Pandit Nehru on his Mekhal,
carrying a Mulberry stick
This is a ‘Did you know it was all thanks to Bhan Saheb!’ post.
[…] the circumstances under which the Brahman Bhattas of Kashmir came to be called Pandits. Briefly, it would seem that, after the incorporation of Kashmir into the Mughal empire, quite a few of those Brahmans who migrated out of Kashmir attracted attention and even rose high at the imperial court, first in Agra and then in Delhi. In recognition of their sevices to the emperor or their scholarship, or both, suitable titles were conferred upon them. These were similar to those conferred upon distinguished Muslims. One such successful emigre, Jai Narain Bhan, was elevated to the status of a Raja. It was he who reportedly asked that Kashmiri Brahmans should be addressed as ‘Pandit’ and not by such honorifics as ‘Khuajah’. The request was granted by emperor Muhammad Shah (1719-49) (Sender 1988: 43 [Source: Henny Sender’s The Kashmiri Pandits: A Study of Cultural Choice in North India (Delhi, 1988), the name is given as Jai Ram Bhan]). Subsequently, ‘Pandit’ became established as the community name of Kashmiri Brahmans living outside Kashmir. In more recent times it has emerged as on of the ethonyms of the Bhatta of Kashmir.
England born Miss Edna Bellefontaine called Kashmir her home. She lived in houseboats, hiked through Himalayas (once even spent a night in a sacred high cave, which one we don’t know, she even claimed to be the first white woman to ever enter the Kingdom of Nepal). Miss Edna painted all that she saw. And on some days she would put on a black wig and some native dress to do some exotic twist for the soon to depart royalty. For all that she earned a title: ‘Mata Hari of Kashmir’. But with a name like that, there could be no happy ending. Or did that name come up only later, as a minor footnote to an event in history. In 1953, after a meeting with General Ayub Khan of Pakistan, she was banished from the land of Kashmir. At gun point Mata Hari was ousted from her houseboat and sent packing to Delhi with her six trunks and two dogs where for some years she was charged with planning Kashmir’s sedition from India. For years she petitioned India and Pakistan to let her go back to her paradise. A similar fate was met with by a man who too had met the Gereral that day. Sheikh Abdullah. But Edna was to never return. In exile she became Mrs. Edna Bailey and wrote a book called ‘Externed from Paradise’. Hoping to teach Indian dancing in some college or university, in Trenton New Jersey, Mata Hari of Kashmir did the native dances for soldiers, the wealthy and women’s group.
North Tonawanda NY Evening News. June 19, 1937
via: fultonhistory.com/
“Indian Community Asks Divorce Law
Srnagar, India, June 18 (U.P.) – The Kashmiri Pandit community is up in arms for a divorce act, the first Hindu community to declare in favor of divorce. It took an act of savagery to bring this about.
A resident of the community, graduate of an Indian university became so enraged at his wife when she refused him money that he destroyed her eyes. The act so enraged the populace that a demonstration of more than 4,000 persons was organized in protest and to urge a divorce act.”
dyar hase chu saf’ras yar hase chu na as’nas ash’nav hasa chu as’nas gaye tre kathe beye ze kathe hasa chy’au sa zanana chy’auvna pane’ny yesa na asi pan’es sai’th beye hasa yus rats bedar rozi suy hasa zae’ni raje Vikramajit’ney kur
Monies, sirs, is for a journey.
A friend, sirs, is for when there is no money.
A near relation, sirs, is for when there is money.
That makes three things, and, sirs, there are two others : —
That woman is not for you
one not in know of herself
And, again, sirs : —
He only will win Raja Vikramaditya’s daughter
Who keepeth awake by night.
I never imagined I will read these Kashmiri stories. But here they are, preserved. Preserved complete with all the intellectual rigor that their listening induced among its recorders. The above lines form a mishmash of a particular verse in ‘Hatim’s Tales: Kashmiri Stories and Songs’ (1928), recorded with the assistance of Pandit Govind Kaul by Sir Aurel Stein. I created this mishmash based on the two version offered by Aurel Stein and Pandit Govind Kaul.
