THE RIPARIAN NEIGHBOURS

The Riparian Neighbours1

The Riparian Neighbours

by Syed Kamran Razvi

© Author, 2008, New Delhi India.

Email: [email protected]

mailto:[email protected]


DEDICATED:

Dedicated to those who never got the chance to return or choice

to be buried where they were born because of riparian dispute

between neighbours.

November 30, 2008.


THE RIPARIAN NEIGHBOURS

by Syed Kamran Razvi

It was late morning arrival to the notes of Gurbani, that the Tata-Amritsar

Express came to a gradual halt at its final destination, Amritsar city. The

passengers unlike the train compartments were still sleepy, specially the

children. The pleasant breeze blowing across the railway platform, which had

no shelter, was a contrast to the dusty and nauseating Delhi. The passengers

though had still to travel and cross the border in the northwestern sector of

India's neighbourhood. It was not a trail of refugees, which has for long been

obvious at the platform several times in the short span of decades of

upheavals. The journey in perspective retained the sorrow despite the time

lapse. The annals of history remains a puzzle for the forlone border of land of

five rivers, Punjab. Perhaps it drew immunity to unparallel animosity between

settlors and outsiders as an entrepot to sub-continent riches. However, in the

past few decades, it has been notorious for the inward circulation of those who

were all permanent settlors. The cycle was repeated with equal indiffirence

each time and occasion.

The trans-national border was the nomenclature by which it was now

baptized. Indeed it was marked by the scarred memories of bloodbath relived

by many old and middle-aged passengers, on each journey. The horror, the

telltale was like a demon’s grip yet to be exorcised.

In the month of spring a little before long summer vacations. Young

Ahmed about 12 years, Li'l Saif half of Ahmed ‘s age, their eldest sister

Bilqis, older by two years to Ahmed, were to spend the summer-vacations

meeting their cousins across the borders, ever since their birth.


They were travelling with their mother who was a free-lance writer-

journalist, Usamah. All their real maternal and paternal uncles, aunts migrated

to the new state of Pakistan. soon after its inception, one after another. They

left to seek earnings, which were so lost as their status and property, to the

diktats of newly established order of governance. None though visualisd the

perils of migration, for long they have been settled now.

“The terra ferma, the colourless aqua, the lush vegetation, all was

theirs for centuries, it was all in the family shijara(lineage).”

Although, the compulsion to migrate for many being inevitable. The times

stood frozen and enslaved by the sad realities of the artifical borders.

A frail voice with tears once wrote:1

Dastak dene walei bhi thhei,

Dastak sunnei walei bhi thhei,

Is ek viran basti mein

Kai ek makan apnei bhi thei….

The translation reads :

“there were those who knocked at the doors,

so lived those who would welcome,

Now what appears deserted,

Was once lined by our homes ….”

By now both the passengers and the platform were awake to

the post-dawn shade of the morning. The currency-exchanger counter also

opened, some queued earlier. Although a counter existed at Delhi platform but

the rate of exchange was favourable here, by about fifteen paise. Thus the rate

of exchange would vary by just a distance of 500 Kms. Both politics and

1 Translation of Urdu couplet by Jaun Ilya, a migrant poet.


economics ran together in complimentary fashion. Such being the affairs

between the Riparian neighbours.

There was the usual rush of travellers to the kiosks to purchase

merchandise like cocunut, pineapple, Betel leaves, all as gifts for their

relatives. Ahmed's family was no exception so they also purchased the “gifts”.

These “gifts” were the commodities, which were once so integral part of their

(migrants) dietary preferences and taste.

The railway-station gradually began to receive the passengers from the

other trains, taking passengers further upwards in Northern direction towards

Jammu and to other destinations down Southwards."Children"!, their mother

called, come let's have break-fast. There were no proper eatries at the

platform, so the family decided to go to decent restaurant next to the railway

station. "Ahmed you watch the luggage, we have our breakfast, thereafter you

go", said his mother. The platform was the segregated one, where only the

Pakistan-bound passengers were waiting, for the arrival of the train that would

carry them to the last border point of Atari, the point of land customs under

Indian jurisdiction. There were some others who preferred to cross the border

via road, which was Wagah check-post. In fact the.family who travelled

alongwith the Khan's from Delhi, opted for road link and bid good-bye to each

other. It was bit convenient to travel by road. "O'dear son is your mother

around" asked a tall gentle-man of atheletic-built. "Yes she is also here, but

why do you ask?", Ahmed with indifference. He surveyed him head to toe.

This stranger , a fair complexioned man was wearing a white shirt with blue

trousers, and sandals. The winter chill was no longer an affair in April, some

claimed climatactic change. "Aha ! Adab arz2" Surender sahib", Ahmed's

mother wished from behind. Bilqis and Saif were a step behind to her holding

a flask and some packets. " Adab Arz, madam", Surender wished back his

2 Urdu for Greetings, spokes while gently raising right hand upto forehead with little bend.


superior's wife. "Madam!, Sir, has asked me to meet you all, as he was

worried about you people. He also wanted me to tell you that he has been

given assignment further-up in Ladakh region to work on the National

Highway project" Surinder said in a polite tone in a courteous manner. He

smiled very little. "Oh, but he promised to meet us here", spoke disappointed

Bilqis. Her fists closed, bearing expression of agitation, her pink complexion

grew rosier. A little sentimental and somewhat possessive also. Possessive of

her family members, though a caring sister and a loving daughter. Their father

Saghir Khan was a civil engineer much dedicated to his work and family. His

professional capabilities made him popular with the establishment, this kept

him busy and away from family. Saghir was expert in Road building and Dam

constructions in mountainous terrain with international accredition. Such

qualified men were scarce in the government and outside. Such widely

appreciated was his work, with offers around the globe to work for their firms.

But he couldn’t be tantalised for his simple motto, “Brain drain is what kills

the wealth of a nation”. The deep wedge between North and South gave birth

to many idealistic viewpoints.

"Are you on a holiday, and how is your wife, she must be angry with

Mr.Khan, for holding you to the work", Usamah remarked jovially. "Oh no

madam not at all", Surinder blushed. “ hahaha...!”. "Madam my wife is eager

to meet you all but some guests arrived this morning so she asked me to

apologise on her behalf and invites you, to our place on your return journey."

Surinder, as he picked-up Saif into his arms. "Ahmed you can go along with

your sister, and have something to eat." Usamah said to her son Ahmed. "Oh

you haven't had it so far", asked Surinder, with an expression of concern.

Come I will take you there, the train I believe should be here around 10:00, in

say about an hour or so," looking at his watch., "...yes I think so, the last time


when I went the customs point was at Amritsar only."Usamah. "That must be

many years ago, Madam if my memory serves me right".

And then the train arrived, it was bit early that day, so no scramble for

seats. Surinder purchased the ticket uptil Lahore for the family. They thanked

their unexpected pleasant host. Just as the family was about to bid farewell,

somebody intervened.

"Namaste Sir", Surinder nodded and smiled. The man wearing the

Railway T.T. uniform introduced himself as Prakash Hudda. " Sir, I am going

with this train till Atari thereafter I will tell my counter-part to take care of

your guests. Surinder was one of the few high-ranking Civil servants well

recognized for their achievements especially after the recent floods

devastating the entire northern India. "This is Mrs.Saghir ", Surinder. Oh !,

what a…. pleasure !, Madam Saghir sahib is a hero of farmers over here.",said

Prakash. Prakash then hurriedly looked at his watch assuring to them to meet

at the Atari. The guard at the end waved as the train got the signal for clear

passage.The Engine honked and honked and with a gentle pull the giant snake

moved on its belly. " Wish you a safe journey,… children do not forget to

visit us on your return.I shall take you around the city and nearby picnic

spots."

Ahmed tried to peep-out from the window but the newly installed

grills would prevent him from doing so, as part of recent safety measures

introduced by the railways following many unfortunate accidents. Meanwhile

the train had gained a little speed but the snake ladders were a complex puzzle

to be solved at the busy junction as Amritsar.The olive-green wagons bearing

fire insignia and warning of "inflammable". crossed the red of the passenger

wagons.

Their coach was practically empty, that day in fact they were lucky to

have it for usually the railways never preferred to have the coach, for its own


reasons. Soon it was the green of fields, women labourers, a lone rail-track

and a whistling engine. These fields had number of times seen themselves

ravaged by the likes of explosives. The same women have fed the warring

soldiers, and like these fields have retained their natural selves.

The train had been traveling for over an hour or so and there was

complete silence in their cabin when the familiar voice called "madam we are

approaching the customs point, you please give me your passport and visa

papers." ,it was the T.T.,who had met them at the Amritsar station.." I know

even though it has been decades that I passed these fields, last time I

accompanied my father then the customs point was at the Amritsar." Usamah

said reminiscing. "...Every custom officer was familiar to us as it was a

regular annual routine till my marriage. No custom officer would check our

baggage out of sheer respect for my father, He was a doctor." Usamah smiled

at her listeners and handed the passport and visa papers to the T.T., who then

left. Ahmed tried to read his mothers emotions,the intensity of which so far

eluded him.

The Atari Railway station was in no way different from any 'C'

category Railway platform and it barely resembled a customs point, "where

was the army, guns, bunkers, etc. that sustained the war news every day in the

news-papers? Ahmed in silence observed the rush, the melee around a single

table and chair occupied by a police officer. He was stamping the papers for

Immigration clearance. There was no war machinery although the whole

ambience was not less the same.

Coolies in red shirts who promised the visitors to expedite the matters

for a ransom amount of Rs.100-200, which would mean the one-fourth of his

total salary, which he received from railways. In fact Ahmed's mother argued

that they charge them as per schedule chart, the coolie replied, "madam here


no rates apply". Meanwhile the T.T.returned and reprimanded the coolie, who

was immediately repentant and offered to lift for free. The Bureaucracy and

status were important ingredients for general courtesy! . The family did not

have any problem with the customs, for their status was told to the custom

authorities. In fact the Asstt.Commissioner incharge offered to play host,

while soft drinks were served to the visiting family. He soon excused himself

for inspection of the custom proceedings. The only unusual thing was that

once the entry into custom clearance zone, was made (which was marked by

the grills pointed at the tips as a lance), none was allowed to move out, till the

train from Lahore has arrived. The zone was distinguished by a shop( not a

duty-free shop) with a strange mix of merchandise; i.e. coconuts, pineapples

some spices, and beetel leaves as at Amritsar station. Ahmed's mother went to

the shop and bought some quantity of all the available merchandise, sold at

higher price. Though these were to be the gifts which were not available in

Pakistan. This shop also offered a rather novel citrus fruit,

"Is this orange?" asked Ahmed, " No son this is malta found in

Pakistan only, its very juicy, you can have them in plenty", said his mother.

Ahmed indeed all through his stay drank the citrus juice, it was only on his

return that he could realize how the culinary preferences, the taste buds are

inseverable routines. The family was seated at a bench in wait. Usamah

thanked the T.T. and asked if he would like her to get something from

Pakistan for him or his family ?, "No,No madam thank you", said Prakash

shyly. "No please do tell me," Usamah."Well madam an American georgette

sari for my wife would be all , if that does not bother you," humbly Prakash

came out. Ahmed was looking at a table where the Commissioner was

standing explaining a short-height Afghan, who carried whole cosmetic shop

in his two huge freight boxes. The law prohibiting such large consignment,

even on payments of duty. The short Afghan was adamant and claimed to be


penniless. Meanwhile the Commissioner had to leave to attend a phone call.

The officer at the table asked him to leave a few boxes and to quickly move

away, before the Commissioner returned for the round. "I will explain the

sahib that you didn't have the money so we reduced the quantity" the officer

said. "What brother you are worse than a Russian " the Afghan kept back his

turban and moved with his freight, musing at the loss. Apparently in an era of

mercantile freeze, this was the best way out to deal with the demand for the

goods on either side of the border. Ahmed was lost to the perplexing situation

of the few odd men reeling under the policies and laws," Hello!

Mr.Philosopher ...called Bilqis his elder sister, ...you are suppose to help us",

Ahmed snapped " Huh…yes ", and lifted his bag and Hot-case. The T.T.

helped them board the green and yellow striped bogies of Pakistan Railways,

while half were simple Indian Red, so that is how it got the name of

"Samjhota (agreement)Express" observed Ahmed. Meanwhile the custom

authorities also increased their pace while sifting through the baggage. The

people struggled to repack their entire baggage whole once again. They would

be repeating the same exercise with just forty-five minutes of intervening

period. The time train took to cover distance upto Lahore. The platform wore

the same deserted look, as at the time of their arrival.

“So, now why the delay! Everyone wondered , apparently it was the

two middle-aged ladies who were being questioned about the contents of the

jar which contained pickle. The ladies said that they would not empty the jar

as the whole pickle would get spoiled, and that it was years that her brother

had tasted the special pickle, which she prepared with great care and affection.

The customs suspected something foul, as the smuggling activities were on a

rise. Their superintendent got a clean vessel from a nearby canteen and asked

them to empty the jars into it. They could not find anything , the two women


bickered the custom officials, who still suspected them. Finally the arguments

ended.

It was late-noon hours, the same train brought the passengers from

Lahore the India bound passengers in the morning hours. The train has barely

crossed the platform end when the mounted police-men escorted the train

which cruised at 40kmph and never faster than that, till it reached the border,

which was marked by a small cement mile-stone, covered by wild grass all

over; as an old grave. The mounted police had stopped galloping and soon the

train was again surrounded by the horsemen, but these were the Pakistan

Rangers, while the others watched the train from a distance through

binoculars. Had it not been the color difference of the uniform it was difficult

to know the borders so etch-marked. The children were excited about their

escorts, which would befit only to VIP status.

Though later on narrating the same experience it was explained to

them by Uncle Ahmar those horse-men escorted the train to prevent

smuggling. Ahmed and others felt let down. Ahmed being a dreamer

immediately compared the situation befitting the magnanimous mughal

emperor mounted on his white elephant escorted by his cavalry entering the

Lahore fort!. As the train sped-past a dusty village, the train was challenged

by a small village boy with just a dirty shirt with a half-torn pocket, who tried

to run along attempting to beat the speeding train.

