Maej /Moej Kashir in distress. (Mother Kashmir in distress)

Well Begun is half done and so is its reciprocal.
I am invited by my facebook friend Hassan Bana from Batwara, Srinagar settled in POK to like the page 'Voice of Kashmir'.
Viewing the page ‘Voice of Kashmir’ causes pain. It bleeds the viewer equally as the victim. I preferred not to share the page lest my brethren are pained.To see the page and to like it is not my cup of tea.
Kashmir is bruised beyond recognition by both insiders as well as outsiders. Maej /Moej Kashir is in distress.
Pundit Ved Lal Vakil and Ram Chand Kak the then Prime Minister of J&K were condemned and abused by NC and the majority community for the same view point in 1947 for which gun was raised in 1990. People at Lalchowk as usual danced to the tune:"Asi kerav panie hakumut Rameakak cha mam soen". All Muslims in jail gave an apology letter or option for Pakistan in writing to the then govt. headed by Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah and were either released on apology letter or were sent to Pakistan as they opted for.
Pundit Vedh Lal Vakil from Zaindar Mohalla was the sole captive left behind in the jail. Pundit Ved Lal Vakil accompanied as courtesy demanded the last Muslim captive on his release up to the jail portal. His one foot was in and one foot out of the gate when he said to Pundit Ved lal:"Adhea mahra cha eijazat (May I beg your leave).
Pundit Ved Lal said:"Budiv khodaius hawalea, mughar zimni osuem areaz". The foot retreated back into jail and he said: "Keriv hukum (Please go ahead.) Pundit Vedh Lal said:"Ye khota venie Pakistan ti butsie nukhus (Has Pakistan too become responsibility of a Kashmiri Pundit?)
The last Muslim retraced his feet and asked his rescuer to manage release of Pundit Vedh Lal first and then he would come out. The late Aga Shoukat the elder brother of Aga Ashraf and Aga Nasir was in jail among others with Pundit Vedh Lal Vakil. He opted and got settled in Pakistan. On his visit, he used to call on Pundit Vedh Lal.

JKLF opted to enjoy the fruit of so called azadi without kashmiri Pundits and managed their exodus. Azadi is not selective on the basis of religion. Well begun is half done and its reciprocal is equally true.
How is it when a Pundit asked for buffer state status, he was condemned and imprisoned and when a local Muslim dies while fighting for the same, he is right and a martyr. Historical errors are not nikah nama that it can be declared null and void by seh-talaq. You people initiated sufferings for your Kashmiri brethren and we are suffering quietly without even whispering 'uef'.

Wristwatch The Machi Gher’

1960, I was a degree student at S P College. I requested my father to get a wristwatch for me. He promised to get me one. I reminded him a number of times. He never refused. He always said that he would get one for me. One day I said to him:" Look that coolie pulling that hand cart too has a wrist watch, Khazir watul cleaning the street too has a wrist watch, but not me."
Instantaneously my father said:” That is why I don't get a wristwatch for you. You are a Degree student and if I get a watch for you then what will be the difference between you and the coolie or that sweeper." I heaved a deep breath and lost all hopes of 'machie ghear'. After sometime one junk wrist watch came handy to me. It used to run slow . Despite my setting it right ,  it would run slow by half an hour  in a duration of two hours. Still I wore it and often turned my wrist to exhibit my wristwatch. Before  stepping of  the threshold of  the house of my pupil, I would again set it  right . Irregular as it was, I was always late to the next  and accused of irregularity.

