Witches of Kashmir

“I know no country on earth where so many witches could be enlisted for Macbeth, if, instead of three, Shakespeare had wanted a hundred thousand.”

Words of French naturalistVictor Jacquemont in another translated version of his originally in french, ‘Letters from India'(1834). I have previously written at length about his letter [here] but after coming across a fresh caustic version of his judgement on un-beauty of Kashmiri women in ‘The Asiatic journal and monthly miscellany, Volume 15’ published in 1834 by East India Company [Google Book Link] and in ‘Letters from India and Kashmir’ (1870) by J. Duguid, I felt like borrowing an old insult and digging up his bones from the grave and then burying him again. And what better way than this…

A Pandit Woman by Pandit Vishwanath, 1920. [More about this first Pandit photographer here]
Found on ebay. Phtotographer unknown. My guess Fred Bremner from 1900.

‘A Kashmiri nautch girl with a hookah’ by Mortimer M. Menpes (1860-1938)[via: christies ]
[More Kashmir work by Mortimer Menpes here]
‘Two Natch Girls’ by William Carpenter [via: Victoria and Albert Museum].
More works of William Carpenter on Kashmir here
A Beauty of the Valley’ by G. Hadenfeldt, found in  ‘The Charm of Kashmir’ (1920) by V.C. Scott O’connor.  [previously posted here]
Natch Girls, albumen print by Francis Frith from 1870s.

Dancing-girl of Cashmere, a wood engraving from the 1870s by Emile Bayard.
Above two are from the servers of columbia.edu, scavenged from an ebay listing dated 2001 and 2009 respectively. Someone over there must have gone through the same loop that I am going through now.
 [My detailed post on Kashmiri Natch Girls
from ‘Our summer in the vale of Kashmir’ (1915) by Frederick Ward Denys.

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Hanji’s Love Song

Photograph from A lonely summer in Kashmir (1904) by Margaret Cotter Morison.
[more photographs from the book here]

Hanji’s Love Song

You are my flower, and I would fain adore you
With love and golden gifts for all my days;
Burn scented oil in silver lamps before you,
Pour perfume on your feet with prayer and praise
For we are one – round me your graces fling
Their chains, my heart to you for aye I gave –
One in the perfect sense our poets sing,
“Gold and the bracelet, water and the wave.”

From ‘Afoot Through the Kashmir Valleys’ (1901) by Marion Doughty. [Photographs from the book here]

Gun Men

A product of Vincent Brooks Day & Son, Ltd., London from “Our visit to Hindostán, Kashmir, and Ladakh” (1879) by MRS J. C. MURRAY AYNSLEY. This was part of the book, but had nothing to do with Kashmir.
Indian and European Hunters with Guns and Trophies Outside Tents at Their Camp 1864 (Via: Smithsonian Photography Initiative) By  Samuel Bourne.

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Zethan, north by northwest

Travellers in Kashmir (~1920) by Miss G. Hadenfeldt [more]





Sent in by my Uncle R.L Das. 
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Zethan is an obscure village lying north by northwest on the outer fringes of Handwara tehsil. In the year 1998, I was promoted and transferred to Kashmir valley as provincial deputy drugs controller.Even though the militancy had ebbed down it had not been wiped out.Kashmiri pandits still felt insecure over there.I filed a civil miscellaneous petition against my posting,which was dismissed ab intio. I had but to join my new posting. Luckily, no mishap took place during my five years tenure.

During the winter of year 2000, our office received a stream of complaints against one Sarah of Dangiwachi and one Surinder Singh of village Zethan. The complaints indicated that both of them sold drugs without any drug licenses and they indulged in quackery. During the last twenty years, the people of Kashmir have developed a favorite pastime of filing frivolous complaints against one another. I would have taken these complaints lightly, but this time, action on complaints was endorsed by Dy. Chief Minister.

I proceeded towards Zethan with my inspectorate staff taking a route via Sopore, then crossing the Baramulla –Handwara road. We reached a populous village known as Rafiabad. I had visited this village earlier in 1976 when it was still known as Dangiwacha (Kashmiri word for ‘animal’s calf’). At that time it was a sleepy village with kuchha houses with thatched roofs. This time around these had been replaced by pucca houses with corrugated tin roofs.An expansive Higher secondary school had replaced the old primary school of 1976.

Upon inquiring about Sarah, we realized she was a rather well known in the area. We were directed towards another village a couple of miles up ahead, near a rather new and large military camp . Looking for Sarah
we were led to a big shop that stood out as it looked more or less like a government dispensary. Inside, a plump lady with handsome features was examining female patients, a stethoscope in hand, plugged to her ears. A bearded man, most probably her husband was dispensing medicines. So, the complaint
was right. Sarah was not only a quack but performed  D&C (douche and cleaning) as well.

We asked for her qualification. She said that she was an unemployed auxiliary nurse and that her husband was a plain matriculate. Procedure to be followed in such case was clear and well defined. The shop had to be shut. But as we were about to sieze the medicines and stethoscope, two army-men entered the shop and asked us to accompany them as some Colonel Sahib wanted to talk to us. We went to Colonel Sahib’s
camp. After introductions he offered us cardamom flavored Kahwa. He got talking.

‘Mr.Das, I am happy you people are doing a good job, preventing misuse of medicines and malpractices but at the same time you must be aware that Kashmir is also covered under AFSP act. This means that we have to see that peace is maintained in the area. I am responsible for effective maintainance of the act in this area.’

Then he got to the point.