The Kashmiri songs and stories in this book were recited to Sir Aurel Stein in 1896, at Mohand Marg, high in Haramukh range, in Kashmir, by one Hatim Tilwon of Panzil, in the Sind Valley, a cultivator and a professional story- teller. They were taken down at his dictation by Sir Aurel Stein himself, and, simultaneously, by Pandit Govinda Kaul. The work is unique in the sense that (as the introduction to the book explains):
“[…] Hatim’s language was not the literary language of Kashmiri Pandits, but was in a village dialect, and Sir Aurel Stein’s phonetic record of the patois, placed alongside of the standard spelling of Kashmiri Pandits, gives what is perhaps the only opportunity in existence for comparing the literary form of an Oriental speech with the actual pronunciation of a fairly educated villager.”
The stories that Hatim told included not just a story of fabled Vikarmajit, but also of Mahmud of Ghazni, albeit in a familiar fabled grab of a benevolent king who goes around town at night in the grab of a poor man. He also tells the story of a farmer’s wife who complains to a Honey-bee about harshness of a revenue collector. The stories are told in songs and verses. The most amusing Kashmiri song offered by this book is the one about the turmoil created in lives of Kashmiri working class by Sir Douglas Forsyth‘s mission to Yarkand in 1873-4. The workers, cobblers, tillers, carpenters and all with a typical tongue-in-cheek Kashmiri humor sing:
Yarkand anan zenan
Khoni keth doda-not ware heth bari drav Lokan chu sapharun tav Tahkhith doda-gur Jenatuk bagwan
Yarkand anon zenan Watal dop watje bonay sara zah
Chim mangan dalomuy ta kah Tsoratsh ta or heth met hay, pakanawan
I found Govinda Kaul’s translation (rather his pick of English works for certain Kashmiri work) a bit too easy on Imperialists, almost turning the song on its head. Here’s what the song conveyed to be:
Yarkand he is conquering Carrying a milk-pail in his haunch, earthern pots in a load he goes forth
For people journey is exhaustion
He , forsooth
White horse
Heavenly God Yarkand he is conquering
Cobbler said to Cobbler’s wife “I shall not remember forever, they want my leather and lace, leather-cutter and awl, and they want me. O, they are taking me too”
Pandit Govinda Kaul belonged to the clan of famous Birbal Dhar. Famous D.P. Dhar was a direct decedent of Birbal Dhar.
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Unrelated Post:
about short film that I was involved with in a minor way Raag Sarkari. (Nominated for IFFI, 2011).The story of a day in the life of a Jailer somewhere in U.P. and day happens to be D.P Dhar’s first death anniversary.
In this extract from ‘Vignettes of Kashmir’ by E. G. Hull (1903), one can read about how Kashmir was introduced to Magic Lantern, one of the first image projectors invented, named Tamasha or spectacle by locals, and we can see how this magic of images was used in missionary work. On set of magic beliefs trying to replace another set of magic beliefs.
A village in the Valley
‘THERE are men and women feeling after God in Kashmir, as in every land, and it is worth
more than a day’s journey to light on one of these.
The lady doctor with her medicine chest, and I
with a magic lantern, had started for a tour in
the villages one bright spring day.
After pitching our tents and taking a hurried
meal, my companion spread her medicines on a
little table, and was soon surrounded by a modern
Pool of Bethesda crowd, whom the news of the
arrival of a lady doctor had brought together,
while I set out to visit in the neighbouring town.
The first house I went to was that of the
Chowdry, a state official. I was shown into the
sitting-room, where he sat upon a kind of dais,
with another man, whom I afterwards found
to be the family priest. Both men sat facing a
recess in the wall, the interior of which I could
not then see, but which I afterwards discovered
contained the hideous household god.