In Zaindar mohalla, one Prem Nath had the privilege of having a wristwatch. He often used to come on road and look for the time to show off his wrist-watch. One eyed Mohammad Sidiq was notorious for calling names. He was named as Sidea Cone. He noticed the second nature of Prem Nath. He would as many times ask Prem Nath for time as many times as he  exhibited the watch . Finally he named Prem Nath as ‘Machie Ghaer’. Prem Nath had to change his route to escape being called ‘Machie Ghaer’.
Back to Degree student status:
Against the indigenous dressing table comprising of an irregular piece of mirror, hardly of the size of palm, plastered in mud plaster in the wall, I while combing my hair to prepare for college,  sheepishly said to my father: “I am summoned by Salam Saetch”. (Salam Saetch was our Mohalla President)
Father: “Why?”
“I am told that there was some complaint against me” said I.
Father: “Don’t go.”
I said: “In that case he may cause some harm to me.”
Father: “Don’t you know that you are a Degree student? Will you present yourself before a tailor? I will see him myself.  Don’t worry.
I heaved a sigh of relief and left for college with an air of a Degree student.
One day my eldest cousin said to me in private: “Look here. I am the only graduate among all relations from Tankipora to Dalhasanyar.”
I said: “Who denies? It is known to all from Tankipora to Fatehkadal”.
The cousin: “You give me your ‘kunea radio’. I will teach you Economics free.”
I said: “Not a good bargain. I will study Economics myself and not part with my ‘kunea radio’, the only source of recreation to me”.
‘kunea radio’ was the receiver part of a telephone. It was connected by a wire with its other end taken to roof of the house as an aerial. The next wire was attached with some piece of binding wire pointed to a piece of crystal to catch voice from the nearest radio station.     

Introduction Please!

Mid sixties, I told my maternal uncle Lalea at Tulmul, whether he knew the gentleman in my company. He said: “No. How should I know him unless introduced?”

I formally introduced Dr. P L Trakroo to his father-in-law, Lalea.  I took initiative only after Dr. Trakroo promised me that he would refuse to accept any money from him. I pointed to another person and asked my Mamaji if he knew him. He again replied in the negative. I introduced him as his grandson, the son of his eldest son.

One day Professor Surinder (name changed) called on me at my school office. He had strained relations with his wife. His daughter Komal (Name changed) was on the staff of the school. I called Komal and asked her if she knew the gentleman in the chair. She said that may be he is parent of some student. I asked Professor Surrender if he knew the lady. He said that obviously she must be on the staff of the school. I introduced both by their respective names. Komal was shocked to know that the stranger was none other than her father.

Mr. Matoo used to accompany his grandson to school like a shadow. One day my elder brother told me that Mr. Mattoo was a man of self prestige. He as an employee of Food Control department dared to take cudgels with the then Director Food & Supplies SAS Qadri, who was said to be of harsh temperament. Whose subordinates, for his  rough behaviour were said to be scared of him. They would prefer to maintain distance with him. Mattoo had to pay price for his self prestige. He was dismissed from the services. Mattoo sued the department and after suffering for many years he was finally reinstated under the orders of the court. The period of dismissal was treated as on duty under the orders of the court. Mr. Matto spent lavishly on the marriage of his son Ashok.

One day I told Ashok, that for many days I did not see his father. He said that he went to his second son at Habba kadal. I told him that my namaskar be conveyed to him. Ashok said that he did not know the address of his father. It was a surprise to me. For many days it had become my topic for the day. I shared the surprise with many of my friends, little knowing that one day I may not be an exception.

Early sixties, on our return from an evening walk, Lok Nath Matu of Zaindar Mohalla near National High School said to me that he may have to suffer expulsion from his Mohalla. I asked for the reason. He said that the dog that was following him was expelled by people in the area for its nuisance value as a street dog. The dog recognized his voice and smell and followed him. Now along with the dog he too may be expelled. With great difficulty Lok Nath dodged the dog and escaped expulsion until January 1990.

The hungry  lion in Rome bowed to its prey. The lion preferred to suffer with hunger rather than to make a meal of the person who had relieved him of pain due to a thorn that was stuck into its paw.

17^th August, 2014 I got happy Janam Ashtami greetings from a mobile number unknown to me.

I responded as: “Same to you sir. May I please know who is on the other end. Be blessed”

Response: “Namaskar. Biloo from Noida.”

B K Dass: “How strange. Once I introduced his son-in-law Dr. Trakroo and his grandson to Lalea my Mamaji. Once I told one gentleman to convey my regards to his father. He in response said that he did not know his address. I never knew that I too will fall in the same category. Yesterday I longed to talk to you.”