The muezzin's call for late-noon prayers came from a distance.

Although the mosque was nowhere visible, but apparently the lone concrete

structure amidst the mud-houses was the one. The faithful laid their prayer-

mats and read the shortened prayersi. The sun was preparing to set and rise

somewhere else till next day's dawn in this part of the world. Although

weather was pleasant but the rail journey was bit tiring, despite the short


distance and duration. It was so characteristic wherever the Iron curtain was

laid.

At this moment there was sudden silence as two rangers sat at their

berths, Ahmed looked inside as disturbed by this sudden silence inside. He

saw the very unique dress, it was the shalwar-kameez, the outfit quite

common in Punjab and North-west area.

Ahmed was face-to-face with the enemy's soldiers for the first time.

He couldn’t ask them, despite the urge to do so, how they got inside the

moving train, and what was they looking for. After the silence of minute or

two, the Rangers left, they were probably looking for someone. The old lady

sitting adjacent on single seat told Usamah, "...they are the Pakistan Rangers

and they board the train as it slows down after crossing the Indian border.

They are the youngest force manning the borders and a favorite of the

Adminstrator ". The old lady was returning after a visit to her brother who

lived in north Indian state of Utttar Pradesh, and had her grand-son in the

same force. "Bibi my brother was in Indian Army who retired recently, it was

always painful for us each time there was a war", the old lady said."Begum

Sahiba my brother is in Customs, we hope to meet him at the station." and the

conversation continued while Ahmed watched around fascinated and excited,

like many of his co-passengers. The train by its mechanical-self with its daily

load of passengers for the day appeared to be least bothered about the daggers-

drawn, inside or outside its compartments. Its role was fixed and well-

assigned. For its mechanical clickety-clack the confusion as in mortals never

reigned.

Forever since it has lost the emotions when it carried the loads of

compartments full of butchered and stinking human bodies with lone driver

and a guard to be the lone pall-bearer. The repitition of tales of horror on each

occasion reminded them to be as mechanical as they were desigend for.


The destination was very near as the huge garrison buildings over-

shadowed the rail-racks. It slowed down a bit. The young rangers

disembarked . Ahmed quickly peeped-out to have the last look of the man. As

the two pair of eyes met, the border-guard gently waved as the bugle was

sounded in the background marking the sunset hour. The clickety-clack was

more at ease with the civilian rush who often pour more tears than blood, as

the eyes have seen decades with lost hopes. Those Retreating soldiers whom

the train took home were tattered lots, as they were forced to make peace.

It was the notorious customs at their job again, keeping the visitors on

their toes again. This time it was the Pakistani Authorities. There was a rush

of relatives at the custom barricades. There were the same coolies in their

green shirts, to distinguish them of their Red shirt Indian counterparts. They

offered the visitors free and easy passage through the point for a few hundred

rupees. The "rates" varied on the merchandise and the language.

The very sight of many estranged ones left the eyes flowing till they

dried to the realism of meeting the long-seperated and divided.

As the family disembarked, Usamah searched hard for the familiar

face wearing the warmth and affection .... Suddenly a young custom official

interrupted "you must be Mohtarmaii Usamah Begum ... the man continued

".... I am Asif Jahangir, Asst. Collector here ".. He was a tall and formidable

Baluch dressed in impeccable customs white . Usamah smiled back, "Sir ! ,

has asked me to escort you and children home " . _Usamah's eldest borther

was now Commissioner Customs for the upper Pakistan Division. Ahmed and

others were disappointed. Their escort consoled "....Sir ! was equally eager to

be here, but an unscheduled and crucial meeting with CMLAiii_". "...but he

will be home as soon as the meeting ends".


" Here children " said another man, he had orange juice cans, and

smilingly remarked ".... this is famous Malta fruit of our land . The first sip

made the juice the lasting favourite. Even the Nagpur (India) Orange variety

would not stand the juicy value.

It educated Ahmed why coconuts, mangoes and pineapples which his

mother purchased, like so many other visitors were must and precious gift,

after all. One just can't forget the taste and food habits acquired during

childhood. Usamah discussed the custom arrangements and settings with the

official escorting them as they waited for the Passport to be stamped. The very

same junior officer fetched their passports as they all waited in the Customs

guest-room at the platform. The privileges often set their own distinct rules.


Chapter Two

" Sir !, the car is ready " said the same man who fetched their passports and

Citrus fruit juice . A porter fetched his manual iron trolley, its wheel well

Lubricated, yet it made the unpleasant noise as it bumped on the uneven

surface of the platform. The other colleague who was standing outside would

help him. They in a swift fashion moved the trolley towards the official Car

Parking zone. As they stepped out of the station. There was a massive

forecourt. The front facade was Victorian as any other major railway station in

the sub-continent. The colonial legacy was evident. Meanwhile the visitors

convoy drove out. Children and their mother along with the same elderly man

who took the driver's place drove in the same car. It was followed by another

car, which had their luggage and their escort. The third car was a security

escort. It was a white villys jeep with commandos from Customs wing. The

two cars were of Opel make, one was white the other was metllaic sea-green.

The white one was marked as Pakistan Customs. The unique feature of their

first itenary Lahore impressed with its canals all over giving some semblance

of Venice. There were few boys and men who were bathing and swimming as

the vehicles fast sped by. The elderly man pointed out to an old colonial

building. That is State Bank of Pakistan, this happens to be our central bank. "

you mean like our Reserve Bank of India ", Bilqis said from behind “."...yes

bibi! " . After this turn on the right you can see the gate at the end that is

where Begum Saheb( their aunt) teaches . The Medical College is situated

slightly off the way that is where your sister is an intern. The roads were

slightly bumpy and needed repair. They have been driving for about half an

hour, when their car halted at a small market corner. There was a huge Bakery

and General Store, it was suppose to be the best in Lahore. Their convoy


started once again after some eatables, etc, were purchased. The convoy once

again came to a halt. The wireless in their car beeped. The message was from

the car behind, their escort Asif Jahangir said " Rex is home, Roger to lead ",

and as everybody heard the message, the car immediately behind sped fast and

now lead the convoy. The elderly-looking man smiled and said " Saheb ! is

home . " Everybody smiled back. " Oh you mean Ammu! is home !",

erupted Bilqis excitedly.

They convoy has now entered the cantonment zone, where some huge

Bungalows, formed the unique scape. The headquaters of Punjab Regiment

and some others also. The convoy passed two roudabouts and then on a wide

lane slowed down, took the left turn and stopped in front of a massive house.

This was their uncle's house. " Is it official residence, Ammi ?, asked

Ahmed . " No ....!" said Usamah . The car in front was parked outside while

their car was parked behind the other private and official cars inside the porch.

The Bungalow had a massive parking place and a huge lawn in front of the

main structure and entrance. Their car was parked right under the canopy of

the porch. In the lawn were some garden chairs and a table neatly laid with

breakfast items. There were butlers all over the place and few security men in

plain clothes around. Then a familiar-looking face appeared, towards whom

their mother rushed ....Bhaijan !iv. ".....My Dear Usi ! ....". This was Ahmed's

uncle. Next was the fortified house of Lieutenant General . "...So, these are

my children! Come to me”. Uncle Ahmar blessed and hugged them all "Come

Asif let us have a cup of tea first, and Qaziji (the elderly-looking man), why

didn't you pick Marina , on your way home ".

".... Saheb ", he was walking just a step behind Ahmar ".... On my way to

Railway station she has asked me to take her along, but there was some

emergency at the Hospital, because of a V.I.P. visit in the same area. She

should be back in an hour or so".


" Saheb it must be CMLA 's visit, the area falls under the jurisdiction of the

Medical College ", Asif Jahangir, their escort added.

"...So these Doctors are also suppose to stay on V.I.P. visits for

eventuality ...", Ahmar murmured as if to himself only.

While the visitors washed and changed. The tea was laid. Everybody

joined including Qaziji , the elderly-looking man seemed to be a close and

personal confidant of Ahmar's . The visitors sipped tea and had refreshments,

while they chatted excitingly. Uncle Ahmar had a unique sense of humour.

"...O.K. children this is a Havana Cigar, Castro’s favourite. But for fear of

CIA trying to poison him Cubans thought it best to have exported them to

Pakistan. Now the Pakis are thinking to use them on Russian Generals in

Afghanistan...", Hahahahaha….!!!!!!!!!. Everybody listened attentively not

realising his subtle mocking manners. "... However the Pakistani Customs

wants the duty to be paid on these exports to Afghanistan, but the

Administrator (CMLA)v wants us to wave the procedure. However, the white

of customs refuses to bow to the likes of olive. This was the topic of our

meeting today. " Everybody smiled as they realised his funny streak. Ahmar

without any expression continued "...Now what do you think we (customs )

should do ?."

" Did you pay the duty on the Cigars ", Ahmed asked, as uncle Ahmar lit the

Cigar nonchalantly. " Did we ?" uncle Ahmar to Asif , " I think so , Sir, as it is

on the prohibited list." replied Asif in a serious manner . "This is the argument

I am going to put before CMLA, which my young boy just suggested...", he

continued " Asif what do you think of my nephew , isn't he brilliant ?!" . Asif

smilingly "He is Sir!". "Ammu !, he is brilliant in such things but not his

studies ", remarked Bilqis . "... You seem to envy this boy ! ..." Uncle

Ahmar."They are never at peace..." , Usamah their mother complained . "

They are innocent ..." intervened Qazi, the elderly looking man . It was now


late-noon, when muezzin called for the late noon prayers. Everybody got up

for the prayers. Asif left and invited the visitors to his home. As Asif's car

left, an ambulance halted just in front of the gate and out came a girl with a

stethescope and a white lab coat casually laid at her left shoulder. Ahmed and

Saif who sat facing the main entrance could see the people coming in and

going out through the huge glass panes. They rushed outside to receive their

cousin sister. " Nina Appivi is here ", as they entered the lounge. Saif walked

to her left while Ahmed held her right hand. Nina ruffled her fingers through

Ahmed's hair and walked him close to herself. " Where were you going

anyway?, Well I just decided to boycott your house in protest as you did not

come to receive us, as promised… ", Ahmed sarcasm was out at first meeting.

"Oh, I am sorry, but today I had a very important assignment, as we were to

conduct some field study and then this emeregency duty!!!" Nina cajoled. She

lifted Saif, upto her arms. "Nina you seem to be getting well with these

naughty creatures, said Usamah, Bilqis followed her towards the entrance of

the main hall. They exchanged traditional greetings, Usamah blessed Nina

"you look beautiful..." "This must be Bilqis..." Nina extended her hand to

Bilqis as they hugged and kissed each other in traditional manner. "Phuppi,

(paternal aunt) Ahmed is like Sheikhu (her brother). How come they have

such similarities.... ! , May Allah save us from their escapades...", "…you see

this is consanguinity.." , Ahmed"...this boy has a long beak "Bilqis , "...I am

not Greek or Kashmiri ". "...Shut up! don't be irritating " Bilqis initimidated .

Then there was silence for some time as everybody sat down close to each

other. " I don't see the girls?”, Uncle Ahmar, "...They are in Nina's room

…",Usamah , "Sir , your telephone..." said the Butler ".... Tell Qasim not to

direct any call, except that from the CMLA..."

"... Sir ! ...", Butler and Qasim entered with RAX hand-set, "... Sir, CMLA is

on the line ", Qasim. Ahmar immediately seized the set. " Good evening


Sir, .... , paused “....as you say Sir, I will ask my Indian counter-part to look

into the matter , I think we need to hold a secret meeting on this sensitive

issue . ....Good night Sir ". Qasim took the handset out of the room. "What is

it that he is deciding, " he wants some concessions from Indian side in lieu of

allowing the Indian goods destined for Afghanistan. He wants the same status

for Pakistani goods for Bangladesh on over-land route...". " He is too

optimistic...", Usamah. " No he wants Indians to refuse his demands first so

that he can retaliate. He is from undivided India and is very ambitious and

calculating… He does his homework well, there are very few generals like

him ", Ahmar pondered. The boys too joined the girls in Nina's room. It was

upstairs. Their noises could be heard down-stairs. "...Anyway it is nice you

are here, I don't know if ever I shall be able to visit our home..." There was a

long pause. Butler Niaz entered and said ".... Sir, Bhaijan's telephone " (eldest

brother of Ahmar and Usamah) " Yes, Bhaijan its me...” Usamah in choked

voice, ...I am hearing your voice after four years.” Did you received my

letter. I tried to telephone you but Islamabad numbers are very difficult to get.

Ok…so you are coming after two days, and what about Bhabhi (sister-in-law).

A...Haaan....yes…bhabhi Assalam o alai kum...., Amjad (the other nephew)

called me from States(USA), I read their article in Lancet on "Health

problems in South Asia " . We all are very proud of them (Amjad and his

wife, both being Doctors). It is a very important study. In India Health experts

are all praise for their work and efforts. No, Shahla Bhabhi (Ahmars' wife) is

yet to arrive, there flight was cancelled indefinitely two days ago. Now they

shall reach here tonight from Karachi. Yes, children they are busy with Nina

and enjoying. ...Saghir (her husband) is busy with his work as usual. After last

year floods he has been assigned the situation beforehand in Kashmir Valley.

This year has been very hectic for him....OK.... Khuda hafiz."


"Ammu, I saw your guns they are excellent and light-weight too ", Ahmed

broke in, with Saif following him and jumping straight into uncle Ahmar's

lap. "Who was it, your elder Ammu , Usamah to Bilqis ,"... Nina Appi is

having her bath. Ammu when are we going to airport?”, Bilqis to Ahmar, "Oh,

it is very near, Usamah reminisced "... we all i.e. Bhabhi, Ammu and little

Nina would just walk upto the airport then, Sheikhu wasn't born then" . "Oh is

it so near,..." Bilqis, " yes of course, you sleep well after such long walk of 5-

6 Kms both ways included."

“Abbuji and Ammiji(their parents). would also join us at times”, Ahmar too

spoke reminiscingly.