The Chowdry received me kindly, and a rug
was spread for me on a low table, disconnected
with the dais, on which of course, as a Christian,
I could not be allowed to sit. I was soon joined by the two women of the household, the Chowdry’s mother and wife.
Finding, from my conversation, that I was
a Christian teacher, the Chowdry expressed great
pleasure at my coming. He seemed an earnest
man, with but little belief in his own religion, yet
not content, like so many Indians, with being
without any religion at all ; and he said eagerly :
” God has shown you English people the way ;
come and show me the way, for I can nowhere
find it.” I was amazed at his frankness, especi-
ally before his priest, but perhaps the priest
himself, like others I have mentioned, was seeking “the way.” My heart yearns over the
priests, for I have a strong idea that many
would gladly relinquish their idol worship, were
it not that ” by this craft ” they get their living.
I spent some time in endeavouring to set forth
” the Way, the Truth and the Life ” to this little
household, all, including the priest, giving me
an attentive hearing. It was but one of many
conversations I had with the Chowdry, who made
a slight deafness in one of his ears the excuse for
a daily visit to our tent.
Having brought with us our magic lantern, we
were afterwards able to exhibit to a large audience
in his house, including more than one Hindu
priest, a fairly complete representation of the
principal events of our Lord’s life. It seemed
like a revelation to them. The women especially, sitting in front, gazed long, with folded hands
and heads bowed in reverence, at a beautiful
picture of the Babe of Bethlehem, saying afterwards to me with much emotion : ” Truly it
seemed as though God had Himself descended
into our house to-day ! ”
The Tamasha
The Tamasha, or spectacle, as people called our lantern, gained for us an audience everywhere,
besides that of the sick and suffering women, who
gathered round the lady doctor for treatment.
In one village, the chowkidar, or policeman,
was very helpful in many ways, and of his own
accord he sounded a gong for the women to leave
their various avocations to come and see.
A large upper room, used in winter for storing
provisions, but so far empty, with no aperture
through which the light could come but the door
and a window with a wooden shutter, enabled us
to show our lantern in the daytime, and so secure
a much better audience than we should in the
evening, as Kashmiris do not like going out at
night ; they have a strong belief that not only the
pestilence, but other mysterious things too,
“walk in darkness.” The long, low room was
densely packed from end to end, and as there was
no possible means of ventilation without letting
in the light, it was well we had no time to think
of the atmosphere !
The audience was entirely composed of Muhammadans, and the darkness gave some of them
courage to ask very intelligent questions.
It was a solemn moment, and an awed silence
fell on all as a picture of the Crucifixion was
thrown on the sheet. It was the one known as
” The Marble Cross,” in which the dying Saviour
is alone represented. We did not break the silence
by any explanations, but allowed them for a
moment to sit still in the presence of the Crucified
One.
But awe grew into something like enthusiasm
as we passed from Death to Resurrection and
Ascension. One could hardly have believed it to
be a Muhammadan audience.
” There will be one more picture,” I said, ” but
we cannot show it as yet.” I was referring to the
Coming in Glory, but, ere I could explain my
meaning, I was interrupted by a young man, who
from the first manifested very great interest. He
now sprang to his feet, exclaiming: ” We must see
it now, we must see all.” When he allowed me
to resume what I was saying, I told them that we
could not show them that picture, but that God
would, because it was written: ” Behold, He
Cometh with clouds, and every eye shall see Him.”
Yet even this promise scarcely satisfied them
that we had not the picture of that awful Advent
somewhere concealed.
Our lantern has told its story to many a strange
audience. We have shown it to the sister of the Amir of Kabul and her household, to a Dogra
official of high standing and his household, and to
the family and servants of one of the Kashmiri rais or nobility, as well as to the poor sick ones in
the dispensary, so that eye as well as ear may
drink in the message of salvation.
