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Third Refuge, 1990-91
As the winter of 1990 set in, we moved to a newer better place. This was the third move. The place was in a mohallah of old Jammu city known as ‘Chogan Salathian’, overlooking the Tawi river from a high ground. The area is just next to Mubarak Mandi palace in Jammu, the power seat of old Dogra kingdom.
A century ago, in this mohalla lived the administrators and relatives of the old Dogra ruling class.
By 1990, some of them had already moved on to other destnations, leaving only their big old houses behind. At this place, we took on rent a diwan hall of an old haveli known as ‘Diwan Ki Haveli’. It cost us nine hundred rupees a month. Given the conditions in which most pandits were living in Jammu at the time, it was the most luxurious place that money could rent. That hall is still the most specious room I have lived in, ever. I felt like a royalty. It still amazes me that more than a decade later when my father moved to Noida, Delhi-NCR, he took a hall on rent, quarter in size with no windows, that cost him around fourteen hundred.
The room came with no furniture. Previous owner had only left a copy of Gita and a small bronze statue of Krishna.
New Door. The place was locked, no one lives here anymore. So, I couldn’t go in. |
Door of the house just opposite the haveli. The old door of the haveli looked something like this. It had those protective metal spikes. |
There were at least three other Pandit refugee families already living in the haveli, beside two Dogra families, one of them caretakers of the Haveli. The other families had taken up various rooms of the house. In our case, we created our own room.
We carved three room out of the hall using bedsheets and curtains. In the first room: kitchen and parents. In the second room, the middle one: my parents and sister. Third room, near the door: uncle and guest room. I was free to live in any one of them. I liked the outer room the most in the day. It had a big old window on which you could sit and watch monkeys steal cloths. At night I would sleep in the kitchen, nestled between my grand-parents.
The window would be the one at absolute top (not clearly visible) |
When summer came of 1991 came, it became obvious why my family moved here. My family, due to my grandfather’s state government service, had experience of Jammu thanks to ‘Darbar Mov’. They knew where to stay safe from Jammu’s summer. These old haveli’s, due to their build and design, would stay relatively cooler even as outside temperatures rose dramatically. The windows of the hall were facing only late afternoon sun. You could sleep it off the noon heat. But, I guess only elders worried about the sun, temperature and sweat. I spent most of my time on the roof.
The haveli was proving to be a mysterious playground for me. On the roof top, under a mud mould, I once found a bag of marbles. There must have been five hundred of those multi-coloured glass balls inside it. I didn’t know how to play Kanchey, so I just kept giving them away to random people. I made friends. There was a Dogra boy in that house that used to make torches using match-boxes, pencil- cells and LEDS. Just opposite the hall, on an outer ‘chajja’, balcony, of the haveli, lived a family of ‘Bhats’ comprising an middle aged couple, a granny, an adult son and two young daughters. The son, jobless and with nothing to do, would often join me on the high roof in the evenings to watch the setting sun. From the roof you could see the entire old city covered in gentle red glow. He could play flute beautifully. He was a cross between Anil Kapoor and Jackie Shroff for his hair style and moustache. But he would never play that 80s tune.
I remember watching Aashiqui on a VCP in the haveli. The system had been brought on rent for viewing Bua’s marraige cassette. The last time we had borrowed VCP, I had watched Rakhwala. It was summer of 1989. In 1991, Aashiqui with its songs was the rage in town. There was even a brand of Gutkha named after it. It still exist. The general rule back then, and still applicable, was: stay away from people who carry Aashiqui. It was flavor of anti-socials.
I had my first taste of racism here at this place. On the day we moved to the hall, me and my sister noticed a small park near by. We never had parks in Srinagar near our house. We played in house and not in public parks. Park was a novelty. In Srinagar only the newer colonies like Chanpora had them. We wanted to explore the park. However, I remember getting chased away from the park by kids. Moments ago they had been teasing monkeys. And now they were on to us. As we enter the park, they told us we did not belong to the place. That we were outsiders. Kashmiris. They wouldn’t let us enter. Their language was new to my ears. In that moment, it was the language of primal violence. We ran.
