And on my angreez vohorwod, the woman I am marrying gave me this. A scrapbook with Kashmiri verses.
My afflictions are obvious.
Weeds have laid our gardens waste, since conjurors became the gardeners. The commoners learnt the dirty tricks from elites. Among ourselves let us crop our own candour. ~ Abdul Ahad Azad
A yearning dragged my steps to you, To be greeted with wrinkled brows, And a wish sprang from deep within me. “May you live long as Rum Rishi” (a Kashmiri Rishi said to have lived a very long life.) This one is by a poetess named Arnimaal, a woman who had a bright but stupid husband.
[Gul-i-Lala, used to grow on roofs. One of the biggest of the specie]
It’s tulip time, and where lanatas glow,
Great scarlet giants, other tulips know
That they, dwarfed, must bloom and unseen fade,
Unless some gentle hand to them stoop low.
May
(Iris Kashmiriana)
[Latar]
From rhizomes planted in the autumn time,
This cream white flower adores the summer clime,
Bearded and fragrant, armfuls gaily go
To market, where they fetch perhaps a dime.
June
(Trollius acaulis)
Golden blooms for the golden monthd
When the visitors are here,
To fill the coffers of many a man
In the vale of fair Kashmir.
July
(Lilium polyphyllum)
Of lilies among the rarest,
Its fragrant trumpets don’t sound,
But flare as they nod, 30 inches
Or more from the ground
August
(Morina Coulteriana)
Beware! For if these spikes of gold you choose
To bring into the house, they may refuse,
Their guardian prickles putting up a blitz
To draw your blood and make your tongue abuse.
September
(Aconilun violaceum)
In Autumn draws the mountain monk
His hood about his ears to warm ’em,
And this blue monkshood shows their hue
Should he allow the cold to storm ’em.
October
(Gentiana Moorcroftiana)
[named after explorer William Moorcroft who visited Kashmir around 1822]
As slender as the time that’s left
E’er snow is here again,
These sky blue flowers seem to say
“For winter sports remain.”
November
(Crocus Kashmiriana)
[Kongposh]
Not wild, but on so many acres grown,
This blossom violent-blue is widely known.
For from its roots commercial saffron comes
And o’er the hills its sweet perfume is blown.
December
(Viburnum Nervosum)
[Kulim]
With pink-white, clustering blooms it greets the morn,
Although of leaves by winter’s hand it’s shorn,
And when its scarlet berries purplish turn
Man eats them, saving thus his store of corn.
~ Verses by “Snilloc”, published in the Illustrated Weekly of India.
From the book ‘Kashmir, “the playground of Asia”: a handbook for visitors to the happy valley’ (1943) by Sachchidananda Sinha, who later in 1946 went on to be the first President of Constituent Assembly of India.
I have added some notes in []
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Frontpiece of ‘Beautiful Valleys of Kashmir’ (1942), Samsar Chand Koul
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.
Ranjit Pandit’s translation of Kalhan’s Rajatarangini starts with lines:
Shadow is itself unrestrained in its path while sunshine, as an incident of its very nature, is pursued a hundredfold by nuance. Thus is sorrow from happiness a thing apart; the scope of happiness, however, is hampered by the aches and hurts of endless sorrow.
Paddy fields of Kashmir, past the check point at Lower Munda.
An Army officer, posted in this region, once told a cousin of mine, “You Kashmiri men are no good! Look at at your field, only your women do all the work!”
Paddy cultivation is said to be a very delicate process. In Kashmir, unlike most other places in India, mostly women work in paddy fields and sow, harvest and stack paddy. And they sing while work. They sing a type of Kashmiri folk song known as Naindai Gyavun. They sing and ask for the kindness of their prophets and Gods, Nabis and Bharavs. And to their lover they sing:
Reaping and reaping, my hands are now tired,
And yet, my love, the end of this field is in no sight.
Cutting and cutting, my hands are now bruised,
And yet, my love, the end of this field is in no sight.
Drops of sweat, in drains, now run down my forehead.
And yet, my love, the end of this field is in no sight.
The golden harvest, this harvest a tease, dances with wind.