“Yinea sae cheshmuen shreh kuruekh

Sahlabh anea hum yavnus”

Life is an open book. We learn little from the open book. This is reality of life that travels unilaterally without looking back to its source like the river. One should not have regrets or complaint against the natural phenomenon. I would often tell my Muslim friends that Kafir is one who boasts and banks on one's youth, strength, energy, material wealth and one's sons. All is a mirage. I have seen one hotelier with his Bar and restaurant at Lal Chowk serving my friend I K Raina as a coolie. I was surprised when he said to IK: "Please give me four annas to have a cup of tea downstairs at wayside tea stall. Youth, energy, strength, wealth are not everlasting. We can bank only on the mercy and blessings of invisible, omnipotent, omnipresent God. The rest is myth and to bank upon myth is only optical illusion.

Gagged, Suffocated & Suppressed

 Tulmul Nag

24^th August, 2014 on our return from Tulmul Darshan we had a stopover at Ganderbal Park beside the river Sindh. Know not why the Government has been benevolent enough to allow free entry to the Park unlike other parks with no washroom facility.

 Mata Khir Bhawani

Like the Camping Ground opposite the Deer Park at Pahalgam, Gandebal Park too has a non functional Washroom representing the non functional Government headed by one of the Sheikhs unlike the Sheikh the ruler of Dubai.

At the extreme end of the path towards the bank of the river, some teen aged girls were seated on the two benches. Soon they saw us, they stood up and left seat for us. We were extremely impressed by their virtues especially respect for elders. Obviously the girls belonged to some well to do cultured families.

One of the two seniors seemed to be restlessly looking for some trusted one to whom she could express herself. Seeing sindur tilak from Tulmul on our forehead she started conversing with us.

Professor J J Parimu and Madam Shyama Ji Dhar

Firdous in hijab (name changed): Are you Pundit?

“Yes we are Pundits” said one of us.

Firdous was more conversant with fluent English and Hindi than in Kashmiri. She preferred to talk in English.

“Which places did you visit” was her next question.

“Where do you live?”

I said: “I used to live at Zainakot until 1990. Then Mujahids hounded me out and now I live a nomad’s life. I am a wanderer in exile.”

Firdous: “Don’t say Mujahid. Mujahid will never cause harm to innocent and unarmed people. Say they were terrorists. Say you were hounded out by terrorists.”

While talking to us she was restlessly and nervously looking to right and left lest others listen to her.”

 The River Sindh

I said: “Be cautious. Yesterday one lady SPO was shot at Kulgam.”

Firdous: “I was feeling suffocated. I relieved my heart by talking to you. I know if others will come to know about my opinion about the so called Mujahids, they will bury me alive.”

Firdous is a 12^th class student with medical subjects. She is studying in some school nearby at Ganderbal.

Jobless youth kill their precious time

She said that she is an Indian living in India. If, they ask for freedom, why they should not give freedom of speech to others.

By the time I was about to leave, she became conscious of her video recording. She let me go only when I promised her that I would delete the recording.

Vodie fuer dhuen’ (To look for any parasite in the head)