A few months later, I celebrated my first Holi at the same park. There was no Holi in Kashmir, atleast never like the one in Jammu. When I first heard what people in Jammu did on Holi, I thought of hiding away. There was no escape. On the day, a toli reached our place. Uncle had his kurta torn away. He was blue. I was red. Everyone was drenched in water, some mud. There was much dancing on the street. I think some of the men were drunk. A few years later, I was among the Holi toli people.
The monkey park |
Way round the house. |
The place nearby where a relative lived. The room on the roof is gone and the house is crumbling |
Nothing bad really happened that year. Only Badi Bau arrived one day with her head bandaged. A monkey had dropped a brick over her head. It was funny then and still is. She was crossing a particular spot in the lane the led to the haveli. There was a rundown house at the spot where monkeys could often be seen conferring. That’s where it happened. One of them just dropped a brick on her as she was passing. After that brick incident, it became a habit with me to never cross that spot without looking up, always expecting a monkey holding a brick in its hands.
House of monkeys |
Billoo Bhel’s spot |
Galli Wazir Sobha Ram, wazir under Pratap Singh. |
The ‘shortcut’ lane that lead to my first school in Jammu. It was a walking distance from the Haveli.
I saw things in Jammu that I would not have seen in Kashmir Thing that never seize to amaze me |
Luthra Academy |
When the migrant children arrived in Jammu, there weren’t enough schools for all of them. Slowly, after a few months, space was created. Almost every school had ‘Migrant sections’ for each standard. Classed would be carried in open or on the rooftops. Me and my sister were admitted to Luthra Academy. I had to go through 3rd standard all over again as I couldn’t finish the standard in Srinagar. So, here I was in Jammu, finishing 3rd standard on the roof top of a school in Jammu. I was glad I wouldn’t have to see Biscoe’s swimming pool again. The place I was sure I was going to die.
The day we left that hall for another refuge, while packing things up, I accidentally knocked the Krishna statue over from a shelf. It’s base fell off. Inside the hollow of the statue, I found a dozen old lithographs depicting various scenes from Hindu mythology done in what I now recognise as basohli art. I can’t say how old those lithographs were. I packed them back inside the statue and left them as they were. Sometimes, I still wonder if I should have stolen them. I wonder if it is still there.
A town fascinated with ‘Kala Bhoot’ |
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1857, Umrao Jaan, Kashmiris, Lucknow
A page from Hindi edition (by Manoj Publications) of Mirza Mohammad Hadi Ruswa‘s classic urdu novel ‘Umrao Jan Ada‘ (1899), a memoir of a courtesan of mid-19th century Lucknow.
Lines as mentioned in the english translation from 1970 by Khushwant Singh/M.A. Husaini
There is reference to Kashmiri Bhands in that page. In another instance, the bhands are mentioned in the part about ‘Mutineers’ of 1857. Kashmiri Bhands were entertaining the mutineers.
The page also mentions ‘Dilaram’s Baradari’.
For Kashmiri Pandits of Lucknow, the fact that British survived the rising of 1857 proved a blessing for Pandit had shifted the loyalties from Nawabs to British flag. And for this support they were duly awarded.
Dilaram’s Baradari: Rai Dila Ram, was Chakladar [district administrator] of Tandiaon (in Awadh). He son was Shiv Nath Kaul, who was given chakladri of Unao for not supporting the rebels in 1857. He was at the time the only Kashmiri Pandit taluqdar in Awadh. After his death in 1890, his estate was inherited by his widow Jagat Rani, and the British gave a grant of 4,952 rupees. Using the money they purchased land in Unao and Lucknow. Henny Sender writes in ‘The Kashmiri Pandits: a study of cultural choice in North India’ (1988), ‘Shiv Nath’s son, Sham Sunder Nath, became the community’s biggest zamindar, an enormous mansion was constructed in the Chaupation [Chaupatiyan] area of Lucknow known as Dilaram Bara Dari (referring to twelve doors of the residence) with a hall in which mushairas were held.’