And yet, my love, the end of this field is in no sight.
Last rain of winter, tonight it will snow. Morning, my piss will drill holes yellow in pristine snow.
Put kangri out of bed, many houses it has burnt.
Don’t put your feet on it, weak eyes you get.
No bath in morning, no bath for weeks.
Pray the pipe bursts, like it always does. Get your head out of pheran!
Want to choke on coal fumes or on your own fart! Better than choking on your fish – smelly, dried!
Hmm…Two weeks, still no light, no TV.
Son go to sleep, don’t you know it’s snowing in Kashir.
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Winter, 2017
last winter II
you been collecting snow for centuries
we believe
you can carve wood, you can carve stone
you can carve meat, you can carve bread
on a good day you can even carve a dream
with eyes wide shut
yet, this art of carving snow
on a good winter’s day
eludes
you and your sheen mohniv
its grubby charcoal nose and
two squinty eyes
Aazaadee
O bulbul, let the freedom urge possess your soul !
Bid good bye to your cage, step out,
Gather your flowers and enjoy their bloom !
Speak out bold and clear. Your voice
Need not falter with fear
As when you sang within your cage.
In bondage, they served you ample food.
Now gather in the fields what grain you can,
And see how sweet is food in freedom !
Though unfreedom made you stammer,
Your call enchanted the birds of the air,
For it was born of love.
You can’t remain with folded wings !
Plume them, fly and see the world.
See flowers now with eyes of freedom.
You don’t know the latest about the garden !
Forget about the past; sing new songs now
Mabjoor, throw away this belt of bondage !
From now, you are free as a bird.
Your heart commands, your voice obeys !
Ghulam Ahmad Mahjoor (d. 1952) the most beloved poet of Kashmir was born in 1888 ( but some give the date as 1885 ) at village Metragam, Pulawama. Born Ghulam Ahmad, he took the pen name of ‘Mahjoor’ and became popular in Kashmir by this very name. At the height of his renown, he was called “the Wordsworth of Kashmiri poetry” by great Rabindranath Tagore.
After passing the middle school examination from Nusrat-ul-Islam School, Srinagar, he went to Punjab where he came in contact with urdu poets like Bismil Amritsari and Moulana Shibi Nomani. He returned to Srinagar in 1908 and started writing in Persian and then in Urdu. However, it was in Kashmiri language that his poetry truly excelled. He is widely revered in Kashmir for being the person who solely revived the Kashmiri languages from the regress of lost literary circles and brought it to the seeking common masses. It was largely due to the success of Mahjoor with Kashmiri language that his contemporaries also gave up writing in Urdu and Persian, and started writing in Kashmiri.
Mahjoor worked as a Patwari (Pathva:r’) in Kashmir. A Patwari is the offical responsible for keeping record of land, maps and land dealings. The post of Patwari was held in high esteem as in those days in far-flung areas, Patwari was the sole representative of the administration. This job required him to work closely with poor landless peasants and was to condition his sensibilities and help him understand the cause of the sufferings of the poor and destitute folks of his land.
Mahjoor had his first Kashmiri poem ‘Vanta hay vesy‘ published in 1918. In his earlier days, Mahjoor used to write only love poems (mastering at this, as his love songs or lyrics are still sung and remain very popular) but these songs were not the love songs of the rich or of tavern, songs like ‘Vanta hay vesy‘ were love songs of simple folk like – in this particular case – a country
lass. These love songs had the melody of the earlier lol lyrics of sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but their rhythm and singing quality seems inspired by the popular Hindustani geet and song of early decades that came to Kashmir through the Punjab.
The turbulent Kashmir of 1931 did not leave him untouched and the poet in him was now stirring with patriotic fervor.
Mahjoor is also treated as a revolutionary poet. His entire poetry is divided into three parts: kala:m-i-Mahjoor, paya:m-i-Mahjoor, and sala:m-i-Mahjoor. He was a patriotic poet and was moved by the suffering of the people under the alien rule. He awakened the common masses towards the need of protecting their homeland from invaders and alien rulers. He sang about beauty and charm of the valley. Mahjoor has made a significant contribution to genres of gazal and nazm. He retrieved the language itself from the old Personalized styles of poetry and brought it close to the speech of its native speakers.