One should not feel shy of one's past. It was a common practice among our womenfolk. Whenever grandmother would visit her daughter, each would by turn lay her head in the lap of the other to look for any parasite.
Womenfolk had a special indigenous wooden 4x4 square inch comb. It was exclusively for womenfolk and was named as 'kunganie'. Males comb was named as 'Kanguv'. Kanguv was the same as it is today.
Those were not the days of shampoo. Even sunlight soap was expensive for our mothers. They would seldom go for head-wash or a bath. They were forbidden to wash their head or comb their head on the birthday of any distant relation or a neighbour whose birthday was announced by the distribution of 'teher', the yellow cooked rice among the neighbours.
Those were the days when we knew little about cement flooring or attached bathroom. For the bath of any lady in the home on account of some ritual, tin tub was borrowed from a distant prosperous and privileged neighbour or relation. Male members in shranpueth (4 x 36 square inch cloth used for underwear) had the privilege of taking bath at the river ghat as and when they liked. Males in the family belonged to the privileged category. They had no restrictions. They could take bath irrespective of the birthday of even head of the family. 
Carrying tub from one mohalla to the other was almost of an announcement of the bath of Shuba Wati or Arandati.
Mid eighties I spotted a neat, clean and beautiful woman looking for a catch in the head of her daughter with silky golden hair. I said to the woman: " aghar aekh leatch kudehues hueth ropia dhimaie yenamea" (If you catch one nit, I shall pay you a reward of one hundred rupees). The daughter said to her mother: "Mojee ye ki hay venan (Mother what did he say). The mother smiled and said "Kinhnie, ye chue pranie kueth yadh pavan"
Our mud flooring and the grass mat called vaguv was the breeding place for silverfish, brown colour insect known as 'kher', bed bugs, puesh, mosquitoes, houseflies and their other cousins.No house was an exception. All of us lived miserably among them. 
1966, on my way back from third show at Palladium at 12 in the night, I spotted the watchman at Malikbagh looking his shirt for a catch. Authoritatively at a high pitch I asked him if he had license for the catch.
Next day in the recess period at Teachers’ Training College, I noticed some of my girl classmates talking about me. I was seated on the window sill swinging my legs enjoying the spring sun.
I petitioned: "Mianie kunie chuvea Allah talla, yenea mai khulaf kueth keriv" (On my behalf you are watched by God. Make sure that you don't talk about me."
Shahzada among them said: "We talk only about you. We are amazed to know that you are authorized to look for license and that too at midnight."
"Strange, who told you?" said I.
Mrs. Maqbool wife of my neighbour Abdul Majid Mir, MD Sheep Breeding and Farming, said that her husband recognized the voice and laughed heartily for

your authority

. 

Gul Khatana from Salar

Last week of July, 2014 I walk-talked with Gul Khatana a Gujar from Salar at Pahalgam. He was all praise for the slain Ghulam Nabi Koluer an intellectual from his neighbourhood. He was on way to market from the meadow up in Adou belt. I touched the topic on Mujahids. He could not resist revealing their misdeeds and misconduct especially with womenfolk. 
He said and I listened as a passive listener:" Four militants barged into the house of a villager and directed the inmates to serve them food at their hideout. Mother-daughter duo in the family was specifically directed to carry the food to the hideout and serve them there. The mother of three pleaded that due to miscarriage in the recent past she was not well. Her plea did not work and she had to oblige the ‘Mujahids’. On her return she narrated the pathetic treatment she was subjected to. All the four, one after the other raped her. Her husband went to the hideout and lodged a complaint against the four with their commander a fifth one. The commander beat all the four with the gun butt but not shot them dead. They apologized and promised never to do the wrong again.

Ziarat at Shiv-Sopore, Tujar, Nadihal and Janbab Sab at Baramulla

Village Shiv Sopore

Village Doru, the birthplace of Syed Ali Shah Geelani

 