From what I could gather there was also something called ‘Dilaram Palace’ in Lucknow.
“The registrar office [of Lucknow university] occupies, according to some historians, the site of now non-existent Dilaram Palace which was reduced to rubble by the British for smooth functioning of a battery of cannons aiming at Kaiserbagh in 1858.”
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Kashmiri Pandits of Lahore, 1940
[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]
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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.'”
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Abhimanyu in Chakravyuh in Kashmiri Miniature
Inside cover of ‘Kashmir’ (1977) by art critic Francis Brunel. Book gives it simply as ‘Miniature from Kashmiri Hindu manuscript’. It is easily identifiable as an episode from Mahabharata: Abhimanyu in Chakravyuh.
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Previously:
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Trekking in Kashmir by Barbara Earl, 1930
By early 20th century, a lot of women travellers started visiting Kashmir. Although, there are quite a few travelogues based on their experiences in Kashmir (Americans Dr. Arley Munson (1913), Alberta Johnston Denis (1934)), the books barely mention how these fiercely independent women were managing such strenuous travels. “Trekking in Kashmir, with a family, or without one” by English woman, based in Kodiakanal, Barbara Earl, is rare travel guide in that sense. Written in 1930 and published in Lahore, it was meant for women who wanted to go trekking in Kashmir valley, ‘with or without family’. So, besides the detailed (updated) travel information, it came with a lot of practical advise like: How to water proof a tent using something called ‘Sunlight’ soap, avoid theft at camp site, repel fleas and mosquitoes, manage supplies, which medicines to carry, and how to bake cookies before setting off for treks in Kashmir.
Barbara went with her two young children and a retinue of Kashmiri helpers |
‘Nawal Kishore & Sons’ An Ad for a Motor Shop in Rawalpindi |
This copy is heavy on ‘pen underlining’. The owner eighty years ago was using to to learn English, |
Regretfully, Map is (almost completely) missing |
Read and download the book: Here
‘Thass Mansion’: A House at Sathu Barbarshah
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 |
One of my Uncle’s still lives in some of the rooms in the house. A couple of rooms are rented.
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.
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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The Sun Chasers in Kashmir, 1913-14-15-16
Photo: Jammu. 2012. |
True Legend of Kaunsa Nag
or ‘Trash Town’, nestled in the Himalayan glaciers is a lake of pure waters known
as Kaunsa Nag, or the ‘Witch Lake’. All through the year, most of the lake is
covered under a thick sheet of ice that moves with the wind. On the eastern
shore of the lake can be seen a Muslim Mosque and a Hindu Temple. The
construction is recent but the natives believe them to be ancient. The rugged old
look of the two structures is due to the rather half-witted engineering by
locals that relies heavily on abundant ice cut stones found strewn all around
the lake. They look like piles of stones hurriedly put together by children,
something like the beach castle that Little Elsie made last summer on the beach
of Northumberland. Only these are much bigger.
its two ancient sentinels, standing next to each other, guarding the faithful
from cold indifferent beauty of nature. Hasn’t
our lord said, “…for truly I say to you, if you have faith the size of a
mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it
will move; and nothing will be impossible to you.”
thing that keeps you grounded to reality is the constant fluttering sound of
the green banner on the Mosque and the Saffron banner on the temple. It found
them a bit loud. Little Elsie however found those flags quite amusing. She took
out the whitest of her handkerchief and holding it over her head went
fluttering around the two shrines. Towards noon the wind grew a bit stronger.
Our native helpers were mortally scared that he would be blown into the lake
and captured by the Jinn. He claims the place is infested by a Jinni named Wav.
Muslims of the valley believe Prophet Solomon commanded a powerful Jinni to
guard this place. Hindus believes a divine snake of Vishnu (or Shiva, natives are always confused about it) sleeps
under its waters. Native will swear on the truth of such fantastical tales.