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I am using the above given extract as a postscript to a story shared by my Uncle Roshan Lal Das. On the surface it tells of the comic coming of Lantern to Kashmir. The story could have been a skit performed by Bhands of Kashmir. It could be the remnant of the above given story.
LALTEN SAHAB
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Long ago, a news spread in our ancestral village Harmain that one Lalten Sahib had arrived in Kashmir. Lalten Sahib was described as a beast with a fiery belly burning with hell fire. The affects of this news would be felt all over the valley. The news were spreading fast. The people in Harmain heard that Lalten Sahib had reached Srinagar and was now moving towards Shopian. They heard that he would soon their village too and bring the the fires of hell upon them.
So one dark evening all the villagers assembled under a walnut tree. The village’s head ‘Moulvi’ started addressing them, encouraging and consoling them alternatively. He said “My dear village brothers, we know, Lalten, the scourge of God has reached shopian and any time he can descend in Harmian.’
Silencing a flutter of exclamation sighs from a listless and restless crowd, in a pitch higher he added, ‘However we should have faith in Allah, who will help us destroy Lalten. He will help us overcomie this hour of museebat. However, we should prepare ourselves for a fight. Everyone should arm. Carry an axe,shovel, spade or even a sickle.’
Dusk turned to night and the Moulvi carried on his sermons. When it seemed he would carry on well into the morning, suddenly he stopped in the middle of a sentence about how men had brought on this curse upon themselves by their violations against God’s word, he became tongue tied, he face froze in fear, it seemed like the meaning of his own words had dawned upon him, like he was contemplating on his life of misdemeanors, like he was about to tells the truth now, but when he finally spoke, the only words that came out just before he passed off, were: ‘Run for your life, Lalten is here’. The peasants scrammed here and there and finally nestled inside the mosque whose doors were now tightly bolted. One of the faithfuls had carried the Moulvi on his shoulders and into the mosque. The shivering peasants sat praying loudly, their backs swaying back and forth. Some of them wailed and occasionally asked Allah aloud as to why they were being punished for no fault of theirs. The moulvi regained consciousness. All of them asked him in one voice, ‘Moulvi Sahib, Moulvi Sahib,What did you see Moulvi Sahib?’
Having regained his senses, his fear of hell fire partly dowsed by a tumbler of water that was splashed on his face, the survivor replied:
‘Don’t’ ask my beloved brothers and sisters. Don’t ask. I can still see its fire. It was the devil himself. One of the darkest figures I have ever seen. Just behind you, it was moving in from the bushes. A fire of hellish hue was emanating from its belly. Only a miracle can now save us from Lalten. Pray my dear brothers. Pray. It may well be our Judgement day.’ With this everyone around him began crying.
Hours ago, the news of a potentially dangerous gathering in Harmain had reached the local Naib-Tehsildar stationed in a nearby village. Armed with his the newly acquired official Lalten, the Lantern, or Hurricane lamp or Angrez log, he had rushed with his assistants towards Harmian. Arriving in the village from a clearing in the fields, they were greeted by commotions and pandemonium bought on something that they failed to fathom.
When they finally convinced the villagers to unbolt the door of the mosque and to let them in, the officer and his men were flabbergasted to see the wailing peasants. Something terrible must have happened, they thought. But when they were bombarded with queries about Lalten Sahib, the visiting party had a hearty laugh. In the darkness, the Moulvi had mistaken the lantern in Tehsildar’s hand for the fire emanating from devil’s belly. The proud owners of the Lalten Sahib went on to show a practical demonstration of how to control the fire in the devil’s belly. The peasants finally understood the working of Laten Sahib and laughed sheepishly over their own stupidity.
The valley of Kashmir was not electrified till 1930s. Until then People used torches (mashaal).The wooden staff with cloth was laced with natural volatile oils. The city folks used earthen lamps. Kerosene lamps were used by richer families and foreign tourists.
