Shared by Rohit Mattoo from personal collection of his ‘in-laws’.
All India Kashmiri Pandit Mushaira
Held at Ratan Bagh, Lahore, on the occasion of the Golden Jubilee Celebration of the K.P.A. Lahore.
29.12.40
Standing:- Pt. Dina Nath Raina [Grandfather of Rohit Mattoo’s wife]
Sitting:- Pt. Ratan Mohan Nath Zutshi “Khar”, Pt. Rajindra Prashad Atal “Shaiq” Pt. Tribhuwan Nath Zutshi “Zar”, Dewan Pt. Radha Nath Kaul “Gulshan”, Raja Sir Daya Kishen Kaul (President), Raja Narindra Nath Raina, Pt. Amar Nath Madan “Sahir”, Pt. Sarup Narain Raina “Aiman”, Pt. Brijmohan Nath Wanchoo “Razwan”.
J.S. PUN & BROS,
Chowk Market, The Mall, Lahore
[Stories of quite a few of these Pandits of Lahore is given in ‘The Kashmiri Pandits: a study of cultural choice in North India’ (1988), check page 202]
A community photograph of the members of the Biradari assembled at Rattan Bagh, Lahore to celebrate the Nauroz and the Jubilee of Raja and Rani Narendra Nath Sahib’s wedding, 14th April, 1940.
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Notes:
Diwan Narendra Nath Raina, son of Ajodhia Prasad, son of Ganga Ram(1800-70), son of Kishen Das, “who walked down from Srinagar to Banaras following the establishment of Afghan regime in Kashmir”.
Kashmiri Pandit community formed in Lahore primarily because of Ganga Ram who in Ranjit Singh’s court, “As custodian of the official records[…] practically controlled the whole administrative machinery.”
Compared to the other Kashmirs Pandit circles, biradiris, that came up in other parts of India, the Lahoris seemed to be more on the progressive side:
“The rationality of the Lahore Pandits seemed to be further confirmed by the lack of controversy when Prithvi Nath Razdan set out from Lahore to pursue his studies in England. The community did bot oppose it and in fact encouraged it.'”
Guest post by Sakshi Kaul Dhar about visiting her ancestral home and pieces she retrieved.
The house was constructed by my Great Grandfather Tara Chand Thass and was completed in June of year 1924. We called it “Thass Mansion”.
Tara Chand Dhar was married to Posh Kuj who belonged to Kathlishwar area of Srinagar . Together they had nine children – six sons and three daughters – among them my grandfather, Kashi Nath Thass was the eldest.
Tara Chand Thass ‘Dhar’ and Posh Kuj
I am Kashmiri, born and brought up in Delhi, but even then haven’t been able to cut my umbilical cord with a place my father and grandfather were born.
I visited this house for the first time in 2012. Locating a house without a House Number can be hell of a difficult task in Srinagar now. And whose house should you say when they ask you the name of the owner of the House. A proud and naive me, in my insanity and emotional state/euphoria declared, ‘ It’s my House …. I am the Makan Malik.’
Nearly all families had moved out of the house before the breakout of militancy as the house was proving to be small for expanding families of six sons.
One of my Uncle’s still lives in some of the rooms in the house. A couple of rooms are rented.
The furniture and the other fixtures were taken out during the period when no one was in the house at the peak of militancy. There is nothing much left in the house except for papers, photographs, old letters etc which were of no economic value for any one who ransacked the place.
It’s nearly a three floor house. After first floor, all you find is papers lying everywhere and of course bats and the smell of dead rats. It took me almost three hours to sift through the dust and newspapers looking for things that meant something.
There were note books of my cousins, engineering project reports of my cousin who was in REC, Srinagar in the late eighties. Letters of my uncles and aunts filled with love, complaints, their joys and sorrows. Bills. The report cards of my cousin, which he surely did not want me to bring back.
Things I found scattered around and brought back:
Letters from year 1929 about my Grandfather Pt. Kashi Nath’s training at Government School of Engineering, Rasul, Panjab [now in Pakistan] as an Overseer [Avarseer, as we say in Kashmir].
Pt. Kashi Nath Dhar Thass [seated first from right] as part of Football team.