Add caption Local at the village Shiv Sopore

Ziarat of the Khalif of Makdoom Sahab at Shiv Sopore

Jan Bab Sabenie Deigh at Bramulla

National Flag hoisting atop the hillock in Baramulla

· 
8th August, 2014 Mohammad Rafiq and Mrs Rafiq planned to pay obeisance on 9th August at different places of Ziarat at Tujar- Sopore the birth place of Makdoom Sahib, Shiv-Sopore, Nadihal and Janbab Sahib at Baramulla. It was to express gratitude for having been blessed with a handsome son Kafil the third child after the couple was blessed with two academically brilliant and disciplined daughters.
Rafiq had decided to exclude me from the troupe. He apprehended that I might get bored and might not be interested in such a long entourage to different Ziarats of not any interest to me. I did not agree with him especially when the areas were virgin areas for me. Finally my request was conceded provided I did not discuss matters regarding militancy, turmoil and exodus with strangers. He cautioned me. Tujar and Shiv are villages adjacent to Dour Sopore, the village of Syed Ali Shah Gilani, the separatist leader.
We left Srinagar at 7:30 A M on 9th August, 2014 after routine breakfast. Rafiq took control of the steering and I took my seat next to the driver’s seat. Three children preferred the rear seat to enjoy warmth of their mother. 9 a.m. we reached Shiv Sopore where Najeeb Kirmani was already on wait for us at the market place. Zigzag drive through serpentine village narrow lanes, we joined the advance party headed by Moulvi Habib-Ullah Kirmani, the Imam of Maisuma Masjid.
We were lead to neat and well furnished drawing-room. Host welcomed us and soon dining cloth was laid out. Press and serve thermos filled with ‘sheirie chaie’ along with crockery items took their respective positions. The host was already informed that mutton be not prepared and served. ‘Tomlea choet’ (Thin chapatti made of rice flour), fried pieces of chicken and roasted corncobs in succession were the specialties of the breakfast 
By 3: 30 p.m. all the Ziarats at different places were paid obeisance. The last Ziarat was Janbab Sahib at Baramulla. Right from my childhood I had heard the name Janbab Sabenie Degh. The name was used metaphorically. For the first time I saw with my naked eyes the famous and legendry metallic ware known as Janbab Sabenie Degh. 1.5 quintals of rice with other ingredients is cooked in the ware at a time.

By then it was Nimaz time. Along with some locals, Najeeb, Moulvi Sahib, Rafiq and Danish offered Nimaz. I too occupied one of the corners and offered my routine Pooja.
Our next destination was the picnic spot on the bank of the River Jehlum that feeds NHPC power project and JVPP before it crosses the LOC. En route the scenic beauty is marvelous. The river is channelized to the projects. At places it runs over ground and at places it runs in kilometers under ground through man-made tunnels.
The two cars came to rest and the occupiers relieved their respective seats. All fanned in different directions. I ascended a number of steps of stairs and was delighted to discover a neat and clean washroom of a temporary neighbour and a tap with running water. Soon I declared my discovery to the delight of the rest. Source to the tap is a spring with natural mineral water.
Mohammad Rafiq, Moulvi Sahib and Danish fixed their fishing rods tipped with chicken intestine as bait. All sat for lunch and I occupied my seat on the folding stool. I was the only exception to be pure vegetarian for the lunch.

Add captionThe River Jehlum feeder of the NHPC Power project

He is Ghulam Hassan, one of the locals.

All but me watched the fishing skill of the three. In the meantime I refreshed myself with a nap.
Local boys trickled around. I introduced myself to them as a Kashmiri Pundit in exile at 75. They were nice to talk to. Some invited me to their home. I asked them if I could get some accommodation for a few days on rent. In one voice all of them offered accommodation free of any rent. One boy with an eternal smile on his face took my mobile set to his home nearby for recharge of its battery. It was discovery of a lost treasure. It was their natural age-old culture. On their persuasion I decided to stay back for the night but Mohammad Rafiq did not accede to my decision. I could not resist. I revealed them the apprehensions of Kashmiri Pundits in exile against local Muslims. I told them that my elder brother, my daughters and my son-in-law phone me daily and very often to know my welfare. 
7 p.m. fishing rods without any catch crawled back into their captivity. Our return was through a wide and smooth Uri road.
Before I went to bed I savoured on one chapatti for my dinner and returned the two to be served as breakfast on 10th.

13th August, 2014 at Gund Rahman Ganderbal

12^th August, 2014 in the evening, I heard Mohammad Rafiq fixing up fishing program with his friend Abdul Majid. I expressed my desire to be with them. Mohammad Rafiq on the outset refused to oblige me. I, in that case decided to leave for Jammu on 13^th. My request was finally conceded with a rider. I had to talk about weather and the like but not on the scenario post 1990. He distances himself from strangers. His advice was worth its salt.

Next morning I was told that the area was once playground for hide and seek for dreaded militant the late Hamid Gadda. I had to be cautious. I promised to abide by the instructions.