‘This lady, Sarah, is doing a good job of maintaining peace in the area by looking after sick people and she is doing it on a charitable basis.’

And then in a clear high tone, he ordered.

‘I hope you understand, she should not be penalized’.

And that was that. Sarah seemed to be well connected in her territory. It is usually risky to take cudgels with army people especially when they have unbridled powers. So we moved on. There was one more complaint to be looked into.

From here, it was an uphill journey to Surinder Singh’s shop. While on way, just as we started, it started snowing. The uphill journey took us to one of the most breathtaking views I have ever seen. On the way we could see boulders of different shapes and sizes scattered over a vast area, right up-to the top, on the side of a hillock. Probably caused by a cloudburst, sometime long ago. Off  and on we could see forest huts with trellis and shingled roofs. The snow around their windowpanes reminded me of the scenes from the movie, Dr. Zivago.

We must have walked twenty kilometers uphill to reach our destination. Sardarji Surinder Singh’s pharmacy wasn’t hard to locate. The complaint seemed frivolous as he had a very neat premises and his
records were update. He had a drug license also. All clear credentials.

A thought occurred to me, ‘Why a city bred person had chosen this remote village near the border for his business?’. It was beyond my comprehension.

While conducting inspection, a curious crowd had gathered around the shop. I had a good look on them. I was surprised to see that most of the onlookers were fair complexioned and wore round frilled woolen
caps. Many of them had steel grey eyes and unlike Kashmiris did not wear Pherans, for they were draped in woolen blankets.

While on our way back, I asked the drugs inspector of the area, a local guy, a Kashmiri, as to who were those onlookers.

‘ Sir, your guess is as good as mine.’ That’s all he said

R.L DAS
JUNE 2011

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I couldn’t help pointing out to my uncle that in the place high up in the mountains, in that thunderstruck place, in that pass peppered with boulders brought down by clouds and snow, everyone is an outsider.

KP, KM, 1928

A Kashmiri Pandit (L) and a Kashmiri Muslim (R) in 1928. Captured by Martin Hurlimann.
Came across these two photographs at ebay. The photographer, unidentified.

Some wildlife from Jammu Division

[There photographs (and captions) were sent in by Man Mohan Munshi Ji. he tells me that back in his days he was quite a hunter but has now turned a conservationist.]

Chitals on a river bed during dry season
Giant Lizards at higher reaches of Basoli- Bhadarwah track

Himalayan Black Bear, Wardan Valley, Kishtwar
Peacock perched on a Mauruti 800 at outskirts of Jammu
Resus monkeys perched  in a three tire position on a Deodar Tree
Russel’s Viper in my backyard

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Killer Weekend Joke

This weekend, a cousin of mine told me a touching little tale about ‘going back’. Recently, a friend of his went back to Kashmir, his first return trip after the great final trip out. June for Pandits has come to be the month of return, as a goddess at Tullamulla awaits. In a couple of years, if thing go great, it will be the month of our Hajj. On return, we too will tell great of our Hajj. But this is that story.

 On this Hajj to Kashmir, my cousin’s friend, henceforth to be called KP for the lack of writer’s imagination, took the time out to meet two of his childhood friends, let’s call them, since the tone is already set, KM1 and KM2. Incredible things followed, naturally, nothing melodramatic, after all we are talking about three men. What followed was a meeting-up of three long lost friends after years of decades. Of course, they had stayed in touch, but now they were all united on the same old turf. They reminisced about old places of their childhood, one of the KMs took out his car and out they went visiting those places. Places deep inside the down-town. KP was happy, if nostalgia is a happy feeling. They roared the town late into the night. Certainly things had improved, he thought and was glad to be with his friends. The jokes and the tales kept coming. Someone always came close to dying in some of those jokes and stories. Somehow, those jokes are the best.

After all the places were exhausted, and while there were sill some anecdotes to be shared by the KMs, they headed back to the hotel where KP was staying. On the way back, on a wide open road tinted yellow by sleepy street lights, the car stopped to pick an extra passenger, KM3 who seemed to be looking for a lift. KMs obviously knew him. Greetings were exchanged among the KMs. KM2 sitting next to the driver, turned back to unlock the lock and open the door. As KM3 bend his back and ducked his neck into the car, KP, who was sitting at the back, appearing to make space, even though there was no real need, moved a little towards the door next to him. In form of a greeting, he shot a nervous smile at the new entrant.

As the car started, KM2 with a wide grin asked KP, ‘Batta, zanaan chukha Yemis (Pandit, do you know this guy?)’. KP recalled the faces of his other childhood friends, he thought he remembered, Farhan, Yaseen, Kasif…it was pointless. He couldn’t tell, they all looked so young. But before he could replay, even as he was shaking his head sideways, KM2 replied, ‘Ye gov Bitte Karantay (This is Bitta Karantay)’, and he gave a laugh that was picked up by KM1. What followed is pointless. Here my cousin, who is usually great with words, had some trouble trying to express what his friend must have felt sitting in that car next to the famous butcher of Kashmiri Pandits. To put a logical end to the story, as we laughed, my cousin went on to say that in his defense, Bitta Karantay did say to his friend that he only killed four Kashmiri Pandits back then, rest of it is all fabricated lies. He now makes an honest living working as a recovery agent for some establishment into money making business. The pointlessness of it all.

KP had been asked the wrong question in the wrong kind of situation and perhaps and by the wrong people. And now he was in the wrong kind of  ‘going back to Kashmir’ story. Isn’t that is a killer joke in which no one dies?

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