Only last year, Professor Knowtall in Lahore published a collection of the
fantastical tales told by Kashmiris. At the lake I heard a story worthy of
Professor Knowtall’s collection. My narrators were the two holy men, one Muslim
and another Hindu, the lonesome inhabitants of the two shrines. These men stay
here on the lake even in peak of winter. They claim it is just their faith and
mutual hatred of each other that keeps their blood warm in the coldest of
winters. The two came to dwell here atop this mountain in rather dramatic
circumstances.
two sects went to war with each other over the religious rights to the lake. Both
had scriptural evidence to support their claim. One was rooting for Giant
Serpents and another for Windy Jinn, both protectors of Kashmir. The leaders on
both sides were very powerful and advanced in mystical prowess. Of them it was
said, ‘Even a stare can silence a brook. A tear can flood a town. A laugh can
make a lion pee.’ (My translation doesn’t do justice to the lines, but they sounds
much better in native tongue). With power of righteousness on their sides they
armed themselves with weapons that could shred hundreds in a matter of seconds.
Many thousands died. Three times Kashmir was denuded of human population, three
time they all were reborn, risen from dead after having their sins accounted.
Yet the solution was not found. After much bloodshed it was decided that the
matter be settled by a duel of faith. It was a simple affair. Each side was to
choose one man, the one most faithful among them. Then the two men were sent to
live up at the lake for the entire duration of winter. At the end of winter,
the man still alive could claim the lake for his people. Each side chose one
pious man to whom were handed some Kehwa leaves (Kashmiri mild tea leaves), a
handful of almonds and some sugar candies. Before sending their heroes off with
a pat on the back, the tribesmen came out to greet them and shouted out loud, ‘Bala’ey
Dafa’ (a most emotional Kashmiri farewell greeting meaning ‘I wish I could come
with you but I love my life’. Natives have a knack for expressing their feeling
in very few words). On reaching the lake, the first thing the two men did was
to build their respective dwellings. These men built the first mosque and the
temple on the lake. Chanting
‘Blissmilla’ and ‘Wham Bham Bhoolay’, the two holy warriors went into their
respective caves and waited for the winter to pass them by.
their hero to arrive. One of them was going to return alive. But to their much surprise, both holy men walked down
from the lake alive. Thus the Gods had spoken. The lake belonged to the
followers of both religions. There were much celebrations and festivities. People showered Kehwa leaves, almonds and
sugar candies on the returning heroes. Thus was born the festival of
‘Daud-e-Dua’ for Muslims or ‘Chalo Bulawa’ for Hindus. But the joyous times
lasted only a year. During this year, certain unknown powerful people jealous
of the fame that the two holy men had attained started spreading scandalous rumours
(the natives are highly prone to rumours). In whispers (at first) it was said
the two men had become ‘humbistar’ (Shacked up) in the mountains. They asked,
‘How else could the men have kept themselves warm?’ Some said the deities of
the lake had swallowed them up but were vomited out for their bodies were fouled by sin. Some said the men hadn’t even been on the lake for the entire duration.
They were hiding in the houses of their ‘in-laws’ in a nearby village. In the beginning, afraid of the two holy men,
people laughed at these claims. The holy men sure of their clout, ignored
the snide remarks. All these allegations were serious, but the last straw that
broke the proverbial camel’s back came when someone accused them of stealing village goats at night during their stay at lake to satiate their bellies. When the holy men had gone up the hill, only days later the goats
had suddenly started disappearing at night. At that time, the villagers
had blamed ‘Rantus or a ‘Demoness’ for the theft. They had even caught an old
Rantus in the act of stealing and burnt her alive. But, in light of these new
revelations, they blamed the holy men for all that had gone wrong in the village. The holy men claimed innocence on all
counts. They rallied their supporters. The
people started calling them ‘Drokhlads’ or the ‘Chronic Vomitters’, the ones rejected even by Gods. (Even today their
followers are known as ‘Drokhlads’, however the two are separated along
religious lines owing to the position of goat in their respective theology).
tears for they were the Drokhlads of their generation. After their eyes and
nose ran dry, they continued:
that they be proven guilty of these crimes. The matter went to the court of
Sultan Shahmatudin. The wise king asked for four witnesses to be presented.