Government School of Engineering, Rasul. 1930
The English Guy in the middle is C.E. Blaker, Principal of the School
My Grandfather Kashi Nath Thass was married to Kamlawati Kaul, daughter of Master Shanker Pandit, the famous Head Master of Biscoe School.
C. E Tyndale Biscoe wrote about Shaker Pandit, “I must express my thanks to my Headmaster Shanker Pandit BA who has allowed me to draw upon his knowledge of ancient history , and of various rites and ceremonies , both of Hindus and Muslims , with respect to birth, death, marriage etc. What my friend Shanker does not know concerning his country is not worth knowing. He remained Head master for 40 years in the school. A very successful teacher in the classroom, but as a leader in all social services for the welfare of his country , he was superb. ”
I found this picture of Shanker Pandit lying on the floor as if it was waiting for me to pick it up.
Picture was taken on November 14, 1946. Biscoe School, Srinagar.
Found on 17th October, 2012
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My father was born in “Thass Mansion”. I lost him very early in my life. This House represent’s his birth to me. Hence the house seems to me like a harbinger of my birth, which was to follow. This house or rather home just reminds me that although he may not be here with me , the home where he was born (even though is miles away from Delhi) is overlooking me .
I may not be able to frequently walk on the roads that they walked or see the places they saw, but I know some where there exists a place…my father’s birth place: Sathoo, Barbarshah, Srinagar , KMR.
Although the house is now old and crumbling , we still have not sold it. Like all Kashmiris, may be some where we still hope and nurture the dream of returning back to the valley some day. We have lost many near and dear ones in the family. We all are now scattered all over the Globe. Unfortunately, we could not hold on to lives but the home is what we have physically held on .
Sometimes Kashmir seems as though slipping from my hands… The fear that I may not be able to go back again….The fear that I may not be able to see it again. Sometimes I think may be ours is the last generation that holds on to Kashmir in our heads as Home…. The place we belong to.
I don’t know what will happen of Kashmir (The Physical Land) amidst political uncertainty and religious fanaticism…but I don’t want to lose the stories and emotions of my people – The Kashmiri Pandits. I don’t want their lives and stories to be buried under the debris like their homes are.
I spent the afternoon at Yaseen’s office where he showed me bits from his family history, letters belonging to three generations of boatmen. We had Kehwa, we ate buttered Telwurs and we leafed through fading tattering pages of history.
1985
1928
1920
At that time Miss O’Connor ran a successful housing lodging setup for British visitors.
1920
Letters came C/o Habib Joo, more famous name in the tourism trade of the time
A lot of visitors were British soldiers posted near Kashmir
Taj Mahal Palace Hotel letter head, 1920
Wadia Movietone letter head,
for a film from 1962.
1923
Namesake of a famous Parsi
1961
1941
Unlike other letters directed at, this one is
a letter by a boatman to another.
It informs about the death of a young girl.
Govind Joo’s house. 2008.
The family moved away in 1970s.
You don’t know the story. Khabr’e Chaey Ne. He didn’t convert.’
‘Umm….Khabr’e Chaey Ne. You don’t know the story. He did convert.’
I was supposed to take my Brahminical rites the next morning, and here I was, late at night, in a Pandit Community Hall in Jammu, listening to my Father and Uncles having an amusing discussion about an odd bit of family history. Did their Grand-Uncle Govind Joo Razdan or Goo’ndh Joo, as they called him, turn Christian or not?
An aunt who was married into the family in late 1970s chipped in. ‘Well, it might be true. When the Razdan’s of Chattabal sent marriage proposal for me, one of my old relatives did ask if it’s not the same Karr’e family.’ Karr’e being the pejorative term in Kashmiri for converts to Christianity.
The complete story I came across recently in ‘Tyndale-Biscoe of Kashmir: An Autobiography’ (1951):
“We were at our holiday hut at Nil Nag, in the month of August 1939, when two of our teachers, Govind Joo Razdan, a widower, Sham Lal and his wife, an old boy, Kashi Nath and his wife, asked me to baptize them. They had for years been vey keen on all kinds of social service, so I knew by their lives, as well by their words, that they were truly fit persons to be received into the Christain Church. On Sunday morning I took them to the lake and baptized them.
