A Saga of Kashmiriyat
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| The Spring Faraway A Saga of Kashmiriyat Chpter-One
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| Sopore, Kashmir 31 October 2020 It was past midnight. Prithvi Nath Dhar felt as if he was flying in the sky, soaring high like a Golden Eagle, holding his wings outwards and hardly flapping them, allowing him to clearly look down at the exquisite landscape below him. His sharp eyes noticed many smaller birds down there, not able to face the high turbulence of air and just making brief sorties from one tree to another, and some tiny birds nestled inside their nests. With the eagle’s eyes, Prithvi Nath was able to see the whole stretch of his homeland, Maej Kashir , from one end to another, surrounded by the mighty Himalayas on one side and the grand Pir Panjal on the other, the beautiful river Jhelum flowing from south to north, lakes and springs appearing like small dots in his field of vision. Suddenly, he visualized a ferocious-looking huge vulture coming closer to grab him. Prithvi Nath’s momentary pleasure of looking at the beautiful landscape below was replaced by fear and panic. He tried to move away from the vulture but it got closer and closer. Prithvi Nath closed his eyes in fear and the vulture pounced on him the next moment. He felt as if there was a vacuum all around him and he was continuously somersaulting like an astronaut. Suddenly, he lost his balance and fell from an enormous height. He heard a big thud but didn’t feel any pain. Only his heart started racing like crazy. In a panic, he opened his eyes and found himself safely lying on his bed. He dismissed the nightmarish experience as a bad dream. But it was not! There was a heavy knock at the door, just like the thud he had heard in his dream. Prithvi Nath woke up with a jolt. He switched on the light. Parmeshwari, his wife, was snoring loudly without a movement. He looked at the wall clock hanging in front of his bed. It displayed 2:30 in the morning. But Prithvi Nath was not prepared to accept it. “Who will knock on our door at this hour?” was the question that struck his mind. But he also had another doubt to counter this thought. Maybe it was past 6 in the morning, say 6:10? The short and long arms of the wall clock had often baffled Prithvi Nath since he was a child. Firstly, this vintage clock had digits in Roman figures that looked more like dancing letters: I, V, and X, appearing different from different angles. Secondly, with advancing age, he was unable to differentiate between the short arm and long arm of the clock from a distance, particularly at night. Though he was always unsure about the time displayed by the wall clock, Prithvi Nath felt emotionally attached to it and hung it in front of his bed so that the first thing he would see in the morning was this clock. The wall clock was certainly something everyone would have admired. It was more than an eighty-year-old clock, made in England. This was gifted by a businessman to his father, Pandit Shamboo Nath Dhar, who used to give tuition to the businessman’s daughter in the 1940s. Since Prithvi Nath had messed up several times because of misreading the clock, he always had a smaller alarm clock by the side of his bed. This was only for verification if need be, which used to be the case quite often. Prithvi Nath opened his eyes wide, put on his glasses, and looked at the alarm clock. And adding to his nervousness it also showed 2:30 in the morning! It was almost thirty years now. Prithvi Nath and his wife Parmeshwari were living all by themselves in their three-storeyed ancestral house in Sopore, a town in Kashmir valley, after almost all the Kashmiri Pandits had left their homes to save their lives. The couple rarely had a visitor even during the daytime and expecting a visitor at this late hour sounded like an alert. Prithvi Nath was a frail-bodied octogenarian but a strong-willed person. Having been a tough school teacher all his life, he always carried that aura of confidence and strength on his persona which gave him a unique commanding position in front of his students and their parents. As a tradition, even the vegetable seller and other community members addressed him as Master Ji, which added to his prestige and strength. He had faced a lot of difficult situations in the last eighty years of his life but was the last person to get frazzled. Even when his son got scared after that fateful night in 1990 and fled to Jammu along with his wife and son, Prithvi Nath was composed, fearless, and confident with a solution. He was discouraged and even criticized by his relatives for staying back in Sopore at the height of militancy in Kashmir. They argued, “How can you be safe in a dragon’s mouth?” His sons, Roshan Lal and Surinder, tried their best to convince him to leave Sopore and come to Jammu or Delhi. But Prithvi Nath stood like a rock by his emotional and risky decision. Of course, it was his bad childhood experience that made him so stubborn to be an outlier for the whole community when everybody else felt it was suicidal to stay back in Kashmir. But his conviction, his inner strength, and his faith in his childhood friend and neighbor, Haji Ghulam Mohd, gave him the unusual and enormous courage to make that daredevil decision. “Ghulam Mohd is always there