Kashmir

The black pavilion built during the early part of Jahangir’s reign (1569–1627), in the top terrace of the Shalimar Bagh, has the famous inscription in Persian, which says

اگر فردوس بر روے زمین است
همین است و همین است و همین است
Agar Firdaus bar rōy-e zamin ast,
hamin ast-o hamin ast-o hamin ast.

This is a couplet wrongly attributed to the Persian-language poet Amir Khusrau, But written by a Persian poet ‘Orfi Shirazi during his visit to Kashmir.

It’s the Shalimar, the gem, the aspired destination for everyone. Unfortunately it remained a dream as the valley became unsafe and we vicariously enjoyed the beauty in Hindi films. Last year there were hordes who visited there. My husband,  reluctant to travel at all was further daunted by the  journey to 3 places. I was adamant and signed up with a Womens group Women on Wanderlust. A bucket list item to be ticked off and my bucket was not too far away.

Despite my family having reservations about safety issues I set off regardless. A non-stop flight and we were circling around Srinagar after a few hours.. The gorgeous snow capped peaks rubbed shoulders with the wings of the plane. The clouds gave way to a clearer vision of the valley dotted with multi-coloured squares which were probably houses. The river rippled by and the Jhelum swapped with the Lidder, both  supremely beautiful. Like the Bard said “Whats in a name?”

We landed at an airport with tight security and had to purchase a local sim card. The parallel arrivals for the group, we boarded a bus to drive to the houseboat where we were staying for the night. The drive was enchanting. Wide smooth roads, a clean city like no other. Fascinating were the homes. Boxes with sloping roofs like the ones we drew as kids. Brightly coloured, double terraced, with towers, turrets and attics. Some square, some tall some wide. Gardens dotted with flowers.  Wooden paned windows in different patterns. This was the landscape for the rest of the trip. Urban, rural, old or new, official or  residential, rich or poor these houses maintained the quaint designs.

The Shikara ride on the Dal Lake to our houseboat was almost like the films we had seen and we mock sang like Shammi Kapoor thoroughly enjoying the landscape. The group was an interesting mix of North and South Indians, professionals and artists. We were led by a sprightly young twenty something Aliya who negotiated the slopes like a goat and was everywhere when needed.

The Shikaras were modes of transport but there were others selling everything from clothes to trinkets to food to drinks to handicraft. The edges were lined with shops where we were taken and assured that it was the best wholeseller.

Pahalgam was the next destination, post a stop at Avantipura which housed  two 9^th century temples, one dedicated to Krishna and the other to Shiva both lay in ruins. The massive stone pillars lay strewn around a square stepped courtyard and was reminiscent of the grand days of the eponymous king  Avantivarman. Managed by ASI, the stone blocks were a jigsaw puzzle with many missing pieces.  The final pic was surely exceptional.

The Aru and Betaab Valley in Pahalgam were the setting of many films. The valleys encircled with snow clad peaks and dotted with Cypress and Chinar trees were almost picture perfect. During the drive as we drove in spiral turns the trees masked and unmasked the peaks. There were waterfalls and rivulets, horses grazing in some flat paddocks, cows and goats frisked around bright roses.

In Pahalgam we were strolling by the river when two men with bundles stopped and put their bundles on the ground. They had beautiful stoles made of yak wool. Master bargainer that I am, I managed a great bargain. Back at the hotel, everyone else wanted the same and as it was dark I called them to the hotel. They were not allowed in and we all squatted on the roadside. Some queries later we were informed that it was against the hotel policy and the owner was there. Undaunted I went up to the owner and asked for a favour. An extremely charming man, a few exchanged compliments later he allowed them in. They sold quite a few and must have been very happy. I figured out the next day.

Betaab Valley the locale for the same film was crowded. After a wheezing fit I took a locally made wheel chair and while being wheeled down I was assailed by requests to buy shawls. I had engineered sales of a considerable amount for Shaukat Bhai and they were allowed entry to the hallowed premises.

Word had spread like wild fire. I was not even sure how they recognized me. I was Queen of Betaab Valley for those few moments. The power of the media? Or just gossiping groups over wood fires on a chilly night.

The time was not the right one as we encountered bare apple trees which blossom in September. We just missed the tulips in April and the saffron fields in November. On hindsight a single trip to Kashmir can never be enough. One can only dream wildly of the changing seasons and the transformed beauty of this heavenly dale. We drove down the road to Pahalgam and stopped at an erstwhile apple orchard. The two trees in front were laden with luscious apples and a stall nearby was selling juice. A “Don’t Touch” sign was pasted ominously on the tree. On closer inspection we found that the apples were stuck on as well. To give us a feel of the real thing!