We, and they, of course were well aware that when they returned to Srinagar, they would have to suffer persecution from the Brahmins, and they did.
[…]
Not many days passed before we heard that the teachers whom I had baptize, were in danger from their fellow Brahmans.
Govind Razdan was the first to be attacked by hooligans while crossing one of the city bridges. Fortunately for him, one of the policemen near by was an old boy of our school and he rescued him from the angry crowd. A few days later Sham Lal was going from my house to his home in the city, after dark, when he was attacked and so badly hurt that he had to be taken to hospital. The man who was the cause of this attack was a Brahmin policeman. Then came Kashi Nath’s turn. He was employed by a motor omnibus company and was taking a bus full of Brahmans to one of the most holy places in Kashmir named Tula Mula, where goddess is supposed to live in a tank. After landing his party at the holy spot, he was attacked by the worshippers, but fortunately there were Mohammedans at hand who came to his rescue and saved him.”
Peace brigades marching towards
Srinagar on the eve of taking over the emergency administration
of the State by Sheikh Mohd. Abdullah in 1947
Photographer: [K.N. (?)] Bamzai. [Photodivision India]
Collected this story in Jammu while walking my father’s Badi Maami to the main road as there was no light in the lanes. She had heard Kashmir interests me. In darkness, in between pauses of heavy breath, while slow walking, she told me about death of her brother in 1947.
Few remember those dead people now. Few know their stories. He died so young. My brother…Bira…Somnath Koul Bira. He was with Shiekh. He was part of Militia. The ‘National Militia’. They defended Kashmir. When Kabailis attacked. They fought back. He died. There was communal unrest in Doda [then still part of Udhampur District]. Tribals were raiding. Hindus and Sikhs were killing Muslims. Muslims were killing Hindus. 700 people from Srinagar volunteered to go there as ‘Peace Bridage’. My brother was one of the leaders. Peace was established. But he never returned. There were stories. Stories of foul play. I was told he died even before reaching Doda. On the way they had to cross a bridge over Chenab. While crossing the bridge, they came under fire. I was told he fell in Chenab. He was gone.
Somnath Koul Bira was among the bright crop of young student leaders that came out of Lahore. Among his friends were Professor Apurab Somnath [Bakhiri] and Professor Durrani.
In 1947, a close to 600 Kashmiri Pandits were part of the Kashmir Militia. A lot of them communists.
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Photograph of Somnath Bira,
young man at the back in dark coat, pomaded hair parted neatly and a fountain pen in breast pocket.
From personal collection of Somnath Bira’s brother Jawahar Kaul Bira based now based in Gurgaon.
Shared by Anil Taku, nephew of Somnath Bira.
Based on an online conversation here’s what I could gather:
In 1947 (48) valley was invaded by the tribals led on by Pir Sahab of Manki Sharief (Syed Mohammad Aminul Hassnat, of NWFP) and supported by regulars of the Pakistan Army. In response, a group of young men in Srinagar called Progressive Group started a Peace Brigade as first line of defense. Around this time a group led by Puskkar Nath Zadoo went to Handwara to stall the march of invaders. The men had almost nothing in name of weapons. Pushkar Nath Zadoo lost his life in the attempt. Another group led by Professor Apoorab Somnath planned to head for Jammu. This group included Somnath Bira of Rainawari, Professor Hriday Nath Durani, Professor Mahmood Hashmi (Urdu lecturer from Amar Singh College) and artist P. N. Kachroo. Professor Durani had to return back from Qazigund on account of ill health. P. N. Kachroo couldn’t go because he was tired up heading the cultural wing of the group. On reaching Jammu, Professor Hashmi, a close friend Apoorab Somnath, sneaked away from the group ideologically and left for Poonch from where he crossed over to Pakistan and crossed sides. * Somnath Bira died at the hands of hostile forces near a place called Regi Nallah between Bhadarwah and Doda. His body was never found.
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*
Mehmood Hashmi went on to write a reportage in 1950 based on his experiences. ‘Kashmir Udaas Hai’ published in Pakistan is considered first of its kind book in Urdu. He worked in the parallel government for some years and then moved to England in 1970s where he continued to work for promotion of Urdu language.
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.
-0- 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.