“Yusuf left Kashmir, and on January 2, 1580, appeared before Akbar at Fathpur-Sikri, and sought his aid. In August he left the court armed with an order directing the imperial officers in the Punjab to assist him in regaining his throne. His allies were preparing to take the field when many of the leading nobles of Kashmir,dreading an invasion by an imperial army, sent him a message promising to restore him to his throne if he would return alone.
He entered Kashmir and was met at Baramgalla by his supporters. Lohar Chakk was still able to place an army in the field and sent it to Baramgalla, but Yusuf, evading it, advanced by another road on Sopur, where he met Lohar Chakk and, on November 8, 1 580, defeated and captured him, and regained his throne.
The remainder of the reign produced the usual crop of rebellions, but none so serious as those which had already been suppressed. His chief anxiety, henceforth, was the emperor. He was indebted to him for no material help, but he would not have regained his throne so easily, and might not have regained it at all, had it not been known that Akbar was prepared to aid him. The historians of the imperial court represent him, after his restoration, as Akbar ‘s governor of Kashmir, invariably describing him as Yusuf Khan, and he doubtless made, as a suppliant, many promises of which no trustworthy record exists. His view was that as he had regained his throne without the aid of foreign troops he was still an independent sovereign, but he knew that this was not the view held at the imperial court, where he was expected to do homage in person for his kingdom. In 1581 Akbar, then halting at Jalalabad on his return from Kabul, sent Mir Tahir and Salih Divana as envoys to Kashmir, but Yusuf, after receiving the mission with extravagant respect, sent to court his son Haidar, who returned after a year. His failure to appear in person was still the subject of remark and in 1584 he sent his elder son, Ya’qub, to represent him. Ya’qub reported that Akbar intended to visit Kashmir, and Yusuf prepared, in fear and trembling, to receive him, but the visit was postponed, and he was called upon to receive nobody more important than two new envoys, Hakim ‘All Gllani and Baha-ud-din.
Ya’qub, believing his life to be in danger, fled from the imperial camp at Lahore, and Yusuf would have gone in person to do homage to Akbar, had he not been dissuaded by his nobles. He was treated as a recalcitrant vassal, and an army under raja Bhagwan Das invaded Kashmir. Yusuf held the passes against the invaders, and the raja, dreading a winter campaign in the hills and believing that formal submission would still satisfy his master, made peace on Yusuf’s undertaking to appear at court. The promise was fulfilled on April 7, 1586, but Akbar refused to ratify the treaty which Bhagwan Das had made, and broke faith with Yusuf by detaining him as a prisoner. The raja, sensitive on a point of honour, committed suicide.
Ya’qub remained in Kashmir, and though imperial officers were sent to assume charge of the administration of the province, attempted to maintain himself as regent, or rather as king, and carried on a guerrilla warfare for more than two years, but was finally induced to submit and appeared before Akbar, when he visited Kashmir, on August 8, 1589.
Akbar’ s treatment of Yusuf is one of the chief blots on his character. After a year’s captivity the prisoner was released and received a fief in Bihar and the command of five hundred horse. The emperor is credited with the intention of promoting him, but he never rose above this humble rank, in which he was actively employed under Man Singh in 1592 in Bengal, Orissa, and Chota Nagpur.”
~ The Cambridge History of India:Turks and Afghans Volume 3 by Sir Wolseley Haig (1928).
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It is as story as it is not often told, for example the last of Bhagwan Das never made it to popular telling of the story.
Image: Collage based on K. Asif’s Mughal-e-Azam – a work essentially (derived form popular lore) about Akbar’s conduct and how he went about the business of running an empire and of course how this business ruins love. The popular Kashmiri story of Yusuf and Habba Khatun finds some parallels in that story. If one considers the ending of the film Mughal-e-Azam – Akbar providing a safe passage, an anonymous escape and a popular death, to Anarkali and if one considers the alternate (unpopular) ending of Yusuf Chak and Habba Khatun story – graves of the two lovers side by side at a desolate place in Biswak village in Nalanda, Bihar and not the version that sees Habba Khatun pinning for her lost King’s love till the last of her breath, the parallels, rather inversions, are unsettling. In popular memories, love stories with happy ending are no love stories at all.