"...There is much to remember, not all are good memories, ...this Diaspora

needs to be rectified politically; although we are individually too lost to be the

same individuals." He paused as Nina entered doing her hair-locks, joining the

silence in the room, quietly sat next to Bilqis, looking at her father's pensive

face. Surprised, at her father’s rare display of emotions, yet she kept mum.

Ahmar glanced at Nina and then looked towards his sister and said " I have

been to India twice after the ’71 war…”, Usamah taken aback stopped before

saying anything "...but I could not visit you all as it was a secret visit and the

issues covered were very sensitive ones. My eyes would make me believe that

I saw you somewhere in the city." "...And And all these years I believed that

you were calling from Lahore itself ", Usamah in utter disbelief. "...Even they

did not know that I went to New Delhi not once but twice", pointing towards

his daughter Nina ,"... It must be one of those Karachi visits ", said Nina. Nina

loved her father but never trusted him for reasons of his offical errands when

he often lied to his family. The sudden appearance of a truth, made everybody

resent those who were responsible for the circumstances where even the

blood-relations were not to be trusted.


At the airport there were hardly any barriers and the approach to the

tarmac was easy like any other place at the airport. They all sat at the grass

just next to tarmac. There were other visitors as well. It was a small building

and the distinction between a visitor and passenger was the boarding card

alone.

" In India the access to the tarmac is not possible ", Ahmed said to Uncle

Ahmar. "Well it is a matter of time when this easy access will no longer be as

it exists", Ahmar.

"Look at those small aeroplanes, Ammu is it meant for children? , I would like

to fly one ",innocent Saif . Everybody looked towards Saif and then to the

small Fokker and executive jets, which looked much like children of giant

Boeings which surrounded them.

Finally the flight from Karachi was announced, it was a huge Boeing

and was an international flight from Frankfurt via Karachi-Lahore to

Islamabad. On their way home it was decided that they should go to Race

Course for the Dinner. It was there that the family realised what duo namely

Ahmed and SHeikhu his cousin were capable of when it came to mischief and

pranks. Ahmed and Sheikhu were too complimentary to each other. There

coordination grew stronger and their adventures became notorious in the

neighbourhood. The vicinity later realized that the two devils thought, what

even the Generals who resided in the posh Cantonment facility would not

dare. Saif most of the time watched the television in true Colours ! . Very few

heard of the same, until the public television began to relay colour

transmission in India, with multi-channels. He watched with great enthusiasm

various series like Six-Milion Dollar man, Bionic Woman, and "Kojak" was

their favourite.

The boys learnt to swim at the Army swimming pool nearby, and

would go cycling for long distances along with some other local boys. The


clothes they bought were there instant favourites with Japanese and American

cotton and jeans. Ahmed acquired "Kojak" style, and would always have the

"Kojak" lolly-pop in his mouth, pretending as if smoking Cigar, like "Kojak"

would. The Indian films were available on video-casettes, these were new

advancements in entertainment which made them feel excited.

The boys Sheikhu and Ahmed by now had a fixed routine, one

street brawl, one shot at the neighbours mango tree and jamun tree.

Lots of cycling and swimming. Their sisters liked their pranks only to

the extent when they too were beneficiaries of the same. One flat tyre

of any car parked in the vicinity. This they did by taking out air-valve.

This was part of their morning adventure on their return from mosque

after pre-dawn prayers. Evenings were to test each other’s sporting

talents. Ahmed would loose Tennis game to Sheikhu but would beat

him at the cycling. They never fought over winning and loosing,

despite their sisters, best efforts to make them fight in order to have

peace in the home. Later on they even decided to wear same kind and

colour of clothes.

Almost every evening there would be some party or dinner as

the relatives would come to meet them. Sheikhu, Ahmed and Saif

became friendly with their nbeighbour's grand children, who were

though slightly younger to the trio. Saif was the youngest of the lot.

One day there was a party at the General's residence and

Ahmed and his family were also invited. While the Generals came in

their evening uniforms there were many in civilian attire and wore the

Pathani suit, the new official dress. At the roundabout MPs(Military

Policemen) were posted, who directed the parking of vehicles and

security arrangements . In the last CMLA arrived who did not wearing

his uniform, preferring civilian dress, with long moustaches.


The miscreant boys thought of something, which was not only

unique but revolutionary. They decided to mislead the Army officers.

No sooner had the CMLA left the party everybody was relaxed

and the MPs too left. The roundabout during the day-time always had

an MP to guide the flow of traffic as the Punjab Regiment Head

Quarters were also situated nearby. So the drivers of these Generals

and officers drove cautiously. That night the roundabout was dimlylit,

so Ahmed planned-out the whole scheme, along with others. Their

neighbours i.e. the Grand-children of General were to get an old Cap

like those worn by the MPs. The whistle cord belonged to Sheikhu's

NCC dress. Ahmed stood in the centre of the round-about and as soon

as they saw a car approaching, he would stand making the car stop and

then direct it in opposite direction. It happened with two cars, whose

drivers were probably not acquainted with the area. Behind those dark

glasses could not make out the prank. A third car stopped to ask

Ahmed about some Brigadier's house. Ahmed directed him in wrong

direction. None of them suspected any foul play. That day pranksters

were excited having beaten adults at their own game.

Everybody took the turn at the circle. It was only when General's

grand-daughter took her turn that the drivers realised that somebody

was trying to fool them. The General must have been shocked to find

something of that sort on his agenda next morning as he was also

incharge of Cantonments security apart from being the Administrator.

The next it was late eveining when the boys were relaxing and

watching TV when General's grand daughter straight away went to

Shaikhu's room and without any warning, started abusing and beating

him with his hockey-stick. Poor Shaikhu ! , alas failed to understand


her problem,as they were pretty good friends. The girl left in a huff,

with all elders and rest of the lot watching this funny dramatic event.

Poor Shaikhu hurt his left foot in the melee while trying to save

himself getting pulverised.

It was only when the girl's brother came later the same evening that the

boys realised what the girl had to go through on account of her escapade last

night. Apparently the driver of the thir car realised the kids were trying to

have fun, so he reported the same to the General’s orderly. The Generals’

orderly found out the culprit which was her. That particular orderly and

Marina were never at peace. The orderly saw his chance to equal.

In despair and anger her grand-father spoke apprehensive about her future life

and remarked that she would get somebody like Shaikhu as bride-groom, if

she continued to behave irresponsibly.

On being told so, Shaikhu and Ahmed decided to take mileage out of the

situation. The two were insensitive when they came to settle score with their

friends. However they were very diplomatic and decided something really

weird.

A letter was written faking reply to Marina’s allged letter whereby

he(shaikhu) refused her offer to marry once they are adults. The duo ensured

that the same letter was placed at the General's table. They bribed the same

personal attendant, by giving him 10 rupees note and also threatened to tell

General about his “misdeeds”, in case!!!. The attendant was a young recruit

from a remote village in the frontier region. Although he was very tall and

strong, the man was without any brains at all. Two days passed the girl

stopped coming, even to meet their sisters. Marina was very interested how

women in India lived.

The letter was too much for her, the boys thought. However, they were

anxious to know what treatment she received at the hands of the General.


They could not have dared to ask her younger brother who was their play-

mate as well .The sisters were ruled out for the favour as they were also not on

suitable terms with them. Probably they sympathised with the girl. Then

something unique happened, the girl had the courage to defy all ban. She

called-up , and asked for Shaikhu . At first the Butler picked-up the receiver.

“Hello !” said Shaikhu . "...........after brief pause....Shaikhu its me Marina , "

"...yes Marina " , Shaikhu surprised , Ahmed stood next to him and listened

with his ear glued to the receiver's back . "....Shaikhu are you serious about

the refusal to my offer " ,boys realised the girl was upto something, and

exchanged looks ".....Aaa,what do you mean ? " Shaikhu hesitantly . "I mean

about us, your letter of refusal to marry me , which you had it placed before

my grand-father . Shaikhu I shall not eat any food till you say yes to my

demand or you say that the letter was a fake. I am going to tell everybody in

my house, why I am on a hunger strike. Shaikhu I am serious you can ask the

attendant ...." . Then smashed down the receiver. The boys knew this was a

check-mate to their plans. Soon it was all over, as the word spread from

servants, to subordinates, to the whole family even the relatives who stayed

far from the place. This was serious. The reaction of all adults in the house

made the boys bit nervous. "We will not let her win " said Ahmed. They

stood in the balcony of the first floor, from where they could over-look a

portion of girl's house as well . The boys were scary about Uncle Ahmar

coming to now of their activities. Then in that case they may have to

apologise. The boys were so immersed in their planning that they failed to

notice that their conversation was not a secret one. Nina and Bilqis overheard

all . Nina gently patted the two heads " Alright what is this, you must know

the girl doesn't have a father and General is quite a strict man, Shaikhu you

were never so irresponsible or stoic. Do realise you are no longer just kids.

You know our society. People might interpret the whole affair as something


real and bad or even vulgar. They don't think like you do!” Bilqis stood there

nodding and said "... Appi , Ahmed is quite notorious at such things, he must

have instigated him " . "Shaikhu has grey cells, he doesn't need my advice to

do some thing so silly and obvious " ,Ahmed retorted. Shaikhu stood in

silence listening to what all had to say, he then spoke " Alright I am willing to

apologise provided she too apologises for her behaviour the other day when

she hurt me for no reason or fault of mine."

Let it be tomorrow, she is only going to reduce her weight that way ",

unrepentent Ahmed jokingly remarked ." No it is going to be today and right

now", said Nina . Their mothers called them downstairs. " Now what is all this

about the letter and the harassment of the poor girl " asked Usamah, while

Shahla ,(Shaikhu's mother ) sat next to her staring at the boys. "Shaikhu I

know the girl, she is nice and I know its one of your tricks, so stop it all now.

God forbid; what if that orphan girl does something in depression!

“...Boys of our family never behave like stray-man. Don't forget ..." and she

started sobbing . Usamah consoled her.Shahla was quick to tears unlike

Usamah who was pretty strict with the kids. "I will only apologise tomorrow

and only if she also apologises to me ", Shaikhu spoke in a loud voice and

tried to move."Shaikhu stay put..." Usamah sternly. Shaikhu knew his aunt

who slapped him once when he ill-behaved. "...you made your mother cry and

then dare to speak loud .This defiance cannot be tolerated ...."...but

Phuppi(paternal-aunt ) she was wrong..." Shaikhu interrupted.

" Don't interrupt when your elders are talking, you understand ...!" Usamah

reprimanded. "Tell me all " Usamah in a conciliatory tone. Ahmed and

Shaikhu revealed it all. "Alright I will talk to the girl and then you can say

sorry tomorrow to her, you boys are crazy, May Allah give you patience and

peace!".


The whole episode was soon forgotten until many many years after,

when Shaikhu and the girl came on a visit to India as husband and wife. Their

marriage was a sort of coincidence as the General moved to his ancestral town

soon after his retirement.

The regime of Generals has commenced once again, the

political movement almost stopped and appeared to be dying, like and

unattended patient. The Generals who closed the Race Course to prohibit

betting, they themselves started political betting, they bought and sold

politicians like a trade commodity. The CMLA stopped wearing his uniform,

ever since that night. He continued to head army in a civilian uniform and

civilian office, unelected, unopposed. His political graduation from CMLA to

President came long after, but it was conceived the same night.


CHAPTER III

The visitors did not have the visa for Islamabad initially, but then

it was arranged then and there by Uncle Ahmar. On their visit to the twin

city of Rawalpindi and Islamabad. They were to visit their eldest Mamu3

where they were to attend two marriages. So everybody packed in the

notorious Ford family Van. The Van belonged to Uncle Ahmar’s fleet of

Vans. These Gas-guzzlers were very popular on the street as the Toyota

Coaster, was yet to make mark on the Highways. The American

automobiles still dominated the scanty and poorly maintained roads. The

Japanese vehicles have made heavy inroads for their cheap and economic

value. The Japanese were trying to make inroads into Pakistan Army. The

Generals still thought that the Japanese cars, were more of punishment,

for their elite service and status in the society. Once a working (interim)

Prime Minister anointed by Generals remarked “I shall put all the generals

in Suzuki”. The man himself a land-lord met the fate not uncommon for

zealous democrat. In less than a month’s time his fiscal trimming of the

system, met the tragic end of his political career. He was unceremoniously

removed from office of Prime Minister, to travel in a Pajero for rest of his

life, than a Lincoln or Mercedes. The Olive-white tradition was reaffirmed

when another General removed both the civilian Prime Minister and

President one arrested, on very short-notice to vacate the Presidential

palace. All in the name to save democracy. The “night of Generals” never

ended in the Indus politics.

As they all traveleld on the road which was the lifeline of

Pakistan, as it connected the two capitals namely the political and

financial (Islamabad with Karachi) , The Highway was more of free for

3 Maternal Uncle


all. The Pathans dominated the transport in this northern part also. They

decorated, Lorries hardly resembling their original make and design. It

was a prized possession for the owners and drivers alike. Some of them

were ridiculously ornate.

The driver of their Van was specially instructed to keep the pace to

the safe levels, yet the driver did not spare any chance to drive at high

speeds, as and when he saw an opportunity to do so. It took just 3 hours to

complete the journey. It could have been shortened but for the two stops

they made on their way. The road ran parallel to the rail track, which

entertained a small electric train service between the two points namely

Lahore and Islamabad. “look there is a small train” Saif, as they climbed

the foothills of Sulaiman ranges. It was a beautiful ride but the Army

check-posts most of them empty and Artillery Vehicles could be seen at

some distance from the Highway. Till the Army came in power, this was

the tourist destination. The lone hill station of Murri and beyond were

quite a fashion for many, urbane lot. “Oh we must have visited Murri

some 15-16 years ago, Usamah” “ ya…!!!!!!!” both Usamah and Shahla

excalimed in unison. “soon you got married ! , only bhaijan could attend,

I think it was just before the ’65 war. May Allah lend peace to this

khitta4” Shahla then stared blank out of the side window. The pelaseant

breeze blew across the green vegetation, which covered the foothills. At

times large grasslands would appears where the shepherd would be busy

with his herd.