to protect us,” Prithvi Nath tried to convince both his sons when they insisted on his leaving Kashmir. And his safety during the last thirty years was a testimony of his belief. Ghulam Mohd and his son Abdul Rasheed were like a divine shield for him all these years. Prithvi Nath was unmoved by the persuasion of his well-wishers and pleadings of his sons and had stuck to his guns all these years. But with this unexpected midnight knock at the door, his confidence was shaking. The reason for this change was his being conscious of the recent political developments in Kashmir. Even though many things had happened in Kashmir during the last thirty years after the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits, for Prithvi Nath, life was status quo. His elder son Roshan Lal was living in Jammu in his own house. Roshan’s only son Bhavishya was working in the USA. Prithvi Nath’s second son, Dr. Surinder, was settled in Delhi and all of them had moved a long way since the exodus of the community took place thirty years ago. Prithvi Nath had his own reasons for staying back in his ancestral house in Sopore along with his wife, even though he missed his children and grandchildren. True to their word, Haji Ghulam Mohd and his son Rasheed took care of their safety and served as their resource persons as well as bodyguards. The last thirty years were so uneventful for Prithvi Nath that he could hardly imagine or suspect anything that could be considered alarming. But abrogation of Articles 370 and 35A was more than an administrative decision for Kashmiris. For them, it was like an earthquake. With the administrative might of the government and strict enforcement, there was a lull in the political activities and the anticipated reaction of Kashmiris to this unexpected development. But he feared that this apparent quietness was more like the calm before the storm! Prithvi Nath was quite conscious about the emotional significance of this Article for an average Kashmiri, even though most of them had no idea about what it actually meant, the political jargon and parroting over the last seventy-two years had projected it more as a symbol of ‘Kashmiri pride’. Therefore, the undue quietness following the abrogation of the Articles six months ago seemed to be ominous to Prithvi Nath. He believed he had no reason to fret or fear because he had no personal animosity with anybody, and being an older generation of Kashmiris, he still believed that Kashmiris could never hurt an innocent person. But because of the change in the political scenario, anything could happen now. That was why the unexpected knock at this odd hour made him nervous and, for the first time in the last thirty years, he felt vulnerable and unsafe. “Did you hear anything?” Prithvi gently whispered in Parmeshwari’s ears, who was unmoved because of her loud snoring. The knock was almost continuous now and sounded more like banging at the door. It became louder and louder. Prithvi Nath broke into a sweat despite the cold weather. He persuasively shook up his wife and whispered, “Someone is at the door?” Parmeshwari was startled and opened her eyes in a disoriented state. Somebody banged on the door again. Prithvi Nath could see the sudden, deadly fear in his wife’s eyes. She caught hold of his arm and muttered in panic, “No…no…don’t open!” The knocking was relentless. An unknown fear gripped Prithvi Nath but he gathered all his courage to get out of bed and open the door. When Parmeshwari tried to stop him, he gently whispered, “They will break open the door if I don’t…” While moving out of the room through the dark corridor leading to the main door, Prithvi Nath helplessly looked towards Parmeshwari who followed him quietly, holding his hand. An ominous thought came to his mind like a flash of lightning and Prithvi Nath started feeling uneasy. One of the dreadful memories of his childhood suddenly came alive. He remembered that awful night more than seventy years ago when as a child, he had encountered a similar situation that had scared him to death. *** Sopore, Kashmir Prithvi Nath was around nine years old then, comfortably sleeping and dreaming about roaming around in their apple orchard. He picked a fresh apple from the tree and was about to tell his cousin that the apple was delicious when he noticed his cousin aiming at a sparrow’s nest with a small stone in his hand. “No, Bhaiya, no! Don’t do that…” Prithvi protested and came closer to his cousin. “Don’t get upset, Prithvi…nothing will happen to the bird…I am just testing my skills…” His cousin was quite casual and surprised at Prithvi’s odd emotional reaction. “No Bhaiya…It can still hurt the bird…” Prithvi lost interest in his apple and looked distressed. “What is wrong with you, Prithvi, it is just a bird!” His cousin patted Prithvi’s back and, while tossing the small stone in his hands, he said in a convincing tone, “Firstly, I am not too sure if my aim is good enough to hit the bird, and then even if it hits the bird, it won’t be seriously hurt…see, it is far away and high up…this little stone may just graze the bird…” “But it may hit the nest and cause damage…” Prithvi had genuine concerns. “Oh…come on…nothing of that sort will happen…” Prithvi’s cousin did not want to hurt his younger cousin’s feelings but was surprised at his emotional drama. “But Bhaiya, think