Walter Rooper Lawrence was the Land settlement officer in Kashmir from 1889 to 1895. In all he spent just about six years in Kashmir but from his mammoth tome on Kashmir, a classic simply titled ‘Valley of Kashmir’ (1895), those years seem to have been well spent taking in Kashmir in all its glory and with all its warts. These were years that he relished all his life, a reason why to Charles Dickens’ daughter, an old lady already and an acquittance of his, he would say that he would like to live his life all over again. In his later year book ‘The India We Served’ (1928), a book much less often read and remembered, talking about Kashmir that was at a crossroad of modernity, changing to modern times, changing forever, he writes:
“It is difficult for me to write about Kashmir, for I have already written a large book on the subject, and just as one scorns to take ideas and advice from one’s own family, so still less can I condescend to quote from “The Valley of Kashmir.” But to live six splendid years in that valley, unspoiled by railways and roads, innocent of factories and coal, and long streets and concrete houses, sleeping in boats or in tents always pitched on green turf under the shade of plane or walnut trees, and always within sound of running, singing water that is a life to live over again. Such a climate, with the sun at its best ! The Capital is well named the City of the Sun, for summer or winter the sun smiles and sparkles in Kashmir. The air is no mere compound of gas, but a blend of dance and laughter, smiling even in drear December when the temperature is below zero: is blue, like the sapphires from Zanskar, but I never knew whether the blue came from the sky or from the rivers and lakes, or from the iris, which is the flower of the valley. And from each of the countless valleys which pass on the waters of the encircling snow range to the fabulous Hydaspes, there is the view of the naked majesty of Nanga Parbat, and the sheen of jagged Haramukh, which seemed to be always to the north. The Easterns have known the magic of Kashmir for centuries. The Moguls knew it, but Kashmir, like Corinth, was not approachable by everyone, and, though twice I have heard august consent given to the making of a railway, the tutelary divinities of this happy valley have intervened. Since I last saw Kashmir, roads have been made, and motor cars now run. But I doubt if even a railway could rob the valley of its strange and unique charm. I have said all I can say of its colour, its flowers and its fruits, and in the days when I first visited Kashmir, the only jarring note the censorious critic could hazard was that the people were Kashmiris.”
In his words, words that might now be branded ‘colonial’, he did give Kashmiris a good character certificate – decent people, at time too wrapped up working up a subterfuge,who were who they were, god-fearing hardworking folks, in-spite of all the sufferings that they had had to suffer. He made an interesting observation that might still ring true:
“I have given my testimony regarding the Kashmiris in “The Valley of Kashmir.” It was the Fashion to say hard words of them, but none, English or Indian, who berated the Kashmiris, knew anything about the villages, and it was only fair that I should say what I could ; and six years continuous camping in the valley gave me opportunities for forming an opinion.”
This is the Kashmir that he saw. Photographs from the book ‘Valley of Kashmir’ (1895). These were taken by Major Hepburn, Captain Allan, Captain Godfrey and Alam Chand, the State photographer.
In that old video from 1930s watching the angrez couple drink wine at Shalimar Bagh reminded me of an innocuous entry in the journal of an angrez traveler.
Englishman Godfrey Thomas Vigne, who visited Kashmir in around 1835, in book ‘Travels in Kashmir, Ladak, Iskardo, the Countries Adjoining the Mountain-Course of the Indus, and the Himalaya, north of the Panjab with Map‘ (1842) describes how he saw Mihan “the Colonel” Singh, the Sikh governor of Kashmir at the time, sitting in one of those beautiful pavilions at Shalimar Garden listening to the songs of Nautch Girls and while the girls danced, Mihan Singh and his officers took a sip of spirit. Just another day in the Kingdom. But it is the nature and the origin of the spirit as described by Vigne that really got me started. He writes:
“The colonel occasionally took a little of the strong spirit of the country, which is distilled from crushed grapes left to ferment, and is much preferred to the finest wine that Europe could produce, which would not be considered strong enough.
