Kashmir

Shunya was recently talking about possible solutions for the situation in Kashmir. Indeed, the place has been a battlefield practically my entire adult life and truly there seems to be no easy answers to the problem of what to do.

When pressed, Shunya said he thought that,

...if a people demonstrably want independence, the Indian state has no right withholding it. The current occupation will only radicalize the local Muslim youths. As Kennedy said, “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable."

Nodding my head in agreement as I read; I couldn't help but wonder, but, do governments often give up states? Or parts of states? When colonial powers call it quits and pull out or governments collapse-- those are the times we see countries divided or broken up. But what about countries on the rise, like India? It doesn't seem likely they would give up territory-- no matter what the human and economic cost.

In truth, I have been in love with Kashmir my whole life. And, just like Herr Utz, I can point to the precise moment-- both in time and place-- of the start of my obsession.

I was maybe 10 or 11, and like every month, my heart skipped a beat when I saw the magazine's bright yellow cover sticking out of our mail box: National Geographic! The Vale of Kashmir was the cover story-- and from that moment on, Kashmir became the place of my dreams. Even the little girls on the cover with their hair pulled back in scarves with huge, bright blue eyes, fascinated me and I remember telling my mom how, "this is what I should look like."

I kept the magazine for years, and read what I could-- but in fact, there really wasn't a lot of well-written histories or accounts of the region-- with the exception of, of course, Rumer Godden. The lack of books, however, allowed my imagination greater freedom....

Finally, away at college the chance presented itself-- a trip to India. My traveling companion-- well, I think he actually thought we were going to Rajasthan. Little did he realize that I had other plans-- and not just other plans, but a one-track mind to go with those plans! Landing in Delhi, I insisted we head straight to the train station:

 "We've gotta head into the mountains, you see."

It was very late, and dark, and the Delhi train station was eerily quiet (though packed with sleeping travelers, who were sprawled on mats and on benches).

Exhausted from the flight from Amman, the place seemed shut for the night. Suddenly, though, a man came out of nowhere (a phenomenon which happened a lot to us in India I recall), took us by the arm saying, "you want a bus, I think"... and literally an hour later we were heading north-- at full throttle. We were on a "video bus" and the Bollywood extravaganza was blaring out the bus speakers full blast.

Yes, we were on our way.

24 hours later, covered in soot from the road, we stumbled off the bus, and there before my eyes was the object of my desire. No amount of reading and no amount of imagination could have prepared me for what splendors would unfold in front of my eyes in the days to come.

Staying on one of Dal lake's legendary houseboats, we both just silently looked around, stunned at the incredible beauty of the place. Shikaras glided here and there along the lake and through the many watercourses. It was early June and water plants and flowers were in full bloom in the shallower parts of the lake, where children played and large families, vacationing in the Vale from the plains, bordered brightly decorated boats to head out to the Gardens of Love that dot the lakes in Srinagar.

Yes, the gardens of love.

My favorite garden, Shalimar, had been built by the Moghul emperor Jehangir in 1616 to celebrate his love for his wife. Set up against Dal Lake, the entire garden is a cool grassy place created along three great terraces (charbaghs)-- the lowest originally set aside for the common people, the middle for the invited guests of the emperor, and finally the top charbagh, which was reserved for the emperor himself. Along the fountains and canals, colorful spring flowers were in bloom.

Kashmiris-- like Persians-- love to picnic, and countless families were enjoying themselves under the shade of the many trees. We elected to have ours right on top the emperor's terrace with its splendid views of the lake below. Sultan's wife had prepared a true Persian-style picnic of pollo rice and yogurt, kebabs and tea served in glasses. Although nearly 20 years have passed since then, I will never forget it. To sit in the warm sunshine in a cool garden surrounded by the sounds of water and laughing children-- truly it was just as the Kashmiris say, "a piece of heaven."

Surrounded on almost all sides by the greater Himalayas, Sultan told us that the Kashmiris liken their valley to a huge emerald surrounded by diamonds. Those diamonds, my companion was anxiously waiting to travel over. He thought we were there only killing time till the road opened to Ladakh. Didn't he know, I would have stayed right there in Kashmir the rest of my life?

A full month later than is done in Japan, they had just let the water flood into the rice terraces that dotted the lush, emerald green valley. Each terrace, bordered by pink colored stones, was like a gigantic mirror reflecting the snow-covered mountains in their glassy waters.

"Did they make those fields just for the sheer beauty of them," I wondered.

"No stupid, they're for food!"

You see, I had never left the country before. This was my first time ever abroad-- and even the rice paddies were unfamiliar.

My companion had grown increasingly anxious, though. He could no longer wait for the snows to melt. Didn't I know, they were having their most famous masked dance ceremony in just two more weeks in Leh?  And he had his heart set on being there for it. So, everyday, we took a shikara from our houseboat across hepatitis-filled waters to shore. There we would go line up at the air India office to see about getting on a flight to Leh.