Mahjoor was a nationalist at heart, and this can be fathomed from some of his poems. Because of his vocation as a Patwari, Mahjoor understood the feudal system well enough to know how rich landlords were exploiting the poor landless people. He wanted a new identity for them, an identity that he combined with Kashmiri nationalism. It was for these people that Mahjoor became a voice in turbulent times, a voice clear and loud. It was for the Freedom of these dejected people that Mahjoor wrote poems, poems that became songs etched in the Kashmiri minds.
An another Freedom Song
Aazaadee
Let us all offer thanksgiving,
For Freedom has come to us;
It’s after ages that she has beamed
Her radiance on us.
In western climes Freedom comes
With a shower of light and grace,
But dry, sterile thunder is all
She has for our own soil.
Poverty and starvation,
Repression and lawlessness, –
It’s with these happy blessings
That she has come to us.
Freedom, being of heavenly birth,
Can’t move from door to door;
You’ll find her camping in the homes
Of a chosen few alone.
She says she will not tolerate
Any wealth in private hands;
That’s why they are wringing capital
Out of the hands of everyone.
There’s mourning in every house
But in sequestered bowers
Our rulers, like bridegrooms,
Are in Alliance win Freedom.
Nabir Sheikh knows what Freedom means,
For his wife was whisked away.
He went on complaining until
She bore Freedom in a new home !
They searched her armpits seven times
To see if she was hiding rice;
In a basket covered with a shawl
The peasant’s wife brought Freedom home.
There’s restlessness in every heart,
But no one dare speak out –
Afraid that with their free expression
Freedom may be annoyed.
Unlike many other famous poets of Kashmir, Mahjoor was not a mystic and yet his words now sound prophetic:
If thou wouldst rouse this habitat of roses,
Leave toying with kettle-drums.
Let there be thunder-storm and tempest, aye an earthquake.
These lines are from his famous poem Arise O Gardener. In this particular poem, the poet urges his countrymen, whom he compares to Gardeners looking after the beautiful garden Kashmir, to attain freedom through thunderstorm, tempest and earthquake. The state force arrested Mahjoor for writing these lines, but was soon releases. These lines became so popular that the National Conference adopted it as a national anthem. It is ironic to note here that to a Garden all of the three – thunderstorm, tempest and earthquake, are actually quite damning.
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The translation to the poems is from the book:
The Best of Mahjoor
(Selections from Mahjoor’s Kashmiri Poems)
J&K Academy of Art, Culture and Language, Srinagar, 1989
Translated by: Triloki Nath Raina
History of Srinagar, 1846-1947: A Study in Socio-cultural Change (1975) written by Mohammad Ishaq Khan, provided some great information about the poet.
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Much later, under the government of Sheikh Abdullah, poet Mahjoor was arrested.
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In 1972 a bilingual film named Shayar-e-Kashmir Mahjoor was released with the Hindi version starring Balraj Sahani. The famous “left leaning” Hindi film actor Balraj Sahani, one of the pioneers of IPTA (Indian People’s Theatre Association), already knew Mahjoor and held him in great esteem. Bhisham Sahni, the younger brother of Balraj Sahani, most famous for his novel and television screenplay Tamas, writes in Balraj, My Brother (1981) that many years before the making of the movie, Balraj Sahani having heard the renown of Mahjoor, went to him in a remote village in the interior of Kashmir. Mahjoor at that time was still working as a revenue official.
History of Srinagar, 1846-1947: A Study in Socio-cultural Change (1975) by Mohammad Ishaq Khan , quotes Balraj Sahani on Mahjoor:
“ His songs and his poems are the cherished property of very man, woman and child, living between Baramulla and Pir Panchal. If Mahjoor writes a poem today it will be on the lips of the populace within a fortnight. Children on their way to school, girls thrashing rice, boatman plying the paddle, laborers bending in their ceaseless toil, all will be singing it.”
The author gives the source as The Vishwa-Bharati Quarterly, November, 1938, vol iv, part III, new series, pp. 213-221)
dyar hase chu saf’ras