The orientals have no idea of drinking unless they can drink a little too much. They believe, to the letter, that ” man, being reasonable, must get drunk;” and, generally speaking, are astonished at Europeans, who, being permitted by our religion even to drink wine, do not always swallow more than is good for us, and can afford to leave off before it has caused us to be excited and uproarious.”
Given Indian Beer is not watered down like its western counterparts and local liquor shops are strangely called ‘Wine Shop’, Vignes observation about the Indian drinkers might still be true but it is the part about home grown native wine that came as a surprise. This section is in Volume two of his journal. In Volume One he mentions the ancient wine traditions of Kashmir, wines for which it was famous all over Central Asia (which according to Vigne was pretty much into drinking* ). In section titled ‘Wine of Kashmir’, he writes about what remained and the remains of that ancient tradition:
From Ruzlu I ascended the hill on the right, in order to obtain a view of another valley, named Brunil-Lanur. It occupies the remainder of the space between Kol Naruwa and Chaugam, and contains the two villages from which it takes its name. In the jungle under the Panjal, which bounds it on the south, and, I believe, in many of the wooded eminences around it, the vine is to be seen hanging in festoons about the trees, — originally, perhaps, a wild plant, but afterwards nurtured and cultivated by the natives of the district, who formerly made wine there in great quantities.
A new ‘seh-aatisha‘ or Still in show window of a craft shop at Lal Chowk, Srinagar. June, 2008+
At Muskhahad, a place in the jungle lying equidistant from Deosir and the villages in the valley, a great number of very large forty-thief-power earthen jars have been dug up at different times, and are now used by the natives as receptacles for their grain ; and it is supposed that many more are buried there, they being discoverable only by a search beneath the surface of the ground ; and it is supposed that wine was buried preserved in them, as in Gilghit and the neighbouring countries, probably at the present day. It is singular that the word mus should have the same meaning as the English must (mustum) new wine : and khahad signifies a place where wine is made and deposited.
I could never learn satisfactorily why the spot was deserted as it is at present ; but it is more than probable that it fell into disuse after the Musalman invasion, and suffered under the enthusiastic bigotry of Sikundur But-Shikan. Abu Fuzl, however, relates that wine was drank in Kashmir in his time. But I heard that its locality had been remembered only in tradition, or at least that the existence of the large wine-vessels was unknown until they were discovered by accident in the time of the Patans, about fifty years ago ; and the finder was suspected of having concealed a treasure. Wine, however, was made there in the time of the Patans, and Mihan Singh, the present governor of Kashmir, had ordered all the grapes to be brought thence to the city, where he contrived to manufacture a wretched apology for the generous liquor.
An ancient ‘wine’village near Pir Panjal, probation era, buried and forgotten wine tresure – I thought this was the end of Kashmiri Sharab, the last anyone heard about it (especially after that bad review by Vigne), or may hear about Shorab only in Kashmiri folk songs,but it seems that in next half-a-century wine culture picked up speed and flourished in Kashmir. A window into this time is offered by a woman named Marion Doughty who visited Kashmir in 1900. In her book ‘Afoot through the Kashmir valleys’ (1901) she wrote, “The Kashmir wines, too, are no longer to be despised, and their Medoc and Barsac are both strengthening and pleasant to the taste.”