of the delicate eggs inside the nest…. And then the fear…if the bird flies away in fear it may never return…” Prithvi felt as if tears would overflow from his eyes and to avoid being called a sissy, he locked both hands over his cousin’s right hand holding the stone. “Please don’t do that…for my sake…” he pleaded. His cousin laughed aloud and sarcastically said, “Okay, my little lamb!” Prithvi was happy that he was successful in persuading his cousin to change his mind when suddenly, he heard some loud voices…when he opened his eyes in fear…he was not in his orchard but lying in the bed… and there was a commotion in the house! Prithvi Nath’s maternal uncle who lived in their neighbourhood came running to their house and started banging on their door in the middle of the night. Prithvi’s father Shamboo Nath opened the door. “Qabaelis have reached Baramulla…” Uncle’s mouth opened with a facial tremor. He was petrified. “Who told you about this rumor?” Shamboo Nath looked worried but composed. “It is not a rumor…! How come you did not hear it…I heard it myself…” Prithvi Nath’s uncle said confidently. “Maqbool Sherwani galloped through this lane in front of our house. He was warning all Pandits about the Qabaeli intrusion. He pleaded that we immediately leave and save our lives…” The situation appeared grave. Shamboo Nath felt alarmed but not surprised because it was only a few hours back when he had met an old colleague from Dana (now in Pakistan-Occupied Kashmir) and another person from Baramulla who had said the same thing. Shamboo Nath also recollected what Mr Suri had told him two weeks ago. Mr Suri was a leading businessman in Sopore. Shamboo Nath had taught his daughter for many years and this led to very good relations between them. “Master Ji, I don’t want to create panic,” Mr Suri had said without preamble. “But things may take an ugly turn here. Why don’t you accompany us with your family? We are leaving for Jammu after 3 days. I can make arrangements for you in Jammu.” Shamboo Nath was taken aback when he heard this veiled disclosure from Mr Suri. His gut feeling was that the wealthy businessman was just taking things too far. Everybody knew that till that time Indian Home Minister Sardar Patel had not been able to get Maharaja Hari Singh’s signature on the accession documents, and therefore, anything could happen, but Shamboo Nath was confident that nothing adverse would happen in Kashmir. Even though rumors about communal riots following Indian Independence had spread across the country and everyone was on the back foot, he firmly believed that such a thing could never happen in Kashmir. He did hear similar rumors about violence in the Jammu province of the state but he pushed the thought aside. Jammu is Jammu and Kashmir is Kashmir, he reminded himself. While listening carefully to Mr. Suri, he had tried to convince himself with the explanation that Mr. Suri had reasons to be scared because he was an outsider, a Khatri (term used for businessmen who came from outside Kashmir), and not a real Kashmiri. “Thank you for the offer but it is going to be a huge problem for us to leave like this and bother you for taking care of us,” Shamboo Nath had responded courteously but was not interested in accepting the offer. “Absolutely no botheration, Master Ji. You know my transport business of buses and trucks is spread up to Muzaffarabad and Delhi. I can even take you to Delhi if you have someone there. In Jammu, we have a huge house in Panjtirthi. Your family can comfortably stay with us till things settle down here.” Mr Suri had left no reason for Shamboo Nath to decline his offer. “Suri Sahab, please go ahead with your plans. Let me discuss this with my wife. If we decide to leave, I will contact you.” Shamboo Nath had given a guarded reply, knowing pretty well that he was not going out of Sopore. Mr Suri could read Shamboo Nath’s face and without carrying the conversation further, he just concluded, “Okay Master Ji. Let me know if you change your mind. There are still two more days to go.” Shamboo Nath did not review his decision over the next two days even though a rumor was up in the air for the last couple of days about a possible invasion by Pakistan. And when his brother-in-law told him that he had heard Maqbool Sherwani warning about the Qabaeli intrusion, he was convinced that it was not an unnecessary panic. His thoughts started racing without any focus because, unlike many other Kashmiri Pandits, he could never imagine something of this sort happening to them and was not prepared to face such an eventuality. He suddenly felt vulnerable and weak and sat down on the floor. “Baijitoth has arranged a bahach to leave for Srinagar in the next hour. Please pack up your things and we will leave as soon as possible,” Uncle said hurriedly and left without waiting for Shamboo Nath’s reaction. Young Prithvi was awake, hearing the conversation in the next room. He was quite conscious of the alarming situation confronting the family even though he did not understand the meaning of the Qabaeli intrusion. He looked towards his father and found him deeply immersed in his thoughts while circling the room. First the midnight knock, then the frightening conversation between his uncle and father about leaving their home immediately, followed by a distressful situation in the