I picked lot of things from my grandfather, including a love for books. In death, he offered me some bits about the death rituals of Kashmiri Pandits. He also gave me a fear. Although he read a lot, he remembered little. And in the end he forgot everything. Because I too forget, I write…
Daddy and Badi Mummy clearing snow. Winter 1988. Srinagar.
With his youngest daughter-in-law and youngest grandchild.
21, July 2013. Jammu
Mourning: the house is essential divided into two parts. One section for women and one for men. Frequent wailing sounds can be heard for women’s side. In the men side there is mostly talk of bitter sweet past, sorry present and doomed future.
5th day
We go to the cremation ground to collect his bones and ashes. Among the bones is a bone known among Pandits as Porush (Man). It is part of upper vertebral column. The bone holds a special meaning as in its shape it is said to resemble a sleeping man, a symbol of departed body. While placing the body on pyre special care is taken by putting in in right posture to ensure that the Porush remains intact after burning.
Cleaning of the spot by sons
The spot as it is left by locals of Jammu – the Hindu Dogras
The spot as it is left by Pandits. Honey, sweets and candy is left
(possibly so that ants can do rest of the cleaning)
White radish or Mooli is an absolute essential part of the 5th day ceremony
and is a must offering for the departed on this day.
Mahakal Bhairava and his dog (s) at Cremation Ground
Still Day 5.
Ghat on Chenab river. Akhnoor.
Site for immersing the ashes. In older times, in Kashmir, ashes were sometimes kept buried in a wall of the house till they could be immensed at Gangbal Lake in September. Or, at Shadipur.
Pandit ji is a lot miffed when he finds out one of the daughter-in-laws is also present for the ceremony. It is pointed out to him that she took care of him like a daughter. He says Kashmiri women come from the clan of Nagas, the snakes. Hence that headdress. Hence the separation. Father and uncles remember Pandit ji as a haughty little kid growing up in lanes around Habba Kadal. Of course, his indignations are ignored. He believes in rules of Manu. He believes Kashmiris may be Jews, may be even Russian. He believes.
Prasadh at the end of the ceremony. Walnut.
Day 10. The departed is a Preta till it becomes a Pitr on completion of all the rites and joins the realm of previous Pitrs. A process that takes a year. The main rituals last for 13 days. There are talks among Kashmiri Pandits that 13 is becoming too difficult to manage. Working people can’t be home for 13 days, that it should be reduced to 4. But the old guards and priests don’t agree.
Garuda Purana is remembered and recited.
Hindu afterlife Punishments given in Garuda Purana.
A poster found at a little shop in Jammu. Febuary 2012.
Mother tells me punishment for those who waste salt is that they pick you up by your eyelashes.
An interesting custom on this day has the sons walking in between rows of relatives lined up on two sides. The relatives are supposed to put money in their pockets discreetly as they walk past. In a way they help them bear the cost of feast for relatives that follows the next day.
Meat being prepared. In Kashmiri tradition if the meat is not prepared on this day then no meat can be prepared for next 5-6 months. So meat is prepared.
The cook was earlier worried because a relative of his was badly injured in a recent earthquake in his hometown Kistwar. By the end of the day, he is worried because there is news of communal disturbances in his town. By evening the disturbance spreads to Jammu. Mahaul goes Kharaab. In evening I go out to city to get some more Mooli from Mandi but return back half way because there are gangs on bikes roaming around with knives.
Evening feast. The Pandit ji also eats meat.
Day 11. Army is out on the streets. The cook doesn’t come. Aunts take charge of cooking.
The news in local paper is confusing. All it talks about is ‘majority community’ and ‘minority community’. If you don’t know the demographics of the area, you are forced to imagine who killed whom.
When the last ceremony is over and the Pandit ji leaves, a token pebble is thrown at him as he crossed the main gate…probably so that he does not return soon.
In none of these ceremonies is my grandmother involved. She was married to the man for about 64 years.
Day 12.
The entire city is shut. Early morning, I start out on a long walk to airport with father to catch my flight out of a trishanku’ian town.
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January 17, 2014
It’s been six months. Today, we cook fish in dinner, offer it to the dead and feast. Pandits call it the day of ‘till‘.