But flights were booked solid till the end of the month and the Beacon Highway had still not announced an open date for the season. He was beside himself.

Across the street, there was a cafe. I hadn't thought of it in years. In fact, I might never have really thought of it before. But, I'm sure it was there. A small wooden house-- like any you would see in northern California with a large garden full of tables, with wind chimes in the trees and music playing nonstop. They served the backpacker's food you can find anywhere from Bangkok to Borocay: banana pancakes, iced coffee, delicious icecream, burgers, curries, vegetarian.... Was it my imagination or wasn't that Led Zeppelin playing in the background: Kashmir.

"What are we going to do?"

In spite of his frustrations at not being in Rajastan, and despite his anxiousness to hit the road, he was as delighted to be here as I was. He had even done a little jig, so excited was he when we followed the Jhelum River and turning a corner got our first glimpse of the market area and the old city. 

That jig would develop into a fascination with Central Asia that would last for him for a very long time --at least ten years that I knew of. He kept repeating, "It's a medieval city." "This is the Central Asia I have been dreaming about my entire life." 

Srinagar was indeed a Central Asian town, which had long stood on one of the axillary routes of the Silk Road. I would like to somehow find out more about this part of Kashmir's past, but have been unable to really find much to read. Still, this much I know. Traders traveled over the mountains from Kashgar to Kashmir, before they headed south into India.

In the picture, you can see the old fort up on the hill. The town was not only full of history, but no matter where we looked, things looked relatively prosperous, clean-- and stunningly picturesque. Some lived on boats along the river, some above shops in the market and many more in homes clinging to the hill below the fort. Walking around, people would call out,

"Come, have tea"

And the tea. Kashmiri tea is a bit of Persia. Sweet with sugar and milk and perfumed with cardamom, it was served out of silver samovars. 

Last night, lying awake in my futon and thinking about the lake, the lotus flowers and water lilies and all the birds; the fragrant food, and the people we met, I don't know why I felt so incredibly nostalgic. And sad, as well. For I wondered, would I ever see it again? Probably the question itself is flawed for how could I ever see it again? After all that has happened, could the place ever recover? Hasn't, in fact, too much been lost?

At the start of the violence, Sultan had immediately left Kashmir with his family, re-locating to Goa. At first, his letters were filled with discomfort: it was too hot, the food too spiced and he longed so terribly for home. The honeymooners we shared a boat with, Nana and Dilip, had returned to Gujarat. Nana and I corresponded for many years --though we never spoke of Kashmir again.

About six months ago, I read a review in the NYRB about a Kashmiri arts exhibition written by one of my favorite writers, William Dalrymple. (The article is here). Some of the graphic things he described as having seen while in Kashmir, however, have haunted me since. I don't know what should be done anymore than anyone else. All I know is that I feel a sense of great loss-- for a way of life, a place which I too considered to be a slice of heaven-- has been lost. For almost two decades I have been waiting to hear some good news about this magical place.

And, I am still hoping for that news to come.

**

Most of the photographs in the post are from LRaleigh's gorgeous (!) photostream His essay too is worth a read too! He visits Jesus' supposed grave outside Srinagar (which I wrote about here) as well as about the 2nd Buddhist council held in Kashmir in 100 ad (which was where the difference between Mahayana and Theravada Buddhism were hammered out. The great Nagarajuna was said to have attended: I wrote briefly about Nagarjuna here)

John M., whose own trip to Kashmir three years ago was not quite so idyllic, writes to recommend this book by Sumantra Bose (These articles I thought were worthwhile reading) While John M's report was really not positive, LRaleigh was only there a year ago and the way he wrote about Kashmir's allure and mystique-- well, it was good to read.

Comments

[Namit]

That was very interesting to read, thanks. I'm amazed how much you remember after so many years.

You ask: Would India give up Kashmir? Not easily for sure and perhaps only after a lot more suffering. A recent example where this has happened is East Timor. Today I ran across this new article by Pankaj Mishra that resonated with me.

[Peony]

Hi Namit,

Thanks for sending the article. It resonated with me as well-- especially the part about the tendancy for farsightedness that can be seen in so many countries around the world. I cannot respond more, however, as I do not know really to what extent the Indian government attempted these other means Mishra talks about-- such as financial incentives? granting larger powers of self-rule, cross-border instututions/trade with Pakistan... Probably, by this point, there is too much water under the bridge, as Mishra points out, probably there are very few families in the valley which have not been affected.

My point, though, was not really to talk about solutions for Kashmir as I am not knowledgeable enough to keep up in the discussion... this post was really nothing more than my pitiful feelings of sad nostalgia.... like I said, I must be having a mid-life crisis!