price, while the remainder are avowed harlots, prostituting themselves indiscriminately to any who desire their company. Many of these are devoted to service of some god, whose temple is enriched from the gains of their calling.
The Watul, or Gipsy tribe of Kashmir is remarkable for many lovely women, who are taught to please the taste of the voluptuary. They sing licentious songs in an amorous tone, dance in a lascivious measure, dress in a peculiarly fascinating manner, and seduce by the very expression of their countenances. When they join a company of dancing girls, they are uniformly successful in their vocation, and have been known to amass large sums of money. Now that the valley is in its decadence, their charms find a more profitable market in other places. The bands of dancing girls are usually accompanied by sundry hideous duennas, whose conspicuous ugliness forms a striking contrast to their charge.
The Nach girls are under the surveillance of the government, which licenses their prostitution. They are actual slaves, and cannot sing or dance without permission from their overseer, to whom they must resign a large portion of their earnings.
In addition to these, who may be styled poetical courtesans, there exists a swarm of prostitutes frequenting low houses in the cities or boats on the lake; but of them we have no distinct account. It is certain that they are largely visited by the more immoral of the population, and an accurate idea of their status may be formed from a knowledge of the fact that the traveler Moorcroft, who gave gratuitous medical advice to the poor of Serinaghur, had at one time nearly seven thousand patients on his lists, a very large number of whom were suffering from loathsome diseases induced by the grossest and most persevering profligacy. In short, there can be but little doubt that the manners of the inhabitants of this interesting and beautiful valley are corrupt to the last degree.”
Around this time, stories of young Kashmiri girls being sold in the plains of Punjab were also doing the rounds in writings on Kashmir. These stories were first recorded by a French botanist named Victor Jacquemont who visited Kashmir in around 1831.
On his arrival in the Lahore court of Maharaja Ranjit Singh – the ruler of Punjab and of Kashmir, Jacquemont was treated to “a most splendid fěte” – a performance by “Cashmerian danseuses” who had “their eyes daubed round with black and white”. In a letter he told a friend of his: “my taste is depraved enough to have thought them only the more beautiful for it.” And in a letter to his father he wrote: ” the slow-cadenced and voluptuous dance of Delhi and Cashmere is one of the most agreeable that can be executed.” However, his experience with dancing girls in Kashmir was only of disappointed. In his supreme disappointment, he calls Kashmiri women “hideous witches” and even calls Irish poet Thomas Moore “a perfumer, and a liar to the boot” for essentially writing too beautifully about Kashmir in his famous poem Lalla Rookh. About the dancing girls at Shalimar Bagh her wrote: “They were browner, that is to say blacker, than the choruses and corps de ballet of Lahore, Umbritsir, Loodheeana, and Delhi.” Jacquemont had made up his mind when he wrote: “It is true that all little girls who promise to turn out pretty, are sold at eight years of age, and carried off into the Punjab and India.”
George Forster, who visited Kashmir in 1783, thought that Kashmiri dancers had disappointingly “broad features” and even more disappointingly often “thick legs” too. He was probably the first European to write about Kashmiri nautch girls. In spite of his disappointment he wrote: “the courtesans and female dancers of Punjab and Kashmire, or rather a mixed breed of both these countries, are beautiful women, and are held in great estimation all through Norther parts of India: the merchants established at Jumbo, often become so fondly attached to a dancing girl, that, neglecting their occupation, they have been known to dissipate, at her will, the whole of their property; and I have seen some of them reduced to a subsistence on charity; for these girls, in the manner of their profession, are profuse and rapacious.”
Surprisingly, Jammu can be claimed to have continued this tradition right until the time of legendary singer Malika Pukhraj (1927-2004). She started her illustrious career at the royal court of Maharaja Hari Singh and went on to captivate the entire divided sub-Continent with her beautiful singing.
There is another Jammu angle to the story of Kashmiri Dancing girls.
What these early western visitors probably witnessed in Kashmir was a form of Kashmiri singing and dancing known as Hafiz Nagma. The songs are usually set to Sufi lyrics or Sufiana Kalam and the dancer who performs these songs, always female, is known as – Hafiza. These dancers were much celebrated at weddings and festivals.In a Victorian twist, Hafiz Nagma was banned Kashmir in 1920s by the ruling Dogra Maharaja. He felt that this dance form was losing its sufi touch and was becoming too sensual, and hence amoral for the civil society. Now, old traditional songs being the same, in an odd parody, female dancers were replaced by young boys dressed like women to perform on them. It came to be known as bacha nagmaand is still popular at Kashmiri weddings. Hafiz Nagma is now almost lost.
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*This particular book first published in 1842 is my personal favorite. The only obvious error I could find in the book is that it got the date of George Foster’s visit to Kashmir wrong. Foster visited Kashmir in 1783-84 and not 1833 as claimed in Chapter titled Beautiful Country that quotes Foster’s visit to Vernag (Verinag). The same was noted in a footnote to C.Knight’s Penny cyclopaedia of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge (1851) while dealing with an article on the life of Francois de Bernier.