The Van stopped next to a bungalow, with landscape view, atop

hill with a row of bunglaows down the road. This was at the end of the

same. It was a Bungalow, which would remind one of colonial

architecture blended with modern Villas. This was Uncle Hisham’s house.

4 sub-continent(piece of land)


Uncle Hisham and his wife, aunt Maria, an English woman lived with an

Army of servants.

As the Van honked the security guard stepped out of the small

wooden sentry-box, standing next to the main Iron gates. He saluted on

recognition of the faces and then opened the gate. A tall man appeared of

strong built and grey hairs dressed in impeccable light-grey trousers and

white shirt with a caravat and brown-white shoes much like Golf ones.

The man wore moustache with thick eye-brows. The first to alight was

Usamah who was sitting just next to the side door. The two paced towards

each other with open arms and embraced each other, then she stood there

clinging him and with teary eyes pointed to her children. “There are three

of them now.” “Usi my dear, you still look equally ebullient and

beautiful” this was aunt Maria. They pecked at each other’s cheeks.”

“This is Maria mami” “he is Ahmed, that is Saif and she is Bilqis”.

“Oh….love you all,…I recognize each one of them from the photos you

sent recently”, “Bilqis is very pretty, her complexion, is like yours”.

“Ahmar, Shahla, finally you can be here on vacations…!!!. Uncle Hisham

lead holding Ahmed, Sheikhu hands on one side and Saif on the other.

Then he stopped and turned his head and asked Nina and Bilqis to join

them. They entered the door which lead into a massive Passage with two

huge Halls on either side of the passage, This lobby was decorated with

fern and palm plants placed in copper urns, lit with decorated lamps, the

giant doors opened to many rooms sideway. Although the ceiling was

very high, it appeared to be centrally air-conditioned. They sat on the Hall

at the right side of the huge passageway. This was nothing compared to

Shekhus’ house. The house’s entrance was deceptive, as it did not match

this Mansion-like House. A little smaller than a Castle. Uncle Hisham was

a very wealthy and popular business-man, respected widely across


political circles for his sincerity and uprightness. As they walked inside

the private Hall, they were followed by three servants who were ready

with silver trays, laid with silk cloth and full of servings.

This Private Hall had huge ceilings and paintings were mounted on

the walls, some of the pictures were that of their fore-fathers who were

Zamindars5 and nawabs6, it had two parallel rows of couches with

embroidered and silk tapestry mostly four seaters with corner tables and

rows of center tables. All these center tables had Glass tops with carved

wooden base. The Persian carpets and the glorious Czech chandeliers

spelled the splendour and opulence, which was so tasteful. In between the

two rows lay a two-seater couch, at the head of the room. On either side

of which stood the stuffed Tigers and this couch had a chital7 skin on

covering it on the sides lay corner tables and Jaeinamaz8 of Sambhar’s9

skin. On top were two guns from yester-years rather antique with silver

coated barrels with Uncle Hisham’s anme incribed on to it. There was a

massive window, which hid bhind the heavy curtains. One could spend

time without ever realising whether it was day or night outside. Such were

the surroundings. Ahmed and his family lived a modest life with bare

essentials. Their only acquaintence was the old ancestral Haveli10, which

lay half dilapidated at their ancestral place where once their fore-fathers

lived as Zamindars and Nawabs.

5 landed aristocracy6 local royalty in small principlalities7 small deer, spotted deer8 Prayer-mat9 Large variety of Deer family like Reindeer.10 Mansioni As permitted during the travel period.ii Urdu for Madame(respectful gesture)iii Chief Martial Law Administratoriv Urdu for brother(affectionate way)v

vi Urdu for elder sister.


Uncle Hisham walked and sat at the couch, which lay at the

center, while he made the rest of them sit in the rows near to him. Only

Saif sat next to him. “Usamah we two old people live all by ourselves in

this massive house, it is good to have children and you, them all together

after such a long time ….ammi and Abba would have been very happy to

see us all together”, Aunt Maria. A very caring person who was

gregarious and talkative by nature, quite unlike Uncle Hisham. They two

met in London where Uncle Hisham was studying and ran small family

shipping business. That was a family business. He developed it into a

great success and now he was stated to be shipping tycoon. His only son

was in USA who was working there as Doctor. Now he wanted his

nephew Sheikhu to take-over business when he grew up.

Uncle Hisham was very found of his Pipe, which he usually held

in his hand. He smoked his pipe only when he was alone or in a business

meeting. “So Ahmed I hear you wish to be a Nuclear scientist, why is that

so ?”, as he sipped juice while holding Pipe in his left hand. “aaa…!!!, I

think that is a challenging and fast developing science”. “Ok ok …!!!!!”. “

There are many modern sciences but he is fascinated by Research, so that

he can be all by himself, a sort of loner he is.”Bilqis chipped in. “ they are

typical example of confronting siblings, Hashimta” Nina smilingly said.

Uncle Hashim laughed heartily. He was a man who would give a hearty

laugh every now and then. “ you know kids, me and Uncle Ahmar were

like that…” he again laughed, and everybody joined in. “But don’t tell it

to uncle Ahmar…., he would be here any moment now…” he again

buirsted in to laughter…, “ Oh ho …, so what is the joke, lets share it

bhai..” Aunt Shahla said while seating herself next to Nina “ No its not

meant for all”.


The hous ewas splendid, opulent, detailed and worked as if to

refelct the taste and persona of the inhabitants.

Ahmed was influenced by Uncle Hashim , he thought him to be

the reporsitiry of their lineal past when they lived in such grandeur.

Ahmed was solitary in some senses, where he did not share many of his

passions. In some ways he was stoic. Ahmed was blessed with extremely

great memory and sharp mind, he could recall things with maverick

quality and exactly in details.

During their stay with Uncle Hisham, he learnt more about the

past, partition. Once when Uncle Hisham took them to the upcoming

Presidential palace whose foundation stone ceremony was led by the

CMLA only recently. The palace, was being built by a friend of Uncle

Hisham. He was a Sindhi11 businessman who loved to wear suits, despite

the scorching Sun. He showed them the small replica of the same, it was a

miniature which looked opulent, well fortified and extravagant. The

CMLA realised that this was a poor society and to justify the magnificent

project in fiscal mess was a big task.

In the ceremony CMLA said “ this will be a repository of the

people of Pakistan, it will be a people’s house”

The miniature kept there had these lines embossed on its bottom.

In the same office there hanged a saying from Caliph Ali: “ the biggest

tyrant is the dictator”. On an adjacent wall hung the biblical words: “ I

think therefore I am”. It was an interesting combination of settings and

sayings. Somehow that highly westernised friend of Uncle Hisham was

fond of wise words. He was also a classical example that the wisdom is a

combination of wise selection of words and not situations.

11 from the name of southern province Sindh.


The wedding was next day. It was at a distance from Islamabad.

The place was called lahalu and was in the tribal belt. It was on the road

leading to Peshawar. Many small rivulets and small gorges fell on the

ineter-state highway. They drove in a convoy of three Land-Rovers. Uncle

Hisham was very fond of them and kept them in immaculate condition.

All waxed metallic paint and with all gears for snow and muddy

conditions inside. He was an avid Hunter, and was a sort of

environmentalist. These were Air-conditioned and were very comfortable

to drive in. After travelling for about half an hour or so, the convoy

crossed a small bridge over a seasonal rivulet.

From here onwards the road was kuchcha(muddy) and dusty track

They had to drive with windows closed and the AC keeping the inside

cozy. It was the most effective Car airconditioning with blowers located at

two different points. These vehicles were designed to withstand the

scorching and unrelenting tropical sun. It was this scorching summers that

the Arab grammaticians decided Sun as female gender. The moon,

belonging to male gender.

Although the view was absolutely breath-taking, where the dirt

track ran next to the rivulet flowing with its full zest and zeal. This lone

track was situated in the plains with the hills running just parallel to the

vast plains. It was in the foot of the mountains. There were very few

vehicles. This was not an affluent area by any standard. People looked as

desolate and poor as would any remote place appear for reason of apathy.

However it seemed that their’s were the only Land Rovers there. It was all

Japanese vehicles mostly Pajeros. The Japanese were capturing the Asian

markets with great maverick capabilities. Many Europeans (firms/brand

names) were simply disappearing from their commonwealth or former

colonies as the case may be. It was as if the Asian Tigers were there with


vengeance. Their identity was established and accepted under the very

American patronage. The Americans were trying to gain their strongest

ally in these far footholds, in an era of mutual mistrust and hate. Russians

were marching in deprived and ravaged Black Sea and Camrahn Bay.

The ideologies were already blurred and the poor were taught empty

stomachs, with kalashnikovs and Grenade launchers on their lean

shoulders. It was their only proud possession, which many foot soldiers in

tattered clothes and uniform could display.

In the words of the revolutinary poetvii :

Muflisi hisse latafat ko mita deti hai,

Bhuk tehzib ke sachon mein nahin dhal sakti

Translation roughly reads:

Poverty lament sophistry,

Who seek manners when empty belly.

There being many people in this region walking in false pride in

torn shoes and sandals with their guns on the shoulders shining bright.

Uncle Hisham also carried a gun, small Uzi sub-machine gun with

very precision capabilities. The third vehicle was carrying three armed

escorts alongwith two servants who also carried small weapons. It was no

longer safe for the rich and affluent to travel without Armed escorts. The

interiors through out were dacoits and robbers infested. The writ of police

did not run there or atleast they posed no challenge to these small local

armed gangs.

vii Sahir Ludhianvi, his song in a film was banned by the Nehru government for some time.


After an hour and a half they stopped at the gates of an Old fort

with its unique mud architecture. The huge and massive gate with metal

spikes made it look like a fortified fort. Although, there was no moat in

sight. It stood as lone vanguard to the cluster of houses, which stood at

the mountains behind. Out came a tall man with very bushy moustach

covering his half face with a spear in his hand dressed in his traditional

costume from the small gate. He saluted, as soon as he recognized the

convoy. The gates were opened. Inside was a different world of

splendour, richness and sagacity. This was the palace of the local princely

person called Nawab Markaz Hayat. His fore-fathers were local

commanders during the Mughal era. Their family distinction being that

the British never took away their honours or property despite their fierce

loyalty to the Mughal Emperor. It was only for a very brief period that

they were devoid of their status around 1860. It was a family, which never

fell out of favour of ruling elite. The tradition sort of continued, he was

the local strength to the popularity of the CMLA, not very long ago he

was a minister in the erstwhile democratic government. Uncle Hisham and

he were not friends in real sense of the word. They were more of close

business associate. Uncle Hisham was a typical businessman in one sense.

He never dabbled into politics. It was here that Nawab Markaz Hayat

would be of great help often. Although, this Master-fixer always charged

some money or took some obligation in return of the favour. Unattended

obsolete system was the breeding ground for such parasites.

It was a very ostentatious experience for the visitors, where the

women only discussed clothes and jewellery and men their favourite past

times. The bridegroom would stay fopr next five days enjoying the

hospitality of the bride’s family with his elaborate number of guests

(entourage).


The bride was a beautiful girl of tender age, around sixteen-

seventeen, on day of nikah she sat in the middle of huge Hall on a slightly

raised circular bed with two pillows matching her bridal suit. With a

small footrest lying in the direction where she faced. The room was full of

women. The fountains placed in four-corners, with Rose water pouring,

almost intoxicating aroma.

Their beautiful faces coupled with alabaster skin complimented a

fiction, a fantasy. Their grace and elegance would sunken the fiction of

passion and desire in one go. Many of them wore almost same perfume,

this was just to identify them as from one family.

The Hall did not have the doors it has a raised dome as its roof,

with small glasses and massive chandelier small ones hanging around it.

Instead there were Silk and Net curtains with their transluscent view

enhanced the charm of the harem. Women were seated on the shite sheets

strewn over rich Persian carpets, with small walkways marked with red

carpets. The Hall was filled with Rose aroma, whose source were the

fountains at the fourcorners of the Hall. Many of the women wore same

perfume to identify their family or clan.

“…Daira, they are from Hashim sahebs’ family, she Nina and you

are….” Lady of the house, “Bilqis” “why don’t you sit with her for

sometime.” “Are you people studying” Daira spoke in English. “Ah yes !

I am doing my Internship (medicine) and she studies in school” “Aah,

Karachi” “No India…rather Delhi” “ you look beautiful and this dress is

made to order in everyway” “ yes we got it from Lahore” “don’t you think

you are too young to marry” “Bilqis, you cant ask this…here at least !”

“No she is right, but our circumstances are different, we still follow the

age-old routines” “ Is there nobody whom you could ask for help, I mean


your mother, granny” “SHSSHHHHHHHHH, Bilqis some people are

looking at us” “ Daira do we have be afraid!!!!!” . Saif stood there behind

Nina gazing at the little bride. In this Harem only very young boys were

allowed not even those of Ahmed’s age. The purdah was strictly

observed.

“Wakil saheb qabooliyat ke liye aa rahe hain” ( Wakil is approaching for

her consent). It was announced by one of the Eunuchs. The women inside

covered their heads with their veils. An old man entered with two

witnesses at his side. The Eunuch in a subtle mannerism asked them to

follow. They stopped next to the Bed where Daira sat with her veil half

pulled down her face. Only her deep red lips and milky white chin was

visible to those standing. The Wakil! asked for Daira’s consent for Nikah,

Daira nodded here head in yes, he asked her thrice, she repeatedly nodded

in acceptance. In a Hall filled with hundreds of women, the din, now bore

pin-drop silence. The words of wakil resounded as it reached the top of

the dome. He asked Daira to sign on Nikahnama, Bilqis and Nina were

standig just next to her. Bilqis took out a pen from her side pocket and

gave it to her.

Nina and Bilqis congratulated her and then left to sit next to where

their mothers were sitting.