family. Prithvi remembered his dream and felt as if he was the bird his cousin was aiming at and his nest was in danger! *** Shamboo Nath was left with no doubt that they were in a difficult situation, confronting an unanticipated catastrophe, he could not have imagined even in his dreams. It was not like the communal violence that had marred the Independence of India and Pakistan that sounded an alert to him, but the very thought of an armed invasion by Pakistan-trained emissaries who were brutal to the core was dreadful. He feared that the invaders would certainly not spare the non-Muslims—the Hindus and the Sikhs. He was even more petrified when he thought about his two teenage daughters. However, he couldn’t make up his mind about leaving Sopore so suddenly without consulting his childhood friend and neighbor, Haji Aziz Joo. Aziz Joo was a religious Muslim but his family acknowledged with great pride that they were Kashmiri Pandits before embracing Islam during the Pathan regime and therefore continued with their surname ‘Dhar’ with a slight modification—they called themselves ‘Dar’ for the last five generations. Incidentally, Shamboo Nath’s house had a common inner wall that separated their two houses, thereby endorsing their common ancestry. Aziz Joo and Shamboo Nath had studied together. Both passed their matriculation examination from Punjab University but could not afford to go to college in Srinagar because of similar family backgrounds. Teaching was quite a respectable profession in those days and both of them joined the same primary school as teachers. Even though they never ate in each other’s kitchen, as was the social practice in those days, they were like two brothers living in neighboring houses. “I heard many people are temporarily leaving Sopore with their families and valuables. Under the circumstances, it may not be a bad idea…!” Aziz Joo said in a choked voice when Shamboo Nath went to seek his advice in the middle of the night. Shamboo Nath was shocked to hear Aziz Joo’s endorsement of the idea of his leaving Sopore, and he felt helpless as if destiny had announced its decision through Aziz Joo. Aziz Joo looked up thoughtfully to Shamboo Nath’s disappointed face. “But I know you have collected lots of things for the dowry of your daughters. It is risky to take such valuables with you. Even the doonga wala might rob you,” Aziz Joo said as if trying to read Shamboo Nath’s panicked mind. Looking at Aziz Joo coming forth with another angle, Shamboo Nath felt reassured that his childhood friend was on the same page. “What do we do then?” Shamboo asked. “I suggest you stay here and send your family to Srinagar. You can shift to our house and take care of your valuables. We will give you a place to run your own kitchen… I think you will be safe here. Even if Qabaelis enter our house, they will not recognize you as a Hindu when you dress up like one of our family…” Shamboo Nath immediately agreed. When Shamboo Nath declared this decision to his wife and her brother, they were shocked at his absurdity, but Shamboo Nath firmly believed and trusted his friend and did not listen to anybody. Prithvi was too young to understand what exactly was going on but that midnight knock by his uncle had permanently etched a deep scar in his mind that had made him shudder back then. What followed thereafter was something he could have never imagined. The subsequent events cast a dark shadow in his mind which always reminded him of what it meant when one is forced to leave one’s home against one’s wish! *** When nine-year-old Prithvi was pushed inside the over-occupied bahach along with his mother and two elder sisters, little did he know the gravity of the situation. As the ferry slowly moved out into deep waters, the whole atmosphere appeared gloomy. Prithvi realized that it was not a pleasure trip but a serious situation, particularly because of the haste with which they gathered some of their belongings in the middle of the night. For the first time, his father Pandit Shamboo Nath did not accompany them but bade goodbye with tearful eyes. With the vibrant sound of azaan from Padshah Masjid fading away, Prithvi Nath realized that their ferry had rowed far away from his home. The ferry was swarmed with people he could recognize—his relatives, neighbors, and family friends whom he knew. All of them were carrying their belongings and squeezing wherever they could find space. Most of the children his age had gone off to sleep soon after the ferry quietly moved upstream parallel to the right-side bank of river Jhelum. Since they were against the current, the boatmen struggled hard to row the ferry. Prithvi Nath closed his eyes in the darkness of the night but was alert to what the adults were whispering. “They must have reached Baramulla…” “Oh…my God! I was there yesterday and left in the nick of time. Mata Sharika saved me. I was planning to come home after a few days.” Prithvi recognized the typical husky voice of his neighbor who was posted in Baramulla and generally came home over the weekends. “Kanth Kak ji is like Mata Sharika’s messenger for my family. I came home just a few hours back. How could I have found any other means of transport to save our lives in such a short time? It is Mata Sharika’s blessings that Kanth Kak ji could arrange this bahach to save all of us…” His