The Gulmarg Gondola had us all perplexed. The drive to the same had roads covered with coat and shoe shops. We drew to a stop in front of one. We didn’t have much clarity but were assured that we would need the heavy galoshes in the snow at Level 1. I was made to wear an overcoat which must have weighed at least 20 kilos. Like a grizzly bear I wobbled to the car curious as to how the Gondola would go upstream. Many of us wondered the same. Lo and behold we reached the Gulmarg Gondola which was a Cable Car, not the Venetian gondolier strumming his guitar.. We reached Level one and to reach the ski slopes we had a pony ride and then the skiing, sledding and other fun things, which didn’t sound fun at the thought of riding up on a pony. My back smarted with the memory of a pony ride many years ago in Darjeeling. I chose to stay back as did others. We wandered around, walked up to a river, back again to starting point. The Gondola took us back to Ground Zero and we retired to the Hotel.

Srinagar included a touristy round of the two gardens. Nishat Bagh ‘The Garden of Delight’ is a garden with views of the lake beneath the Pir Panjal mountain range. The Bagh was designed and built in 1633 by Asif Khan, elder brother of Nur Jahan.  The Shalimar Bagh was built by the Mughal Emperor Jahangir in 1619. It  is well known for chini khanas, or arched niches, behind garden waterfalls. These niches were lighted at night with oil lamps, which gave a fairy tale appearance to the waterfalls. The Baradari is the Courtyard, in the garden complex, the Baradari had four exquisite doors made of stones supported by pillars. It is conjectured that these stone doors were ruins from old temples that were demolished by Shahjahan. The garden also provided large water troughs where a variety of fountains were fixed.

The trip almost done, there were places omitted for lack of time.  I stole away from the group for the last day and booked into a beautiful home Kani Homestay run by Ishfaq Bhai. A turreted home with a splendid garden and prized roses.  “Kilab” an art lab on the premises made beautiful handcrafted curios. The food was scrumptious and local  home made.

I took a cab and visited the Hazratbal Shrine and the Gurudwara not on the itinerary. The first building of the shrine was constructed in 17th century by Mughal subedar Sadiq Khan during the emperor Shah Jahan‘s reign. The shrine contains strands of what is believed by many Muslims to be the hair of the Islamic prophet Muhammad. Moi-e-Muqaddas .

Chatti Padshahi Gurudwara in Srinagar is an important religious centre for Sikhs. It is situated outside the Har Parbat Fort’s southern gate , the legend of this gurudwara associates it with Guru Hargobind – the sixth Sikh Guru and his ardent devotee Mai Bhagbhari. It is said that she yearned for long to get a glimpse of the Guru, who finally visited her.

The Sankracharya Temple was missed by me due to the steep climb but I did go Downtown on the advice of Ishfaq Bhai. Downtown, popularly known as Shahar-e-Khaas, is mostly located on the banks of Jhelum river.  In general, the whole area to the north of city centre Lal Chowk is considered a part of downtown although some areas hold high significance. The river was rippling with bridges connecting the two parts. The Jamia Masjid,  and many other shrines are located here, which makes it the central spiritual, religious, political and moral center of whole Kashmir. Could not pack in all and have to certainly return to see the rest.

The Jamia Masjid is heavily influenced by Persian architecture, with similarities to the Buddhist pagodas. The structure is quadrangular in shape with four turrets. This courtyard is based on the traditional Chaar Bagh plan and has a tank in the centre. The entire courtyard is made up of pointed arched, brick arcade. The pillars in the halls are cedar trees which have been polished and installed. It can hold 33,000 persons for prayers at any one time

An off beat journey was to Ganderbal a friends wicker weaving unit and we stopped by the  Manasbal Lakewhich  is a freshwater lake. The name Manasbal is said to be a derivative of Manasarovar. Again pristine in its stillness and the beauty of the surrounding mountains and flora and fauna.

I left for Srinagar with very strict orders from my family to not comment or converse on contentious issues. A chatterbox, it was not easy for me to contain the hundred questions milling around in my mind, maybe about Section 370. Our bus driver was Nissar Ali and on the longish journey he sang delightfully and shared pics of his beautiful wife and children. His wedding photo had him wearing a Rajasthani  pagri and not a Sehra. My curiosity was piqued and I couldn’t help asking why? It was a family tradition for hundreds of years. He thoughtfully remarked that his title was Rathed a derivative of Rathore. They were in all probability Rajputs who converted to Islam. Similarly there were Bhats and other ambivalent names. Interesting genealogy!

From the time I landed to the time I left there was eerily an absence of women. On the streets, in public places, in hotels, shops.  The few pics I took were of women in villages who tried to scurry away with a Hijab pulled closer. A beautiful girl with a coronet was an exception in Srinagar, in her Father’s shop.

The men were all eye candy and anywhere we looked there was a potential film star. Balm for the eyes. God has been unjust perchance and he spent so much time in his neighbourhood he forgot about the other world.

Kashmir is beautiful, impeccably clean, wide roads, houses. They lack employment and are scraping together a living. The general refrain was “ we are safe, in fact safer now” as trouble makers had been removed. It was safe even for me but an uneasy safety, with the invisible “SHE”