“ I am sure the girl must have resisted…must you be blunt, she is

already going through an emotional experience” “look mami you have to

take consent to marry. Won’t that means you cant force a choice or even

an option” “…Bilqisbi Will Papa make you marry soon and then leave

us…” Saif. “No No, I am not going to leave you that soon” She bent

forward and kissed Saif ‘s head, who then wrapped his hands around her

legs in affection.


A day after they returned to their uncles’ place in Islamabad. Soon

they headed for Lahore where they were destined to travel Karachi. They

stayed there for about ten days. The train journey took through the Thar

desert and the Indus flow. Tezgam express was carrying only three bogies

of air condition coaches. It was quite a task to get the reservations, but the

prviledged did not have to scramble either by influence (position) or by

paying bakshish viii now called illegal gratification/bribe. There being

other names but it was so rampant that this was the convenient way of

getting around the sickening legal provisions which ante-date many of

those living in the sub-continent. In the State whereby professing its

existential flow on religious and moral highs, the stark realism of the

common subjects life was quite anti-thesis.

There are many compromises which the modern State may make.

It is the gap in ideals and their practice. Then there are segments who feel

bound by the thrust and compulsion of the ideals as part of their identity

and existence. At the same time, there are other segments of society

whose thinking and circumstances are a mismatch and their concern is less

and less of the national values. In the growing era of universalism, the

future of the same is nonetheless apparently safe. Although peace eludes

modern States, yet growing nihilism of those who follow the ideals of the

Welfare State and its existence are dividing themselves into moderates and

extremists.

The growing division may be attributed to the gap in the

democratic ideals and differing standards for disparaged sea of humanity

polarized on affiliations to set of competing ideals.

viii Bakshish meaningTip, British started it during the colonial era to win over their subjects. It became so rampant paractice. Even to this day is the biggest spource of the grass-root corruption. In India a commission was set up to see if at all ghoos(bribe) like that existed. Nowhere the word was found to be in use, many euphemisms existed. It is believed that Dowry-giving parctice was the major sources of corruptiona and lame excuse for bribery.


There isn’t much to console for those who were termed the

freedomfighters and those who were made to fight for their nation or their

national interest.

As the visitors travelled through the moonlit night, The dark and

double glasses of their coach did not offer much vision of the scorching

heat and the blowing sand. Ahmed possibly was the only one awake while

other passengers were asleep. The Air conditioning was more chlling than

conditioning. At one of the stations, in the middle of Thar desert falling in

the Indus flood plains. The paltform was almost deserted barring the Tea

Stall and some other Railway staff. It was very hot and sticky outside.

Ahmed took few steps to the coach behind. He saw the TTE was trying to

shoo away a newly wed couple travelling unauthorised in the reserved

compartment by dodging him. They must have hid themselves in the toilet

when he took his normal checking.

The young man asked him for forgiveness and pleaded again and

again his poor self. The man was having an ordinary ticket. There was just

one coach and the people inside were packed like sardines right upto the

gate. The young man a Sindhi couple wanted his bride to travel in bit of

comfort. The TTE did not relent. Finally the young man tookoff his white

turban and try to put the same next to his feet. All the while the young

bride kept her long veil over her head and stood just behind bride-groom.

The TTE was adamant. Although some passengers did woke up on

commotion but none intervened. He was a poor man and so they were.

Finally some sense prevailed as the engine honked , the TTE himself

came out. “Give me that gold ear ring which you are wearing and I will let

you travel !.” The bride held tight his arm as he lifted the same to remove

his ear-ring. The young man very gently removed her hand asked her to


board the bogey. As there were no vacant berths, they travelled next to the

space near the toilets.

The engined honked once again, although the signal was still red.

The TTE smilingly left the couple poorer than they were few minutes

before. Ahmed feeling disguisted ran towards the gates of coach, as the

train with gentle push began to leave. The signal was still red, but the train

gained speed. It was not very far off from this place that the deposed

Prime Minister was incarcerated in a small jail in the middle of the

desertix.

It must have been 9 am in the morning when they met their

waiting relatives at the Hyderabad (Sindh) station. It was tears of joy once

again. There was no visa for the place so this was the only way to meet

the relatives living in Hyderabad. They recognised each other from the

photographs, which their respective albums have pasted. There were few

colour ones which were gradually replacing the black and white ones.

Their arrival at Karachi was in the after noon. Since their’s

was a short stay, every day was full of meetings lunch at one end and

dinner at the other end of the city. This was the coastal city and the only

Port, which was the capital after the partition. It was here that the refugees

(Mohajirs) from the UP and later Biharis settled in bulk. They were the

people who were dominating the affairs politically and socially. However

the growing sectarian influence and the conflict was brewing in parts and

places. Certainly it was a city which was full of life but in contrast the

indisciplined motorists. One could not drive some distance without

coming across a major or minor accident on the roads. People drove as if

ix ‘My friend Zulfi’, By Piloo Modi, Book which documents the days of Murder Trial on deposed Prime minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto.


on a racetrack or a death track. Though full of affluence, its size of

squalor and slums, the garbage and sewarage were growing.

The amusement park at Clifton was their instant favourite

and they spent many evenings there. They were also told that the house of

the deposed Prime Minister was nearby. It was not a house but a massive

mansion, though only the females lived there. Men were incarcerated or in

self-imposed exile. The favourite Army officer of the deposed Prime

Minister even kept them interned as often as possible. The MRDx was

almost gaining momentum. Ironically those who opposed the 1973

constitution were now trying to lead movement for the restoration of the

same.xi Ahmed’s mother on pretext of social parties met many political

leaders who were in hiding. On such dinners only Ahmed and his mother

would go. None of their relatives wanted to be seen at those houses for

fear of surveillance. It was general impression that this was a tough and

long fight for democracy. Many politicains and writers thought that geo-

politics favoured dictatorial regime in their country. It was a derogatory

proposition of democratic Nations validating dictatorial regimes in the

garb of International politics and their convenience.

x Movement for Restoration of Democarcy.xi ‘Daughter of the East’ by Benazir Bhutto.


PART-II

VISIT TO STATE OF JAMMU AND KASHMIR


Chapter-IV

The excercising troops indicated that the territories have changed and

the reminder about fierce nature of conflict. The passenger train carrying

Ahmed and his family passed over the small bridge above the excercising

troops, which were never intimidated by the rumblings of the rail-tracks. The

passengers pulled down the windows to prevent the rising dust-clouds from

choking them. Jammu was only two-three hour journey from Pathankot. The

Rail-tracks were recently extended under the Railway plan from Pathankot to

Jammu. The tracks upto Poonch and Srinagar were awaited as promised by

Union Ministry. The northern state of Jammu and Kashmir, having special

constitutional relationship and autonomy in the Federation.

The train suddenly stopped with a few jerks. The emergency brakes

were being applied .It finally came to halt .The train was slightly leaning on

the tracks. The topography made the tracks slant. Some got down other tried

to peep out of recently installed grills on the square windows.

"It is a cow, under the train ", someone shouted from outside. The

women sighed." It seems to be alive ", other one shouted. The women with

folded hands thanked god. Cow being a scared animal and many passengers

were on a pilgrimage. There was a commotion when finally the Rail guards

reached the place alongwith the driver and the conductor of the train.

Indeed the cow had given birth to calf and was sitting right in the

middle of the tracks when the train was forced to stop for a while. "It is not a

new feature here the cows very often sit on tracks, yet the administration

seems to be careless", someone shouted at the railwaymen.

Meanwhile the owner of the cow reached, the vast expanse was once

their homeland where they roamed like nomads .The railway police helped to

remove the calf first and then asked the driver to reverse a little so that the


cow could be made to stand on its feet. It delayed the train full three hours,

which meant the passengers for Srinagar the state-capital will miss the trip as

the buses due would have left and those remaining will now only be able to

leave tomorrow. The authorities did not allow the buses and heavy vehicles to

move during the night on the National Highway connecting Jammu-Srinigar

and Leh .The passengers were asked to stay at a Dormitory nearby. It was a

Hotel cum Wedding Hall, with many Dormitories as well .It was spread over

four acres. There were other children as well .One of them a girl who also

joined Saif and Ahmed at the Table-Tennis table lying just below the stairway

leading to the Main hotel. Saif who was younger to Ahmed defeated him as

everybody praised Saif. Ahmed stood embarassed. This young girl was

Manali. She challenged Saif to a game. Ahmed immediately handed over his

raquet to Manali. She seemed to be an adept player using a pen-holder grip.

They introduced each other. Manali " My father is a PVSM"12. Manali with

great pride, continued "...he won it for his role in Ind-Pak war in 1971", she

paused and looked around as everyone listened "...when we passed Pathankot,

my father told me his regiment fought, just a few kilometers away from there

at the Chhamb-Jaurian sector. ...It was fierce and bloody battle ", bringing fear

to her facial expressions." Have you been to the region? " Saif while taking

the shot across the table."...Oh No "! exclaimed, as she lost the game to

Saif ,"...it is not a family-station..,moreover there is not much to see except

few villagers and occasional bombardment, light artillery fire ". Ahmed

picked the ball and handed over to Saif, who was winner-happy. "So where

are you heading for now",Ahmed, "Well, we were stationed in Delhi for

sometime but now we are heading for ladakh, our permanent home is in

Srinagar near Wular13 lake .It is very beautiful , do visit us ." ."you don't look

12 Gallantry award13 the lake which is source of fresh water supply to the town.


like a Kashmiri girl ", Saif smiled .Manali also smiled back ."So where are

you people heading for?." Manali asked. "Well, we are heading Srinagar and

thereon we will fly to Leh, where my father is currently posted supervising

BRO (Border Roads Organization) project .He is a Civil engineer with

expertise in Mountainous regions." Ahmed who was watching the game from

the side. He was standing at a small distance. "...So you are Delhi guys",

Manali. "...Well right now we are coming from our visit to Pakistan, we have

lot of uncles and aunts over there who migrated long back .." Saif . "Well,

how is the place? " Manali. "You have lost another game, anybody else .."

Saif while looking side-ways as if challenging others. Nobody wanted to

loose." It just happens to be your goose-luck", their elder sister Bilqis taunted

Saif from behind."Tell me dear (to Manali ), did he try his fancy tricks ,"

pointing towards Ahmed. Everybody laughed at Ahmed's expense, with zero

costs ."Aapa(elder sister) ,I haven't annoyed you once, yet you taunt me" . "Oh

dont take it seriously Ahmed ", Manali continued " Didi (elder sister), you are

really pretty-faced and so kind ". Everybody then dispersed, Manali found a

new friend in Bilqis. Next day both families decided to take the Luxury coach.

Lt.Col Ram Mattoo led the mantle, as the male member, he was assisted by

Ahmed in the chores involved. As there were no coolies at hhat time and no

mode of transport to carry the luggage from Hotel to Railway Stattion. So

peole had to wlk some300-400 metres on foot with their luggage. Though

many kept their luggage at the Railway cloak-room. They all got-up as others

around 4.00 am, by 5.30 am the buses begin to leave. Theirs was the first one

to leave. The break-fast and Tea was to be served on board at around 7.00am.

Tea was served twice .In less than twenty minutes the Coach was on the foot-

hills of the Mighty ranges of Siwaliks and thereafter Pir Panjal. Ahmed got

the odd seat and shared with a young British tourist. The splendour of

decidous forests advanced with the mix smell of Pine and Fir , the wet soil .


There was sudden drop in temperature, as the Coach advanced the 200 Kms

jouney on the youngest and most challenging mountains in Northern

India .They acted as the borders where number of times the fiercesome battles

were won and lost by many .The Coach initially drove at ahigh speed but soon

the speed dropped ,as the slopes grew steep and dangerous .The Hair-Pin

bands and the blind turns made the journey more adventurous . The shifting

moods of Sun who drew veil of clouds as they moved alongwith the wind .It

was only after sometime that the weather grew so cloudy, as if it would rain

any moment .Just when everybody was busy appreciating. The Coach

suddenly lost speed and came to abrupt halt at a blind turn. Anxious,

everybody looked in front it was an Oil-Tanker which had over-turned and the

diesel from the fuel tank was leaking. Luckily none was injured in the mishap.

The driver alongwith his helper were trying to stop the spillage which was

otherwise dangerous as the Tanker was still half-filled and would make the

flow of traffic impossible. With the help of few people the spillage was

stopped and the traffic started to move .The Highway was just wide enough to

let two vehicle’s pass through. The British Tourist however kept on reading

his novel, and would only occassionally look-up .On a halt at a small hamlet

for refreshments, where there were just two-three restaurants. Ahmed and his

family decided to eat at one of the restaurants which was somewhat clean and

well-furnished by local standards. It was slightly expensive as well. Only

foreign tourists and some Indians were present. The water supplied was

bottled. The potable water was not considered to be safe enough. Although the

local council of the area has diverted some of the small rivulets for the

Hamlets, yet they were not considered fit for the Tourists. On the opposite

table were two middle-aged German ladies who were enjoying mango fruit.

They were relishing the taste of it , while slicing it in pieces. Ahmed's family

was amused as eating mango this way was quite alien, the king of fruits was to


be sucked and eaten in bulk. They would eat buckets full of mangoes of

numerous variety. "Ammi, It is for the first time that we didn't have our share

of mangoes..." Bilqis, while sipping tea. "...Don't worry the vendors will keep

some for you in Delhi..."Ahmed snapped . "…Don't talk to your sister like

this..." Usamah. Manali and her parents also entered, they have purchased

small baskets of Oak tree bark."…she wanted some to gift her friends in

Srinagar, "Manali's mother . "Oh they are really nice ", Ahmed, while feeling

the surface of the basket."...Oh in Srinagar, there are so many shops but she

insisted she would purchase it from Patni Top, ...you see this is the highest

point that you have to cross to reach the valley", Manali's mother, who wore

typical Kashmiri Ear rings. They were held by a thin chain tuck into the hairs

at the nape. Meanwhile Manali's father who has befriended the young British

Tourist, Donald Turns.Donald was a young communications engineer and was

software developer as well. Donald soon dispelled his aloofness and thereafter

chatted with the two families. Donald was visiting India for the first time and

was here to see if Alps had any substitute .The fleece of sheep and beard of

the shepherd grew thin as the Coach descended to reach Banihall or the much

recently christened as Jawahar Tunnel. It was for the first time that the few

Police men belonging to the CRPF (Central Police Force) with their out-

dated .303 Enfield Rifles were found standing lazily .It was only in the

winters the Army would take over the Srinagar-Leh Highway. It was a

national Highway as the life-line of the State and its only road connection to

rest of India. The Air transport was not the reliable one. The tunnel ran for a

kilometer and half, it halved the journey-period, otherwise the journey earlier

would last for two days as is the case with the road travel further on between

Srinagar and Leh. It grew dark and darker only the noise of engine and

leaking roof could be heard. For few minutes the head-lights of the bus would

be the only source of light. Then at a far-end the beam of hope would light


and the innate mountain darkness would finally come to an end. "Oh, there is

snow all over the mountain and look at the valley , we must take some

photographs here .."Ahmed, the luxury Coach was parked at a corner to

enable the tourists, view it all. There were other buses, which would stop for a

while and then move on.