Readily four goats were presented in the court. The king asked them, ‘Do you
bear witness to their crimes?’ Goats in reply just nodded their heads sideways.
Among the natives, a sideway nod can mean a ‘Yes’ and even a ‘No’. The king
took it as a yes nod and promptly delivered justice. The men were to be
banished back to the lake.
Goat had implied no. Abraham’s goat, God’s gentle creature that was ever ready
to sacrifice its life for faithful could never lie. Surly, it meant no. We
didn’t do nothing. The animal symbol of Prajapati Daksha would loose its proud
head before siding with falsehood. We didn’t do nothing. Surly, it meant no. The
Jinns and the Snakes left us alive, surely it meant no. Our skins didn’t melt under mountain snow. We didn’t do
nothing Surely it meant no. The sun on the lake rose in the east. Surely it meant
no. The moon spilt in two. Surely it meant no.
form a bulky work of lyrics known as ‘Drokh-tar-Tarana‘, a MSC of which is
easily procurable in markets of Srinagar]
had by now melted on hearing these lamentation, Drokhlad at the start of winter were
finally back at the lake and into their individual cave shrines. The villagers could be heard crying and chanting, ‘Ek sindh Drokh Bey sindh Gizah‘ (One man’s vomit, another man’s food). It is said at the end of winter when their
followers went to check on them, the caves were found empty with only two
empty wine cups inside each cave. The holy men had descended to heaven after
receiving the divine nectar. It is said the Day of Judgment and final Fair Beginnings
shall be near when the two return with proof of ‘Na’.
keep watch at the spot and to wait for the two holy men. The watch has since been
maintained. Every year believers throng the place on the day of
Chalo-Bulawa-Daud-e-Dua (We got to go, faith calls). They drop Kehwa leaves, a handful of almonds and some
sugar candies into the lake, hoping the lake would boil one day transform into
a a giant teakettle that will serve the nectar of truth to all the dwellers of
the valley, and later perhaps to the whole world. [It is quite a scene I am told when the natives visit the place with their wives and children in tow carrying samavars to the lake on their head.]
he had a grand mosque and a temple constructed at the lake. Great Akhbaar understood
the true meaning of the story. His court poet, Aull Fazuul had the meaning inscribed
on a black marble and placed at the spot:-
binding together the hearts of the believers in Hindustan, and especially those
of His worshippers that live in the province of Kashmir,
of creation, Shah Akhbaar,
elements attain perfect mixture.
first destroy the mosque;
first destroy the temple;
with all men, but if we look to the internal, we find everything ought to be destroyed
proper.
king what motives people should have.”
His motives weren’t religious, he just didn’t approve of the
design (and possibly out of environmental concerns) .
built during the Afghan governorship and the temple came up during the Dogra
rule. The ticket counter I presume will follow soon.
who visited Kashmir in 1874 with her children.
Cost of Migration
Found while my father was doing his post-retirement file purge – the ritual in which retiree gets rid of all the useless papers accumulated over years of work, bits that at one time must have held some meaning. Among the papers, I found this old pocket phonebook from year 1990. He was going to throw this away. It’s the diary in which he maintained the expenses of moving out of Kashmir.
Truck: 800, the truck in which material possession of three families were hurriedly loaded.
Auto (Driver: 20), for the morning drive from house to the bus stand.
Lunch: 50, had at the bus’s stopover after crossing Kashmir.
Mother: 100, left with his mother who was going to stay in Kashmir.
Satish: 100, for uncle who years later died in an road accident while making his ‘back to Kashmir’ trip.
Muni: 500, for my mother. Father was going to go back for his parents.
In total, the expense was just a little over a month’s salary of my father. And his bank balance stood just has about four times of that.
On the next page is the birth dates of me and my sister.
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