voice pierced the quietness inside the ferry. “I don’t know what is going to happen…somebody was saying these Qabaelis are like beasts…they have no humanity…no mercy…. They just loot and kill…” Another familiar voice caught Prithvi’s attention. He suddenly remembered the nest in his dream and the beastly smile on his cousin’s face when he had said, “…it is just a bird…” Prithvi could save that bird and the nest from his cousin’s wrath but now he felt helpless because all of them were running away from their homes in fear, with nobody coming to their rescue. He was very sad about leaving his home but his sadness was gradually replaced by his apprehension and concern for his father who had decided to stay back. “I heard people saying…Indian army is coming …” an unfamiliar voice propped. “Don’t know when…what will happen if these Qabaelis take over the airport before the army comes…” “Mata Sharika only knows what is destined for us…” A wave of fear gripped all the occupants on the ferry and there was pin-drop silence. Prithvi Nath had a relatively better seat inside the ferry because his maternal grandfather, Pandit Kanth Kak, had hired the ferry and offered help to other Kashmiri Pandit families known to him in Sopore. Apart from being an old landlord, Kanth Kak also had a sizeable apple orchard on the outskirts of Sopore. Incidentally, he had some ready cash at home which he could carry with him when they left Sopore. Therefore, on one hand, Kanth Kak was feeling relieved with the assumption that they would be able to sustain themselves till they returned to Sopore after a week or two but it was also worrisome because the boatman knew him personally. Therefore, Kanth Kak ran the risk of getting exploited or robbed by the boatman or his accomplice. The ferry anchored near an unknown place halfway before Srinagar so that the boatmen who had tirelessly rowed the boat could take some rest. Everyone was asleep or pretending to be asleep out of fear. It was dark inside and the boatmen were ashore for a break. Tearing through the darkness, Pandit Kanth Kak heard a whisper coming from the shore, “By now, they must have reached Sopore!” “Then they will be in Srinagar before we reach?” another whisper surfaced. “No. I have heard these Qabaelis are crackpots…they could have been in Srinagar two days back but these bastards are after zar (gold) and zan (women) and in this process, they have wasted a lot of time…” The shady conversation of the boatmen paused for a while. Then one of them said, “How is the asami in the boat? I think you know him…” “Yes, a rich man…. But I don’t know how much he is carrying with him now…and then, when we reach Srinagar, he may complain…” “No harm in trying…softly…” “How…” “I will tell you how…I will talk to him because he does not know me…” “But if he complains later…” “In any case, our bahach will be emptied near Chhatabal and they will have to shift to a different donga from there. Whom will he complain to?” Kanth Kak’s worst fears came true. He started thinking about how he could circumvent the problem. But before he could think of a plan, he saw a silhouette come closer to him. “Pandit ji, our wosta has been detained by some ruffians on the shore. They won’t let us move unless we pay them money.” Kanth Kak recognized the man…it was the assistant boatman. “You know very well what we are carrying with us…we have left everything back home… we have a paltry amount to survive in Srinagar till we return home…” Kanth Kak pleaded. He was fully aware that his pleas wouldn’t go well with his reputation. The main boatman knew about this and was taking advantage of it.“I know, Pandit Ji, it is an unfortunate situation indeed…curse these Qabaelis who have made everybody’s life difficult…” The assistant boatman was craftier than Kanth Kak had imagined. “But let us not make a blunder!” All of a sudden, the assistant boatman’s tone became firmer. “They say if they don’t get the money, they will come aboard and search everybody…” He paused and then his tone mellowed down, “And Sir…we have 6 unmarried girls and 4 young ladies on the bahach…!” *** Srinagar, Kashmir Prithvi and his family were nicely taken care of by his aunt who was married in Srinagar and lived in Ganpatyar on the banks of river Jhelum. It was the first time Prithvi and his family had come to stay with his aunt’s family in this manner, and that too for a longer period. |
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*Dr. Ashok Patwari, a pediatrician with a passion for storytelling, grew up in Habba Kadal, Srinagar, and received his early education from S.P. High School, Srinagar. He's a prolific author with 16 books in English, Hindi, and Urdu, and "The Spring Faraway" is his fifth English title. His distinguished career includes roles as Professor of Pediatrics at Lady Hardinge Medical College, New Delhi, and Research Professor of International Health at Boston University School of Public Health. He also dedicated his expertise to the World Health Organization in India and the Philippines. In 2005, his literary achievements were honored with the prestigious Delhi Urdu Academy award. Dr. Patwari currently resides in Houston with his wife, while his daughters serve their communities as an orthodontist in Houston and a pediatrician in Seattle. |
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