It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon, lunch packets were served here, with

tea as well."...Its time they should wear some cardigan or or wool, else they

will catch cold " Usamah to Manali's mother." Donald you know, this

"bloody-piece "of engineering bears Russian, French and Indian stamp on

Himalayas " ...Lt.Col.Ram Mattoo. "...I can sense that!…" in his accented

English ."I find it a nice track to trek along"...Donald. "...Bloody good idea"

Manali's father. “Please return to the bus we are getting late”, Bus conductor

shouted. The passengers hurried back to the Coach, reluctant to loose the tryst

with mountains. “...From here we descent till we reach the valley...” Lt.Col

Mattoo to Donald. Donald nodded.

As they descended it became to grow cloudy and started to drizzle.

The weather in the mountains was like the mood of a damsel. The small paddy fields

with green saplings stood half submersed in the logged fileds. “Rice is the staple diet

of the Kashmiris, only the poor eat wheat” ...Mattoo to Donald. “I doubt that part,

wheat must be expensive on account of transport costs involved” ...Donald.

“...Hmm.!, you have a point .”Ahmed who was listening to these new

friends .Donald turned towards him . “You have been prying young man”, smilingy,

Ahmed shrugged and pushed himself back in the seat .

After about an hour and a half, the bus stopped, it was the first taste of

Kashmiri crafts mandship when at Batot, the tourists alighted for as short break .The

place has become famous for the walnut and Oak wood baskets , small decoration

items . These items have become the souvenoirs for the tourists .Perhaps some of the

succesful face of the cottage industry . The colonial fiscal policies did not reach the


heights as it smothered the cottage industries in the Ganga plains . Ahmed and his

family also bought some baskets and other items . It was bit of a surprise to the first-

time visitors who found walnuts, cherries, apples, and other dry fruits to be so

cheap/Kg . The consumers to the same national market drank with luxury the fresh

apple juice marketed and prduced by the State-run Cooperative . The cool and

growing Pir panjal ranges were a chilly contrast to the some of the chartered tourist

from deep South India , Bengal and Gujrat . they have come prepared . They wore

thin linen clothings bt wrapped woolen shawls . The dark skin colour stood in sharp

contrast of the locals . Some have come to visit the Amarnath shrine .Thus not all

tourists were here on vacations .It was part of their pilgrimage to four pious points of

Brahmin order / fold .

The grazing flock of sheep, cattle and bearded shepherd with their long coats

feran as they were locally called. Their sticks would remind one of the ages when the

shepherds were the centre character of the society. They broke the desolate silence for

the forlorn travellers. The times changed but the tradition remained as it is. Many of

the village houses perched at the foor of the mountains were of mud and wooden

structure. For years though they still lived, the same. A distinct knock could be heard

in the shape and sound of incoming tourists who brought with them the historical

forces of change so inevitable and distinct .Yet the shepherd and his flock moved

from one top to another top of the mountains which were Pir panjal range. The bells

round the sheep necks wore the tradition of recognition and the breaking of silence.

These grasslands which depleted fast to the contours of the new horizon. The loud

shouts of the shepherds were the call to the distant shepherd or to his neighbours

across the mountains. The local transport was as yet primitive and slow as ever .The

administration was absent except for the brief tourist stop-overs. It was the matter of

discontent as the local populace wanted their share of the booty. A state whose

economy rested on tourism did not bother much about the native people. The

discontent was easy to be seen as one would just stroll away from the Tourists routes.


The locals this year were complainning against the Central government at Delhi as the

State government has failed to provide them the sapling of better variety it promised

last elections. The Panchayat elections were long over-due. The unique scheme of

local-bodies still had no constitutional sanction on holding the periodical elections

when due. The resentment was boiling as the less-sensitive kiosk-owner would

remind you by calling a tourist “from the downhill below”. At tmes one would be

uneasy to hear “Hindustani (India) government must do something for Kashmir.”

The coach reached the outskirts of the city of Srinagar the capital of the state

of Jammu and Kashmir .The palce was much publicised by the Bombay Films. It

made the chronic romantics feed on the real time Alpine beauty. Though not many

foreign tourists would compete it with any of Western tourist spot. It was an

Himlayan experience which were born out of the joining of Gondwana, with the

burial of Tethys sea. The tectonic movements were much beyond the quite valley,

which was full of lakes and beautiful Mughal gardens. The splendour of medieval

Nishat Bagh, the spring-water and the sight of Dal Lake from the heights of Chashme

Shahi . The spring-water of Chashme-Shahi was known and believed to have lot of

medicinal and curative values. Many a times when the Chashma would dry out,

people would take it as a bad-omen. It was much the same as the Bamboo-blooms in

the North-Eastern Parts of India. There also locals found it ominous when the food

would be scarce and drought and hunger would stalk the hill people.

Well indeed every fifty years when the Bamboo would bloom and the flowers

would rise in all the forest, the wild rats population would double, consequently the

Steppes of the cultivation would be burrowed out. Much in 1949 the infamous

drought would cause such hardships to the remote-centered populace that it took the

shape of a legend. So the generations by word of mouth took it as ominous sign.

Chashme Shahi,(Royal Spirngs) carried the symptomatic value for the people

of the Kashmir Valley. The drying of natural spring a geological wonder was both


considered an important indicator of potable water situation in expert terms and so

would the believers interpret it.

At a distance stands the Pari mahal( Fairy Palace). It once housed the royalties of the

times but now stood desolate. This was one of the haunted sight attraction in

Srinagar. Ahmed and his family visited the desolate looking structure. It bore

semblance to a young widow, a cursed place. Local legend would support many more

fables with each passing generation. Though now the fable-tellers were repleted by

the stories of terror, torture. In the Umbra of such events, there was no place for

passive fables.

“here we are!” , Donald, “Finally..” ,Ahmed . “Was it so tiring”, Manali to

Ahmed, “He can feel so anytime,” Bilqis, Ahmed stared back at her with usual

contempt .As everyone alighted, Mattoos prepared to leave as the orderly came with

the Army Jonga. It was the most reliable of the small multi-utility vehicles for the

officers and mounted guns as well. These vehicles though American in origin was

quite a popular off-Roader with the rural masses. The choice of Ownership of

vehicles, limited by paucity of the Makes and Brands. These disposed-off vehicles

were indeed very popular here. These vehicles were quite unlike those reinforced

vehicles, which the US Army would never even think of disposing (should it fall in

wrong hands). However the Indian Army vehicles were not the same choicest ones. It

was as susceptible in the war zone as any vehicle would be on the road. The poor

budget Army would make do with a 14jawan‘s life. Moreover, it was where the

democracy never discussed the life of the soldier. It was a taboo subject as far as the

Parliament as a forum stood. The spirit of nationalism was to narrow in meaning and

expression for the quest of reasoning and accountability.

14 Soldier is referred as jawan (young)


The off-Roaders, worked absolutely fine in the rough environment of less than

40% metallic road statistics. A meagre sense of proud and achievement for those who

considered Infrastructure as the 15New Temples.

Though the ‘New Temples…’ were not so popular with the increasing batch

of Civil Engineers who were being churned out of the Indian Universities without a

sense of practical application of their scientific abilities. The boost of nationalism was

to inspire these young men. These young men would often fall prey to the culture of

the mixed economy, where the policy was fired by the leads of socialist ideals.

Though the end was in the hands of the profit-seekers. The nexus was already gaining

the rough terrain of Corruption in all these major Public construction establishments

and projects as well.

15 Pt.Jawahar lal Nehru, first Prime Minister would refer it so “….”


Chapter IV

The families bid each other good-bye. Ahmeds’father also arrived, the

reunion of family after a long time left each overjoyed and overwhelmed by the

moment.

“Assalam-o-alaikum (peace on you)...” greeted all each other, as in unison.

“Saghir, He is Donald, we met on our journey, …a Systems engineer

(looking towards him)…and is currently surveying for his consultancy firm, the

scenario here”, Usamah to her husband Saghir. Donald and Saghir shook hands.

Saghir introduced himself “Well it is nice to see somebdy with such

expertise. It is much required here. But on the other hand, we have learned to manage

things. National Highway, by which you journeyed on to valley and beyond is being

managed and maintained by us (PWDxii) and BRO(Border Roads Organization) as

well .

“…Donald where are you putting up”, Saghir (father), “...I think I will prefer

to be in the camps”. He took out a Tourist Hand-out from his satchel. “...You have

your reservation”, Saghir asked. “...Oh yes, I made it, at Delhi itself ”, Donald. I must

say it has been long time Begum16 since I went for camping and trekking, so what do

you say”. “Oh! all through your life you have been living in camps and on remote

sites” ,Usamah, “..See wives will be wives…” Saghir chipped in.

The sequence was soon over. The design and architecture of the Inter-state terminus

bore striking resemblance to all those around. PWD continued lot of colonial designs,

but with the distinction that the same was copied for the cheap and sultry origins. The

ornate design of the Railway stations was lacking here. As the railways have come to

be the main stay of the Colonial transport. The PWD continued lot of colonial

designs, but were the tasteless and cheap copy of the originals. So much so, for the

16 Urdu for lady or wife.xii Public Works Department


sultry origins of the Road transport ever since the colonial period. The latest

inspiration in the Architecture, being the Russian modern-frugal designs. Most in the

crudest form ,shape and appeal. The whole design and concept being “simply without

any aesthetic appeal”. Much of the PWD work was bare utility and shamelessly

stripped frugality. The ornate designs of the Railway station were missing here, all

over the sub-continent.

The strength of colonial legacy was so strong that the Civil servants never

imagined the need of State (of Jammu and Kashmir) which ran its life-line; Tourism,

solely on Road transport. The backbone of the valley of Kashmir was not railways but

the Roadways. The thought obviously never crossed supine babus (civil servant)

mind. The administrative fatigue was obvious to anyone. The domestic lot took it as

their fate, with the foreigners it passed as poor-country or in more sophisticated terms

‘lack of resources’. None are perhaps correct to suggest. The bane was reprehensible

attitude for change or more subtle expression ‘innovation’.

Railways had indeed become the mainstay of the Indian life, and supply of

Tourist to the valley as well till Jammu. The colonial impressions were less evident in

Jammu, which was much recent addition to the cap of Indian Railways (a government

enterprise). The enterprise tracks were burdened by the whole Ministry and an elite

Army of Civil Servants, coupled with the Board Members, who acted as stooge of

the government, rather being loyal to the role, which they undertook.

Indeed the average kilometrage never increased in terms of Colonial Vs

Republic times and the variation in demands and objectives. The wooden carriages

were long gone but the steam loco was still in great demand some of them as old as

forty-fifty years. The diesel loco was evident for long haulage and electric loco were

just being introduced.

Much to surprise, the ubiquitous beggars did not bother the tourists here in

Srinagar. Either the Bus terminus was not the right place or there were just too few of


them to be noticed. So the Road transport was left literally in the ‘dirt-tracks’. These

‘dirt-tracks’ were to be there for the Bullock carts which then connected the remote

villages some half a million independent clusters from deep forests and middle of

rivers to the beautiful plains with green; the superb green and fertile farm lands of old

densely inhabitated Ganges.

It wasn’t the Colonial British but the Americans whose colonies saw the real

‘Benzene power’ under aegis of ‘Detroit City’. The quest for ‘North Sea’ Brent came

much after the colonies turned to the American giants who wrote new luxurious and

somewhat expensive History of Road masters. Free ways and speeding were not the

policy consideration or priority for the 17‘pedestrian economy’ with 18‘bicycle

merchants’.

The impressive Raj Hills surrounding the city of Srinagar, fill the background

to the Bus Terminus. The sprawling foot of the mountain had the evening sun spread

all over making their Marigold top.

Interestingly the Inter-State Bus terminus was choked as was designed to

accommodate about 20-30 medium size buses i.e. each having a capacity of 30

passengers. The traffic multiplied without corresponding increase of space and

management. It was unique in the sense that it had massive gates and an entrance

befitting a Fort. Like many Bus Terminus in Hilly regions some of the Parking space

was covered by a Tin shade.

However the inadequacy of the Parking space for the State-run and controlled

Road transport was nowhere a concern for the administrative set-up. Tourism was

never blooming, like this at any given time in the memorable past. The place was

simply full of domestic and foreign tourists. Surprisingly, the serenity and resplendent

city of Srinagar was so natural in its location, where the Urban setup and its charm

17 Description of Indian economy18 ibid


was gradually catching-up. The wooden houses were though there as if to deny the

concrete its due entry so synonymous with Urbane attitudes.

The administrative apathy and lack of imagination was obvious from the

point of alighting. Although, the beautiful-looking shy faces were hardly ominous. It

was difficult to understand how that calm and warm faces could be relentless and

inflexible in their political orientation. It was as if this society inherited the obsession,

which was only facilitated time and again by the Delhi vicissitudes.