At the turn of the centery things were certainly looking up. Vine was imported from of Bordeaux district France but in 1890 after these died of a disease were replaced by new vines imported from America, and the state vineyard was run by an Italian gent no less ( a gent named Signor Benvenuti and there were others**). Doughty, obviously having read Sir Walter Roper Lawrence’s masterly book ‘The valley of Kashmir’ (1895) writes:
In olden times Kashmir had been famous for its grapes, but through laziness, or the exorbitant exactions of officials, they had fallen out of cultivation, and only the wild plant was seen clambering over fences or throwing graceful arms round the tall poplars. Then the late Maharajah, the good Ranbir Singh, wishing to assist his people by every means in his power, introduced vines from France, and for a time they did fairly well; but the dreaded phylloxera made its appearance, and new vines from America had to be introduced. At present the State vineyards are under the charge of some Italian gentlemen, and very well they fulfil their charge, and yearly large quantities of Barsac and Medoc, as well as apple brandy, are produced, and though the flavour is still a little rough, they are good strengthening wines, and at the rate of about one rupee for a quart bottle will create a large demand. Transport is the chief difficulty, for under present conditions of road traffic it does not pay to send them out of the valley scarcely even any distance from Srinagar.
The government of the time was actively pursuing for the idea of wine, or rather a few persons in the government indeed were. According to Lawrence, Raja Amar Singh and Diwan Amar Nath were among the small number of Vineyard owners of Kashmir. Important decisions like the kind of vine to be imported were not taken carefully. Lawrence suggests vine from Burgundy would have been better suited for Kashmir. Still wine making was slowly making progress in the state. Costly distillery plants were setup at Gupkar and Medoc and Barsac wine was made here.
Doughty adds, “In other parts, where there is sufficient open ground, vines are much grown, and they climb the tall poplars and mulberries, sending long, swinging trails from side to side, forming exquisite screens of greenery. Hops, too, grow here, and the factories are close by in which the raw produce is transferred into excellent liquids, beer, wines, and liqueurs (cherry and apple brandy).”
But the idea was not taken up by the locals, and Lawrence thought, given this fact and the fact that beside Srinagar there was no market as transportation was a serious issue, there was little future for wine in Kashmir.
Still Doughty was optimistic, she wrote:
“In the near future probably the most paying concerns in Srinagar will be the vineyards and hop gardens. The French vines, originally introduced during Ranbir Singh’s reign, did not prove a success, phylloxera being the chief enemy. Others were then brought from America, and, judging by the quality of the wine produced, in spite of the youth of the plantation, and the low price at which they can afford to sell, it should be a great success. Apple brandy is especially in demand, and is a very delectable beverage among the snows. It is difficult, indeed, not to regret its popularity among the natives, for if they understand moderation in such things, they certainly do not practise it. The hops have been an even greater success than the vines, and are largely grown round Soper, and if once the country people take up their cultivation it will become a very important and money-making concern.”
So when exactly did this future cease to exisit? And in that video from 1930 was that American couple sitting in Shalimar Garden tasting Kashmiri wine?
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* Other old time Drinkers based on G.T. Vigne’s writings and travels:
[…]
The Gilghitis, as also the Siah Posh Kaffirs, are great wine-bibbers. They make their own wine,
and place it in large earthen jars, which are then buried for a time ; but they do not understand the clarifying process. Some that I tasted was very-palatable, but looked more like mutton broth than wine.
[…]
In Chulas, and other countries below Iskardo, the dance is not commonly performed until
the parties have drunk deeply of wine, and they are then excited to such a pitch of frenzy, that the effect is almost that of real madness, and it is a service of some danger to approach them.
[…]
The Yarkundis drink wine in abundance, but more particularly in secret. A spirit is distilled from the fruit of the Sunjit.
[…]
The wine of Shiraz is made, I believe, about fifty miles west of the city. The best that I tasted was a fine, powerful, and dry wine, not quite so dark as brown sherry.
**Francis Younghusband, who was Regent of Kashmir for some time, in around 1906 wrote about a Vineyard near Dal Lake that was run by a Frenchman.
+ ‘seh-aatisha‘ identified by a kind reader.
dyar hase chu saf’ras