** Changus: Village Shangus of Anantnag district.
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Photograph of Shalimar Garden taken by me in June 2008
A Kashmiri wedding is always set off by a night of celebration – a night of singing and dancing, called Maenzraath or The Night of the Henna. The bride side and the groom side have their own separate Maenzraath ceremonies with relatives coming in for this nightly affair. The relatives dip their beak in lavish but pure vegetarian fest. The fest is vegetarian in case of Pandits as this day unlike any other day is holy of the holiest. The only fest non-vegetarian fest possible in a Kashmiri Pandit wedding is the ‘reception‘ dinner held on a convenient date following round-round round we go around the fire kund ― Saat pheras performed on the day of the Lagan.
After the fest, when everyone has had his say about the softness of paneer, wooliness of nadru, freshness of hakh, crispness of nadurchurma, mushiness of auluvchurma and unquestioned greatness of daal; the person about to get married is given a ceremonial bath by the aunts. Water is poured ― filtering through a chunni held by giggling children of the house – onto the embarrassed would be mahrin/mahraz seated below squatting on a choo’yk – a low wooden stool. The badi bua ― eldest sister of the man whose son or daughter is getting married, gets the honor of washing the feet of the bride/groom. On this night, and the few nights that follow, the would-be-bride is the mahrin or the Queen and the would-be-groom is the mahraz or the King. After the wedding, the bride for the first few years is mahrin and then just zanaan or woman. The groom is just roon or husband for the rest of his life.
Then start the henna ceremony starts with aplomb. Maenz is the Kashmiri word for Henna or Mehandi, the green leaves of which are made into a paste with tea water and daubed onto the palms of the would be bride or the budding groom. All those present lay down on mattress laid on the floor with a hugh laif or wool stuffed chaadars thrown on top of people to keep them warm, they all sit close to each other forming groups of their own near and dear ones, and still discussing the quality of aulavs or potatoes used in the fest. Men folks and women folks form separate groups. Some men especially brothers of the man and woman whose child is getting married can be found roaming around, trailing the vaza ―the koshur chef, bidding farewells to relatives who won’t be staying over night, and making the arrangements for the functions that would follow in the coming days and nights of the marriage. Older men sit down too, while still discussing the quantity of aulavs used in the fest. Young children run around and just be themselves, jumping on the hugh laifs,crushing the big toes of the old folks and laughing on hearing the teeth less Kashmiri curses shot at them from toothless mouths.
All these people get their hands painted by the persistent joyous aunts ― the mamis, the massis and the buas. The bowl of henna moves around, passing from one person to another, each person gets his hands daubed with a lump of henna; Its then that the real celebration starts. Singing and the dancing that continue into the wee hours of the morning with only kahwaand sheer chai breaks in between.
Tumbaknaris are handed over to the ladies and the women thump the sonorous-thick-yellow colored animal hide of this drum with both hands to the rhyming beats of the song. In West Asia: it is known as tumbari or tumbal and in Iran: Tunbak or Tumbakh. Women hold the brown-long earthen vent of the drum under their thigh or else keep it over the thigh griping its neck in their thick arms, it all depends on comfort and drumming style. Thalis or metal dishes taken out of the kitchen and women beat them with spoons. Pair of Khos or the copper cups, usually meant to drink sheer chai or the salt tea, are used as cymbals. And, so sits the troupe of singing ladies in a corner and they sing old songs in chorus.
The old ladies start Wanvun or the traditional chorus song. The ceremony is set off by a type of wanvun whose long trailing wordings urge all the ladies present to start singing as it is the wedding of a child brought up on invested love of mother, father, grandparents, uncles and aunts. This particular type of singing is called Henzae, an ancient form of singing in Kashmir that goes centuries back. Henzae a derivative of the Prakrit word ‘hanje’, roughly translates to ‘O lady!’. It sounds quite unique with its strange vocal syllabi of long trailing words.
Vuchhmay na zaatakas, prutshmay na kraanis kooree laanis namaskaar.
(I didn’t get your horoscope examined, nor did I inquire about your family ties; daughter dear, let us bow to destiny.)
So sing the old ladies.
This home band sings until the professionals move in.
The professional performers brought in for the celebration start the night with prayers. For Kashmiri Pandits, the singing typically starts with the rendition of a hymn to Lord Ganesh ― Om Shree Ganeshaya Namha. For Kashmiri Muslims, the singing starts with Bismellah ― Bismellah kaerith hyamoy vanivonuy. At a Kashmiri Pandit wedding, if the professionals brought in are all Muslims, then instead the ladies start the prayer singing, everyone else joining in and the musicians follow them on their instruments. In Kashmir, it wasn’t odd if you found the Muslim musicians singing along.
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I recall the first and the last Maenzraath ceremony that I ever attended in Kashmir. It was the late ’80s and I must have been eight.
This was going to the grandest Maenzraath of all that I have ever seen. It was the Maenzraath of my father’s youngest cousin brother. By Kashmiri standards, the family was “well off”, naturally, they had hired the best in the business for Maenzraath celebration. Gul Akhtar was coming. Normally, at Maenzraath the kind of musicians usually hired is bachkots or the boy band. A male dancer called bacha accompanies these musicians, he dresses up as a woman or tries to by wearing multi-colored-long-flowing frock and painted red cheeks. He takes turn dancing with everyone, everyone interested/uninterested in dancing. Men and women, dancing in jest. It’s called Bach’nagma.