The parallel lies in the stock markets when the ‘Big crash’ would make

everybody go broke and bleed each face white, within a decade. The situation in

Afghanistan and the CIA infiltration in the valley were, only discussed in

knowledgeable and establishment circles. This uneasiness behind the softness of the

inhabitants of the valley would become very obvious to any keen eye. Walk a few

metres away from the Bus Terminus and the main Tourist Taxi stand, Para military

forces were to be found alongwith the CRPF19 patrolling in small numbers. The

presence of the Central security forces for the management of the law and order was

an indication enough to draw inferences and sour conclusions. Most of the

government buildings including the Radio and TV stations wore a run-down look, as

if the administration was cash-strapped.

“…This is jhelum20 in the night.” Saghir, the family stood next to the banks of

the jhelum on the Lal chowk21 side. The splashing of water from the rising

under-current was more obvious with the blowing of breeze. The house-boats

wore the ‘To-let’ board with just one or two bulbs lit inside these house-boats.

They all were beautifully painted and most were well maintained. The family

after initial hesitation stepped inside the dark of ‘22shikaras’, their first of

many rides and regular mode of transport. These small boats were very shaky.

19 Central Reserve Police Force( after Crown Reserve Police)20 Name of the (one of five)rivers flowing through Srinagar, Kashmir valley into Pakistan.21 A Central commercial zone in city of Srinagar.22 A small boat tapering on both ends, with a small canopy of straw and ply-wood.(water-bird).


The steps leading to the banks were very slippery and dangerous, in the dark.

The Public lighting worked only till beginning of the steps. The two giant

White-Mercury Lamps standing on top of the steps, simply did not work. The

boat-men (shikarawalas) would show the torch-light soliciting the customers.

This went on till 11.00 pm thereafter the Banks were closed to these shikaras.

These boatmen who live on the banks nearby in somewhat modest version of a

house-boat called Dongas23. These smaller House-boats wore a run-down

look. The beautiful faces of the women and children inside carried typical shy

attitude, coupled with strange welcoming look. The whole dingy ambience

inside was hardly repulsive. The spell of Quest for 24Kashmiri and

Kashmiriyat was too immortalised by politics, films and international focus.

23 Smaller and cheaper version of floating houses on the banks of Jhelum.24 Kashmiri(kashmir local,) kashmiriyat( life and culture of Kashmir, irrespective of religion)


Chapter V

(The muddy and sluggish Jhelum)

The muddy water of river Jhelum or Avesta25, was to soon welcome

the Indian Prime Minister Mr.Morarji Desai, who was heading the first

National opposition government at the Centre. The government of Jammu and

Kashmir was very much interested in the ‘New Janata26 government’ which

was possibly more supportive of the Kashmiriyat 27. The Central-State

relationship has not been cordial. Indeed the word cordial is euphemistic in its

connotation and expression. The movement for constitutional autonomy traces

its genesis on the limitation of the ‘National Government’28 at the Centre. This

was the transition phase. The constituents of this government comprised of the

extreme right forces (dominated by the RSS and Jan Sangh) and extreme left

and Centre-left forces. Of course the Indian National Congress dominated the

National Council. The transformation was later aptly called ‘Raj to Raj’29. The

death of a rightist leader Shyama Prasad Mukherjee at the jail in Kashmir, was

the turning point in the nascent Indian democracy. The populous lone

predominantly Muslim State saw the aggressive politics in post-partition

trauma. The number of decades of Single party (Indian National Congress)

rule, Bangladesh War(1971)and the Emergency era in 1975-77, added only to

woos of the movement for Constitutional autonomy for Kashmir.

The people of Jammu and Kashmir formed societies and organizations

to support the autonomy movement. The attempt to gather international

support for the movement and their cause was thought integral to their cause.

Interestingly, it was the Kashmiri Pandits who were also top advisors with the 25 It is referred to as Avesta by Kashmiri Pandits.26 Means public in Hindi and also the name of the ruling coalition.27 Kashmiriyat is also used for the movement for Political autonomy within Indian Union of States as envisaged under provision Article 370 of the Indian Constitution.28 The national political coalition from 1947-50 ( Council-in-Constituent Assembly)29 Raj to Raj is a title of book by Australian D.A.Low


National Cabinet on Policy matters. However the issues and causes underwent

colossal change with passage of time and changing South Asian equations.

The designation of the Executive Head and Governor (President’s Agent)

were changed from Prime Minister to Chief Minister and Sadar I Riyasat to

Governor. The Central government was sceptical about the Constitutional

autonomy for the States, so this was the test of centrifugal federal strength.

The provision of Article 370 was however retained, which meant all always

passed by the Parliament were to be approved (ratified) by the State Assembly

for its applicability to the State subjects.

This provision in its practical application saw the dismissal and arrest

of the tall kashmiri face, Sheikh Abdullah; popularly known as Sher-e-

Kashmir (Lion of Kashmir). The man was arrested and jailed for all sorts of

political reasons. His government was dislodged number of times under the

same Constitutional provision for dismissal of State governments. The

provisions of colonial document termed Government of India Act, 1935, were

directly imported as the Republic came into Act. This strengthened the Single

party rule. The killing of opposition (Communist) led government in the State

of Kerala in 1950s was the test of Constitutional intentions. State of Jammu

and Kashmir was nevertheless invincible for the Indian National Congress, the

then ruling majority. The political affluence was overwhelming and blinding

for those, who carried Constitutional dyslexia. It was very recently that the

government by Sheikh Abdullah was installed following an accord with the

Central government in power. Although the Sheikh unwillingly acted on the

comands of the Central government to implement the directions during the

Constitutional emergency era. The elections were suspended for more than

two years. However Sheikh Abdullah’s party rule was somewhat softer image

of Emergency-rule of Indira Gandhi. He detained the leaders of out-lawed

organizations, but released them no sooner on parole. He was not very harsh


with the newspapers, which were banned and banished during that era. One

interesting example being of regional newspapers, experiencing less and less

censorship during the emergency powers exercised by the Union government.

The union government would very often point out the “lapses”30

This movement inside underwent glorious change, with its widening of

political and constitutional struggle. The Simla Agreement between Indian

and Pakistan and the Article 270 in the 1973-Constitution of Pakistan further

broke the Political foetus of seperation and militant movement in the State of

Jammu and Kashmir.

The raising of the Army regiment from the people of the State of

Jammu and Kashmir was the point of integration with the Indian federation.

Then how did the Jhelum become muddy, and Dal lake infested by wild

growth whereby choking the fresh water supply to the capital Srinagar? ,

asked many.

Even if the natural serenity left spell-bound those who came from the

plains to the oldest valley in the New and active Himalayas. The river has

crafted its way through the treacherous mountainous tracts of Upper

Himalayas and was young and vibrant. Although the silt in the valley made

this tributary of Sindh (Indus) sluggish. The river ran parallel into the present

line of actual control in the Southern Kashmir. Kashmir valley itself has been

divided into two parts for the administrative convenience. Equally interesting

story is about the names of the district as well. Since a large tribal part of

Kashmir valley and Skardu are under control of Pakistan since 1947 any name

of the district and place having nomenclature similarity would be rechristened.

The example of Anantnag is interesting. The divide betweeen administration

and local was obvious here. The District administration for all purposes would

refer the same as Anantnag, the locals and the Police would refer to it as

30 line is an extract from book ‘The Judgement’ by Kuldip Nayar


Islamabad. Thus the show of local defiance and anti-establishment views were

always strong. The blow was dealt when the local body elections were

regularly rigged and then after 1979, this never happened. The simmering

displeasure for the lack of participatory approach was evident in the rural

Kashmir. It was less in the urban settings was less obvious. The struggle in

Kashmir was more for Participatory role for the majority of the Kashmiris.

The yoke of being a subject of the Maharaja and then of Central

government in Delhi was too much for the poor shepherds. Thus the visit of

the Prime Minister who headed the opposition-led coalition was a welcome

change. Although his coalition’s important constituent was Jan Sangh31, which

was against the Constitutional Autonomy to Kashmir or to any union

constituent of Indian Republic. Also not withstanding that the Prime Minister

has himself been the former Indian National Congress member. The state

needed funds badly especially for the flood-management and extension of the

Salal Hydro-Project, and some other small Hydro projects in South Kashmir.

While the North of Kashmir valley was better, it was the Southern Kashmir

which required attention.

Ever since the crunching defeat in the ’71 war, the autonomy move

was looking to inward solution than an international or regional one. Peace

even an intervening one often encourage colossus. The pilgrim tourist was on

rise to this paradise version of heaven. Most of the domestic tourists also

visited the Amarnath Cave32. It required special management and funds. Army

here too undertook the primary duty, which was better equipped to handle the

avalanche and unpredictable weather in the area.

On the day of Prime Minister’s visit the schools were open but the

children were to collect at the Banks of river Jhelum, where the Chief Minster

31 an extreme right-wing political face of Hindu fundamentalist organizations.32 It is a holy shrine of Hindus which houses a Shiva symbol.


and he were to sail in a Giant mechanised Army Boat. The Boat was well

decorated and the children from all over Srinagar and even distant places

came to wish the duo and their friendship for Kashmirs’ future. There aren’t

many states where even children are so politically sensitised.

Of course the security was tight and Intelligence people were all over

the city. The national tri-colour was hoisted on both sides of the River. The

Boat also carried the national tri-colour. The people had high hopes from the

new Prime Minister. The new Prime Minister promised Central-assistance. It

was after many decades that the Political heads at two nodal points of power

shared the common platform. It was a scene of high expectations that day.

Even the vernacular Newspapers for the first time carried the front-page

photographs next day. It was rare, the Autonomy movement has been

sustained on the basis of the Urdu press, mostly local. The national English

and vernacular dailies were not considered important and suffered lack of

credibility amongst its own readers. The only state where the Administration

communicated in Urdu language/script as the local language was still evolving

into an administrative language. That day local University youth were also

present, they wanted the leaders to reminded of the rising unemployment, lack

of opportunities for the qualified youth.

For next three-four days the two leaders visited the various parts of

Kashmir valley, Border posts, and distant Ladakh region as well. Saghir, went

alongwith the duo everywhere, as he was the key advisor to the State

government on Hydro-projects and the Road construction. So the family

watched the TV and made cuttings from the newspapers, for record. The

Doordarshan(state TV channel) would broadcast the National Program from

Delhi for some more than three hours in the evening alone. However, it was

the PTV or the Pakistan Television which was more popular for the program

content, the entertainment value, than for anything else. It was difficult to jam


these waves as the Indian TV news was watched in the bordering area falling

under Pakistan by equal enthusiasm. In the age of information black-out the

citizens on each side of the border would rely for authenticity of claims, on

daily service by BBC Radio for South Asia in its regional languages. It was as

if an arbitrator of truth or veracity of truth.

During the stay, it was also announced the remote rural areas run by

the village Panchayats(local body) would be provided TV sets under a scheme

and implementation of community oriented programs on literacy and health.

However, very soon the first-opposition-led government at Centre would fall

and their leaders would suddenly die. The promises would also die the

premature death with the wind of Political change, the situation would also

deteriorate till it becomes the cauldron of South Asia.


Chapter VI

Soon after the Prime Minister left the family started their visit,

to the valley and beyond.

“Abbu …we would like to go to Pahalgam first…” Bilqis to her father,

“…No no, we go to Sonmarg first.” Ahmed.

“…Does he has to necessarily oppose me...”, Bilqis,

“...Well, we will go all places, you will travel according to my

itenary…, that is if you want me to accompany you people”… Saghir, their

father tried to calm the situation.

“Oh you can certainly be on vacations with us…” Usamah, as Saif

amused looked at his mother. “…Oh ho, you know it is not possible, here we

only get the three months beginning from March to work as fast as possible on

the new projects. The rains here are really bad, the whole system

chokes…”Saghir helplessly blurted. “..You have simply become a workaholic

person,...” Usamah smiled with resignation. The phone rang in middle, Saif

rushed to receive it . “Abbu,…it is Gautam uncle!,…” , “Well, did you say

Salaam! to him , Saghir to Saif. “Assalam o alaikum..” , Saif promptly spoke

at the receiver “Well Guatam , so what is the program like…” Saghir talking

to the caller on the other end. “...the car is here, Vakil is waiting…”Bilqis

called from the main door. The main entrance door was beautifully carved, a

genuine Oak with Walnut engravings. The rest of the walls were panelled and

well varnished giving a natural gloss and live texture. The main entrance door

at the ground floor had massive rooms including one Master Bed room and a

guest room. The whole house was a tasteful mix of concrete and wood. It was

made of a building technique, which was very common in the valley.

However the modern urbane element of caution, was sadly missing . Many


many years later would such a design be the common cause of tension

between locals and the security forces. In late 1980s when the militancy was

on the rise the security forces while searching for the extremists, would fire at

the houses, which would immediately catch fire and the houses in entire row

would get extinguished. The militants would also burn down the residential

buildings of the senior state government and central government officials, as

the same were made out of wood. It would pain all those who have spent their

times in the relaxed surroundings of those magnificent structures. The

premonition was not to come to the people, in the years of mild struggle. The

‘enemy’ across was only recuperating from the displaced indentures. The

State government would fall as often, with the political saga turning into the

endless plight of norms. The brokers from major political houses in the state,

hastened the turmoil and dissent. The death of State figure who was projected

the modern founder of Valley, left many aspiring faces, to bicker.

Now it was almost a fortnight since the family arrived in Kashmir

valley. The first week was spent in visiting the local sites in Srinagar itself.