“And he saw them toiling in rowing; for the wind was contrary unto them: and about the fourth watch of the night he cometh unto them, walking upon the sea, and would have passed by them.
But when they saw him walking upon the sea, they supposed it had been a spirit, and cried out: For they all saw him, and were troubled. And immediately he talked with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid.”
~ Mark 6:45-53, King James Bible.
At the appointed time a murmuring crowd gathered on Nehru Park Island to witness the miracle. For days the local newspapers had advertised the event: “A Man to Walk on Dal wearing only a Khrav.“
A silence fell on the crowd as a young man carrying a garland of marigold around his neck stepped forward and approached the waters. This was The Walker. “The sheen of his face is unmistakably that of a man with great spiritual powers,” said someone in the crowd. It was a perfect day for a miracle.
The Walker poised to take his first step, took a deep breath, unimagined the water, kept his head straight and looked ahead. Across the waters, on the other side, another crowd stood in anticipation, ready to receive him. He exhaled and unimagined the crowd. Looking at the scene unfolding in front of them, even the doubting Thomases, even as they we getting unimagined, for a second did start wondering, ‘But, what if…’
For The Walker the world faded away. The was no water. It was just him and his Khrav.
The Walker raised his foot and as it was about to hit the surface of water, in confidence, he moved his other foot to meet the water too. To the onlookers it looked like a jump. Just as his first foot was about meet the surface, a thought sprang like a bolt in his mind, he remembered something, words and a face. His body in response to the thought wanted to undo its previous two actions. His two feets now sought solid ground. To onlookers it looked like a jolt. The Walker tried to balance himself. But he knew it was too late. He was done. His body craved for land and found water instead. Gravity took over. As he fell face first in water, Khravs slipped off his feet and floated away from him and towards shore. A kid picked them and ran away. A few brave onlookers, not in spell anymore, jumped into water and pulled him out.
In time, the reason for this failed miracle soon became apparent to people. It was a girl. Only a few months ago, The Walker was indeed on way to spiritual greatness under the guidance of his Guru. But then love god played his tricks. The Walker used to teach music to a young blind girl. In time, as often happens, the two fell in love. The Guru had advised The Walker to remain celibate. ‘No girl, ever.’ Ignoring the advise, just days before the ‘Water Walk in Khrav’ event, The Walker had married the blind girl and thus ending any real chance of him making history by walking on water wearing only wooden Khrav. He had drowned himself in love, fallen for the oldest miracle and got baptized in icy waters of Dal.
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Based on the story of a kin told by an Uncle. The Walker did go on to be acclaimed as a saint. But as the joke in the family goes, that day he did almost drown himself in Dal in front of a big crowd.
A monument dedicated to
General Zorawar Singh in Jammu
Zorawar kay ghoday dhoday Kuch log ujhday Kuch desh bhasay
My Great-Great-Great Grandfather was a man named Kamal Joo Razdan/Raina, a cashier in Zorawar’s Army, posted at times in Gilgit. The family lore has it he even had a sword, a royal gift.
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Fragment from a painted scroll: Zorawar Singh’s army marching through the mountains
A Buddhist Shrine: detail from a painted scroll. [In the bottom left corner can be seen Zorawar’s Army, looking on]
From Kashmiri Painting by Karuna Goswamy, 1998.
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In Leh, we hear Ladakhi women singing the song of Zorawar Singh’s wife:
I do not wish to eat bread received from the sinful northerners I do not wish to drink water received from the sinful northerners Amidst the inhabitants of this land I have no friends and relations… When arriving at the Zoji-la-Pass, my fatherland can be seen… Although I can see my fatherland, I shall not arrive there…
In Jammu, a wife of a soldier sings:
Tera miga ladga i manda, O gadda, tera miga lagda i manda, Eh Patwari migi khat rehyum liki dinda, sau sau karnian Chanda. Kehsi banai Rama Jange di Chakri
I am sick of separation, my love, I am sick of separation, I entreat the Patwari again and again, To write a letter for me, but he refuses, So you leave the army and return home. Why, O God Rama, have you created a permanent institution like the Army?
~ lines found in book, ‘Jammu and Kashmir’ by Somnath Dhar (1982) [link]