But, not this time. This time, professional musicians had been hired.
After dinner, everyone moved to the huge hall on the highest floor of the big house. There was buzz in the air. Gul Akhtar is coming. Everyone found a wall to support the back; the hall filled in, everyone chirping. A space left in a corner for the musicians and the center of the hall left for Gul Akhtar. After the feet washing and the henna ceremony, and after the old ladies had sung their chorus songs and prayers, the musicians made an entry carrying their instruments. The harmonium, the Wasul/Tabla, the Setar/Sehtar or Sitar, the Nott― an earthen pot used as bass drum, the Gaagar or a brass pot beaten by the musician using his metal ringed fingers, and Saaz-i-Kashmir ― a variant of the Iranian Kamancha. It is played with a bow, it has three prominent strings, two of them made of silk. The silk strings made of fish skin and not just silk. Either side of the instrument having seven metal strings, the strings on the right side made of steel and the strings on the left side made of brass; quite an instrument and not many people remain who can talk to this complex instrument.
These musicians knew the language of these instruments. They occupied their corner of the room and began setting up the instruments. It was then that she entered. She must have been in her mid- thirties at the time, her skills honed each passing year, and now at the peak of her profession. She was not a waifish thin women, in fact with her painted red cheeks, she looked hale and hearty, a typical Kashmiri women. She was dressed in a traditional Kashmiri embroidered pink dress of thick clothing, her head covered in a headgear decorated with silver ornaments. Around, her ankles, she put on gungroos, heavy gungroos of maniacal sound. It’s difficult to forget a women who has gungroos tied around her feet. After friendly banter with some of the people present and meeting the grooms father, she staked claim to the center of the hall, striking the floor with quick musical movement of her feet, gungroos vibrating in controlled frenzy . I thought she was testing the strength of the wooden floor, testing if it could bear her heavy art. Then suddenly, on some unseen signal, the singing and the dancing started. She was singing in a high tone that needed no electric amplifiers, she was enacting the meaning and play of the words from the song, and with the rising notes, moving her feet and arms to the notes of music. Everyone looked awed by the performance that she was putting on. The hall filled up with music and the walls started to get warm. These were songs about marriage, about dreams of marriage, songs about henna and songs of love. Song for brothers, sisters, father, mother, uncles and aunts. Song for the lover and also song for the lover who could not be, songs of love unfulfilled, songs of Habba Khatoon and Arnimal. The songs that had Sufi meanings. The women folk present, sang along, giggling at some verse, at times they felt visible touched by some phrase bemoaning the fate of women, and at times they were shocked at some verbal jaunt of the song and the life given to the word by Gul Akhtar poised and decorous physical flaunt.
The men folk were excited. There were requests for songs, one after the other.
A song about dagger, heart and an unrequited love. This song sung
With men, this remains the most popular of the songs.
My father recounts that the eldest of his cousin brother got up to dance with Gul Akhtar and tried to hold her hand but she snubbed him down. A snubbing, that my father still gleefully remembers and my dear uncle would certainly like to forget, but I am sure he has not.
Gul Akhtar owned the night. The floor began to thunder. I really thought that the wooden beams bearing the house and the mud walls supporting the high rising house would collapse onto themselves. But, they held on, just vibrating to the mood of the song.
I put my head on grandmother’s thigh and wrapped my small arms around her, later, threw off the laif that was covering my legs, this winter night had turned sweetly warm; and I slept. With the falling and rising shrill metallic note of the chakkri, a loud thump of tumbaknaar, with the change of the beats of a song or a thali beaten out of turn, I would open my eyes and find the lady still dancing. The wooden floor was alive and still being played upon by her feet. And, I would go back to sleeping knowing that the house wouldn’t fall while Gul Akhtar danced. I slept.
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When my family migrated out of Kashmir, intermediately, we kept hearing news snippets about her. Hearsays. Some said that the militants had killed her; her body chopped up into pieces and buried some place unknown. Some said that she was alive but the new powers in Kashmir had forced her to stop performing, killed her art. Finally, some years ago, someone confirmed that she was alive and well. After a brief hiatus, she was singing again. She had only got older. I don’t think she dances any more, certainly not at marriage ceremonies, her age not permitting. Yet, the bird continues to sing her tunes.
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Photographs of Gul Akhtar courtesy of Funkar International, a beautiful initiative to revive the music of Kashmir. A big thanks!
These musicians knew the language of these instruments. They occupied their corner of the room and began setting up the instruments. It was then that she entered. She must have been in her mid- thirties at the time, her skills honed each passing year, and now at the peak of her profession. She was not a waifish thin women, in fact with her painted red cheeks, she looked hale and hearty, a typical Kashmiri women. She was dressed in a traditional Kashmiri embroidered pink dress of thick clothing, her head covered in a headgear decorated with silver ornaments. Around, her ankles, she put on 
