The Soul that could not be Exiled
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The Soul that could not be Exiled A Tribute to the Eternal Spirit of the Kashmiri Pandit Veer Krishan Sharma
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| There exists a wound in the heart of India that still bleeds silently — the exile of the Kashmiri Pandits. Once the torchbearers of knowledge, Shaivism, Sanskrit, and mystic tradition in the Kashmir Valley, they were forced to leave their homeland under the shadow of violence, threats, and fear. This wasn’t just a migration; it was the dislocation of a civilization. In the winter of 1989-90, under slogans echoing terror, an estimated 3.5 to 4 lakh Pandits fled overnight. They left behind not just homes, but centuries of rootedness — manuscripts, rituals, deities, memories, and entire worlds. Yet, something miraculous happened: Though their homes were burnt, their hymns did not fade. Though they were uprooted from the soil, they carried the soul of the valley within them. Kashmiri Pandits are not merely a community —they are a living civilization. They descended from sages, rishis, and philosophers who lit the lamp of Sharda Peeth. Their tongue echoed with Sanskrit and their life revolved around spiritual discipline, scholarship, and shakti. Even as terror knocked at their doors, they chose not vengeance, but silent exile — taking with them not just luggage, but the verses of Lal Ded, the wisdom of Abhinavagupta, and the sacred murmur of Shiv-stotras. Some say they were “driven out.” Yes, their temples were desecrated, their women threatened, their voices silenced. But ask the winds of Jammu, the walls of migrant camps, the shrines they built from scratch — they will tell you: “We left the valley, but we did not leave our gods.” “We lost our land, not our language.” “We suffered in silence, but we never surrendered our soul.” This is not the story of victims — this is the saga of a people who chose dignity over revenge, and culture over hatred. In refugee camps, the flame of his culture was not extinguished. The rituals continued, the festivals adapted, and the language whispered its way into the next generation. Grandparents became libraries. Mothers became temples. A mother would still teach her child to pronounce 'AUM' with the same reverence as in the sanctum of a mountain shrine. That is how civilizations survive — not through stone alone, but through memory, sound, and soul. Young boys and girls, born far from their ancestral homes, were taught to recite verses in Sanskrit before they could tie their shoelaces. Families gathered on Herath in small apartments in Jammu, Delhi, Pune and other parts of India— chanting the same mantras, invoking Lord Shiva in the language of snow and silence. In unknown cities, fathers still woke up at Brahma Muhurat to perform Thakur Puja, and after sunset Sandhya Vandana. Young minds learned science by day and chanted the Gita by night. From Delhi to Pune, from refugee huts to IITs, embassies, startups and civil services — the soul of the Kashmiri Pandit rose like agni in ashes. They became professionals, creators, thought leaders. Yet every Maha Shivratri, they remembered who they were: Descendants of Rishi Kashyap. They adapted to a world that neither fully understood nor acknowledged their pain. With minimal state support and even lesser media sympathy, they rebuilt their lives. There were no big relief packages, no sustained policy dialogues, no global headlines. But there was will. There was memory. There was continuity.In between the loss of identity cards and voter slips in Kashmir, and gaining professional badges in metros, the Kashmiri Pandit carried something that no political framework could provide — cultural continuity without geographical guarantee. This story is not only of pain, but of profound perseverance. Despite the indifference of state machinery and the erasure in public discourse, the Kashmiri Pandit spirit refused to die. Artists painted their vanished homeland with trembling brushes, poets bled into their verses, and mothers whispered the names of ancient rivers into the ears of newborns. Memory became resistance. Language became shelter. Ritual became rebellion. A people denied return made their existence a testament to the undying. Vitasta may no longer run past his home, but it still flows through his veins. Every prayer he chants is soaked in the rhythm of that ancient river. His resilience is not political, it is sacred — forged in the fire of tapasya, silence, and shraddha. The world may call him displaced, but he knows: the real place is within. The real Kashmir is where he kneels, remembers, and rises — again and again. To call it merely a "tragedy" would be to overlook the triumph of survival. This is a tribute to that which could not be exiled — the soul of the Kashmiri Pandit. It still sings, still weeps, still blesses. It is scattered, yes — but not lost. It awaits the return not just to land, but to recognition. To a homeland of dignity, justice, and remembrance. For the soul that walks with its gods can never truly be uprooted. Today, the world is slowly beginning to listen. But remembering is not enough. This soul, though unexiled, must be reawakened and re-established. Let the youth learn Sharada script again. Let the hymns of Kashmir Shaivism echo in every temple. Let displaced temples become pilgrimage sites of survival, not sorrow. Let pain be turned into purpose. Let the narrative shift — from silence to assertion, from suffering to shaping. You can burn homes. You can erase names from doorways. But you cannot exile a soul built on truth. The Kashmiri Pandit is not just a person — he is a keeper of fire, a preserver of shrines, a pilgrim of memory, and a warrior of silence. Uprooted, but undying. Exiled, but eternal. Forgotten by many — but never by the gods. And one day, this struggle too shall be accepted by God — not in some distant heaven, but on this very earth. |
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* Veer Krishan Sharma, a native of Village Akura, District Anantnag, Kashmir, is a postgraduate in Hindi from the University of Kashmir.Began his professional journey as a teacher at Tyndale Biscoe School, Srinagar Kashmir.After the migration from Kashmir, relocated to New Delhi, where he transitioned into the publishing industry. Worked extensively on Cambridge books and journals, ensuring the highest standards of academic publication. Currently, at the age of 65, I continue to contribute meaningfully as a freelance writer and editor, focusing primarily on academic books and journals.His work reflects a deep commitment to preserving and promoting the spiritual and cultural legacy of his homeland. |
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