Early morning at 7:30 Mohammad Rafiq as usual took command of the steering. I was asked to occupy the seat beside him. Right and left drive, we finally turned to the road that leads to Shivala Mandir on Neelam Cinema side. Abdul Majid was already in wait with his fishing rod and other paraphernalia in hand.

En route, icebox filled with chicken intestines to bait the fish, samosa and other eatables for we three was packed.  

Eidgah-Zunimar-Soura road the steering took to the left at Bachpora. It was a dusty narrow road through Anchar Lake (filled and turned into residential area). Pretty long drive and finally we reached our destination among dense forest of willow, poplar and chinar trees. Even at 12 noon, most of the areas were dark under the shade of the grove.

Fishing tackles were fixed. Men behind the tackle took their respective positions with high hopes and I took my seat in the visitor’s pavilion.

10 AM and tea break with zero catch was declared. Special stove on petrol in a pocket tin box is always handy at such occasions. One cup of tea with little sugar, samosa to each with Haldiram preparations refreshed the party.

Post tea-break, Mohammad Rafiq succeeded in his mission and opened the score. The scoreboard changed the figure from zero to one. Abdul Majid had yet to open his score. Majid became restless. Finally with consensus the pitch was declared not fructuous. Hectic no doubt, but the decision in unison enabled to pack with little controversy. The new site was perpendicularly across the river.

Each one of us took respective positions in the car for new destination. Almost one kilometer retreat and we crossed the bridge. Looking for the road to reach the destination was not less hectic than the job accomplished by Ibn Batuta.  Right turn and the fair-weather sandy road turned into grooves welcomed us.  Heavy tyres of tractors and trucks carrying sand have turned the road into two deep grooves on either side of a continuous mound of settled sand. Driving on such road demanded dexterity that Rafiq did have. One tyre on the mound and the other in the deep grove saved the oil chamber below from getting chiseled and damaged. Tilted at forty-five degrees the car finally came to a stop. 

The locals have adopted an innovative method to collect sand. Deep trenches are dug away from the road and the river. These trenches get filled occasionally. Rafiq parked the car in one of the trenches.

I was helped to cross the barbed wire fence to reach the bank of the river at predetermined site. Each sportsman took his position and in view of the direct sunlight I failed to get a comfortable compartment.  Reaching the sports area one meter away meant further trespass of fenced area.  My limited height became impediment for the first time. I was apprehensive. A little error would damage my pantaloon or demand an injection of anti tetanus. I preferred to go back to the road and look for an easy access to the adjacent enclosure. No less an achievement than that of Columbus.

Long wait and no catch proved the exercise in futility.

Lunch break was declared. My vegetarian lunch was subsidized with a cup of curds. Besides the sun, mosquitoes turned hostile for our encroachment in their habitat.  No catch and static scoreboard gave an excuse to the sportsmen. Scorching heat was given as an excuse. I as a spectator suspected that the leader of the fish might have declared ‘hartal’ in view of 14^th and 15^th August.

Now the last hope was to shift to the site under the bridge.  Futile exercise and I preferred to go for a nap in the car. The seat was stretched to its full recline and soon I went to the dreamy world.

5:30 we went back to the original site. Until 7:30 PM the scoreboard remained static. Majid agreed with me that the fish are on ‘hartal’ and further shifting of the site would be an exercise in futility. The solitary catch was declared as the one who did not abide by the call for ‘hartal’ given by its leader.

The catch was sentenced to death and was fried and served to three at dinner. Public opinion was framed against the fish. People around said that the fish deserved the treatment it was given. In whispers they condemned the judgment and prayed for anonymity.
Gund Rehman is a village at a distance of three kilometers from the district Headquarter Ganderbal. Ganderbal was the constituency of Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah and his progeny. Gund Rehman is connected to Ganderbal by a dusty road but deprived of any public transport. Despite having been neglected by both the government, and the administration, the village is proud to be rich in education. Two of the residents have done Phd. in bio-technology from Hyderabad, one is doing Phd. in Zoology another in Botany. The boy talking to me is doing MSc. from Patiala University Punjab. Ninety-nine percent school going students are said to be regular to their schools.