The most memorable of memories for the Khans was the Sunday when the

family took Gul Muhammad’s new shikara to Dal lake , all the way from river

Jhelum. They spent the day in the PWD House boat. This visit also enabled

them to peep into the backwaters of famous Dal lake where the locals would

grow the vegetables in the water itself, to sustain. The hydro-plants or the

aqua-plants was the novelty for the children who saw it for the fist time. The

lovely Lotus floating in hundreds in the silent back-waters of the lake made

one feel in harmony with nature. Small children in their small boats, as if

tailor made. Though some even handled the bigger ones. All attired in their


traditional cap and Shalwar kamiz 33. These small boats were the floating

grocery shops. The locals would put all the utility items, though mostly food

items in their small boats and sell them around to the locals and the tourists

who lived in the Lake and around. These sort of ‘mobile-shops’ catering to

tourists even carried some imported merchandise to suit the need of the

foreign tourists staying in the House-Boast. Interestingly, House-Boats carried

typical English names like (Cozy Home, Max House Boat and so on). The

interiors of some of them were tastefully decorated. Many of the Europeans

saw similarity between these House-boats and the community living in boats

and ferries on Rhine, Danube and small Channels in parts of England. The

same did give some insight into the life of these Water-borne locals. The room

service was also provided by the owner of the House-Boat. People would

come to sell the carpets and embroidered scarves, firan(long-coat) and other

clothings.

“…Abba, I would like to buy some of those”..Bilqis, “…We will go to

the village nearby in Bren on our way to Dachigam reserve.34”, said the

father. On their return from Dal lake tour in shikara, there was storm, where

the shikara become unstable and Gul Muhammad took it near a houseboat for

safety. The wind was so strong that the thatched top blew over. However this

was recovered as these ‘Tops’ were designed to float, rather then sink from

their weight. The children and wife were scary, as it was a novel experience

for them. Saghir and the boatman, Gul Muhammad try to calm each other.

Ahmed sat in front of the shikara, he was learning the art of rowing a shikara

while in front. The shikara with two seats facing each other, one was very

small and not so comfortable one. The other one was more like a bed, the

luxury Shikaras were different from the ordinary ones. These luxury versions

33 Loose trousers and long shirt worn all through central Asia , northern parts of Indian Sub-continent, more recently was declared national dress of Pakistan by CMLA.34 A game reserve housing mainly Himalyan black bears and spotted deers and some Tiger.


were slightly more stable than the ordinary ones. In the Dal lake itself there

were few shikaras which were only meant for the film makers, documentary

makers. Such being there permanent demand. These shikaras were white in

colour, they looked absolutely photogenic in picturesque scenario of the Dal

Lake .The charges were also slightly higher. Although there were hardly any

tariff charts displayed. The storm lasted some hour and a half, Dal lake which

on average saw such storms two times a day during the summers. It was more

likely to occur at noon hours or at around 4.00 o’clock in the afternoon.

It was a Sunday so, there was incredible rush on all spots in and

around the Dal Lake. The place in center, the char cMarinar, was full of

visitors. The lovely old cMarinar (maple) were believed to be very old. The

shikaras jostled to dock at the ends of this small island within the lake. It was

late evening when the family reached the Jhelum banks towards Raj Nagar.

The dikes at the Dal Lake and the River Jhelum would last close at 6.00pm in

the summers. Then the waters would rise and the flow would grow much

faster due to breeze. It was memorable experience for the family. They also

realised that the Dal lake was dying due to pollution and weeds, silt was also

increasing. State administration was too corrupt to be tamed. Saghir himself

expressed helplessness to Gul Muhammad when asked about the cleansing

drive for Dal Lake, saying “the State administration was very wary of any

comments on state of affairs by the deputed Central government officials,

particularly if these officials were not of local origin.”

The next day the family left for their family friends in a diesel Jeep.

The house was situated at the bottom of a small hill at the banks of Dal lake,

The house was so angularly perched, where both Sunrise and Sunset presented

equally breath-taking view. This Mansion had a Glass-house for winters and

also a fore ground and a kitchen garden, it was spread in an acre of land. The

house had romantic antecedents. The family of Bhats, narrated how they came


to puirchase the place and the house. Yunus Bhat, friend of Saghir

reminiscingly said, “….well, Saghir saheb you see it was some ten years back

that we came together to the place which you can see from here…” every

body looked at the lonely steps leading to the Dal lake at the far end of the

lake towards North of Srinagar, he continued “….in Kashmir the boy and girl

meet before they get married , so I and Midhat were sitting here at those steps,

you cant actually see them from here, but this wall has a small opening there

at about 100 metres or so, she said…..” looking at his wife who smiled back,

“…aaaa..so she said, Can you build a house here..,” he then paused for a

moment and continued “..I replied why not Dear!, so thereafter when we got

married we both saved money and took loan to build this house..” . “ Wow..

Saghir, this is romantic, you are never in such a mood”, Usamah was quick to

retaliate. Saghir as usual smiled while lighting his Havana-Cigar. He kept

back his gold-plated Bugatti Lighter in his Cigar case, which was also gold-

plated with a Black-base. The Cigar case had his name Saghir inscribed on it.

The case had Dunhill printed on it . “…Oh why do you have to smoke every

now and then…” Usamah protested. Saghir gave usual stoic silence. Ahmed

came into the main room with Bhat’s daughter of same age. “...We caught

these tadpoles…” Rukaiyya to everyone in the room.

“Oh….…(as if reminede of something)the visit to Trout farm is a must

we will serve you the fried ones for lunch” exclaimed Saghir. “When we visit

Dachigam Reserve, we will go to the Trout farm, the cooperative center is

making profit, I suppose…” Saghir, “ well for now yes…,nobody knows the

future, all these movements and initiatives start-off well, then nothing

sustains, see the sericulture, the potential remains unexploited”, lamented

Midhat, who was a Zoologist with the Cooperative department in Srinagar.

“…Children , have kahwa..” this was Midhat’s mother, she wore

tarditional scarf and embroidered brown long-coat, her face wrinkled, long


nose, very fair, average height. As the kahwa 35was served , with the dry-

fruits, Ahmed and Rukaiyya took their cups and went out from the front door,

Bilqis looked at them smilingly. Midhat and Usmamah also watched the duo

going out.

“ I will come back in an hour or so then we will go to chashm e shahi

in the evening and if there is some time then to Pari Mahal…” Saghir, said

while getting up from the sofa in the lounge. It was late noon, and time for

prayers, very feeble notes of Aazan36 passed the lonely stretch of boulevard

and the thick glasses of the glass-room. Every one rolled out the prayer mats

facing westwards towards Kibla37. The faithful would kneel five times a day.

Ahmed and Rukaiyya soon became good friends. Saif also went

alongwith them. Bilqis made friend with Midhat’s younger sisters. Midhat’s

mother and her college-going sisters and a younger brother who was so very

fond of guitar lived in the same house on the top-most floor. The house was

designed like any modern American or English houses with sloping rooftop.

The house had a unique Environment friendly power arrangement. It had solar

energy system. The Solar panels were housed in the backyard where the

kitchen garden would end in to the massive hillock structure, at the base of

which the House was constructed. There were some six houses with an

exclusive boulevard which were perched at the bottom of the Rock. It was

kind a fashionable up-market place for villas. These privileged few however,

were always scared of security as the turbulent times in the valley would come

unannounced and without any forewarning. Most of the lot still preferred to

stay in the dingy inners of the Srinagar. Although the new areas have come-up

35 Local herbal drink, can be taken with lemon or without it, with resins, walnuts, pistachios and saffron, all mixed up.36 Call for prayers37 Four-walled structure built by Prophet Abraham and rebuilt by Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) in a mosque called Haram(Prohibited) sharif situated in Mecca. Its walls are covered by the Black veil, which has the entire verses of Holy Quran Gold and Silver.


gradually like one of the prime areas of Raj Nagar where Ahmed and his

family were staying.

That day Bhats and Khans visited the Pari mahal, believed to the

haunted place. Perhaps the local guides invented the haunted destination tag to

make it center of attraction, as it look bit desolate and remote from other

famous and visited destinations in the city of Srinagar. Later the families

came to visit the famous spring waters which had the medicinal and curative

value called chashm e shahi. The locals revered it as the blessed and ominous

sign of the well-being of the State of Kashmir. The slowdown in flow of

spring-water was bad-omen. On each occasion people of the valley had to

suffer the harsh times. The harsh political, weather or any other community-

ills, like outbreak of cholera, etc. The Kashmiri locales were very sensitive

about the places. The Islam practiced by them was a populist version than

would appeal to a purist. The tradition of Bud Shah the sufi ruler of Kashmir

and verses of Habba Khatoon moulded the edicts and observation of the

Kashmiri piety and behaviour.

“… Well see that lone tree up there…!” Saghir said to everyone as

they sat at the Table in the Restaurant at the Chashme Shahi. “…Well you can

certainly see other trees, which are lined-up at the top edges of the Hills,”

Usamah quipped.“…Saghir is a kind of loner and he enjoys it that way

Mrs.Khan…, though he is very warm and generous with his friends and foes

alike…” intervened Bhat , a smile on his face. It was dusk and the street-lights

around the Dal lake lit one after the other, forming a huge Halo around the

dark-hole.

The view from the Chashme Shahi towards the area of Bren was just

magnificent. The rush of the locals and the tourist alike increased as the

darkness fell around. More lights and mercury lamps lit up. The entry towards

the spring-waters was however closed. The children played at the grounds and


at small amusement park in the same vicinity. The newly wed couples

thronged these secluded places. Although these sites were hardly secluded, as

the domestic tourist knew no other Hill destination to escape scorching heat

and blazing summer sun in the plains. At the distant Mountain was the lone

mercury lamp alongwith a red warning lamp of Radio Trasmitter which was

visible from a distance, this was the Shakracharya top.

The family walked down the Chashm-e-shahi top, as the Bhat’s lived

only at a walking distance. Next day the Bhat’s and Khans went to Dachigam game

reserve where they were to stay for two-days. The small Jeep was packed with the

Ahmed, Rukaiyya, Saif and Bilqis constantly chatting with each other as the elders

also talked about each others family. “ I think we will stopover for sometime at the

Cooperative house for break-fast, …yesterday itself I asked for the arrangements ,

Lakshman Bhan would be present he is my Asst.Project officer”, Midhat told. “ya ya ,

we know you wanted to spare yourself the trouble of making break-fast for all of

us…hihihaha….”Bhat and everybody laughed at Midhat’s expense. “…In any case

you never have break-fast so early, so don’t you complain please…huhuhu…”

Midhat said jocularly. “...aaa the trout-farm, would be in the way, hmmmm…, small

detour I suppose..” Saghir who was sitting in front with Saif in his lap. He continued,

“…you wanted to cover the cooperative movement here Usamah for your feature

item, why don’t you write about these…,” “Yes, it can be a good story, last night I

discussed the same with Midhat”, Usamah looking towards her left where Midhat

was sitting. Usamah was just behind driving seat.

“Well, sister, the English and National Press including vernacular press does not give

adequate coverage to the development activities. There is some trend in the National

Press that only Political news is published and no development news or issues are

highlighted…” Bhat said to Usamah who was sitting towards the other end.


“Sir, that is the Cooperative House”, driver said to Saghir. Saghir looked

towards his far right. So did everybody. The Cooperative House was some an hour’s

drive and was situated so with the mountains forming massive back-drop with lush

green Pines, firs growth.

The family had break-fast in the lawns, it was bit cold from Srinagar and

everybody took out light pull-overs, shawls on their shoulders. Here the typical

Kashmiri break-fast was served. Naan, with butter, apricot jam, dry-fruits mixed in

kahwa. The food for lunch was also prepared and packed over here for them to be

served at the Dachigam guest-house. It was 10.00 o’clock in the morning when they

left for the reserve some hour and a half journey.

The journey in the largely uninhabited plains where paddy fields dotted all

over along with the orchards at distance, some saffron yards also past by, sideways.

After while everybody dosed off. While Ahmed, Saif, Rukaiyya and Bilqis sat in the

boot of Jeep. The jeep was not the usual design found, otherwise. It was a new

design, though small but was better designed in its seating arrangement. The luggage

was perched on top. Every time Saif would getup to see the view from the side panes

of the boot while other would have to just stretch their necks to see outside. Ahmed

and Rukaiyya became good friends although Bilqis found the situation odd. For once

the brother and sister, Ahmed and Bilqis were resigned to peaceful existence of each

other. It was more due to compulsion than any genuine change of heart.

It was at the check-post that everybody woke up when the driver asked the

Sahebs to show the permission to go up the circuit house. The tourist in this part still

required to take the 38DFO permission to visit the place. It was dense forest a check

post with just three armed police men from the Central Security forces, a wooden

barrier which was lifted once the Saheb identified himself. The guards had the prior

information about the guests. The same guards saluted and guided the driver about the

route to be taken up the circuit house. The forest road passed through the dense forest

38 District Forest Officer.


with local vegetation and dried up leaves scattered all over the morning dew has made

it so damp that the road itself was very slippery to walk on. The place wore natural

fragrance with the occassional bark of the local Deer. Some wild goat was also there

in the forest. The road meandered through the steep slope and finally at the Circuit

house. The Jeep had to parked below as there were steps leading up to it. It was

beautifully perched at the top of the mountain. As and when clouds would clear up

the view from the circuit house was absolutely breath-taking. The sprawling hills of

the reserve wore thick Pine forests with lot of cMarinar trees and some new

vegetation. The circuit was protected from wild intrusions during night by the barbed

wires of six feet in height. The circuit house was spacious and had all modern

facilities. It even had a Glass house for winters. As the 39chowkidar took them

through the Circuit house, a man wearing khaki trousers, white shirt and black jumper

entered and wished, “salaam sahebs, I am Gul Shanaz , your guide during your stay. I

shall try to make your times as enjoyable as possible. I am here for past twenty years,

much before this reserve was conceived.”, While the elders took the luggage and

looked for the running water, kitchen and other facilities. The children gathered

around the guide. The guide had a pleasant personality and knew his way with

children. “So when do we see the Tigers..” Rukaiyya. “ Well the Tigers….are not

many…ummm yes yes some panthers, too… but this place is for the Black bears very

few brown here.” the guide, continued “…you can see the panthers sometimes the

Deers as well, in the compound they can leap over those barbed wires, the water hole

is just down below in the north of this Circuit house..” , Bilqis interrupted “…that’s

scary, Ahmed you will see that all the doors are locked and closed , check the same in

the morning before any one comes out in the compound”. “Oh you should sleep near

the main door, scary lot...” Ahmed let out his rage.”No No, son yu mustn’t talk to

your elder sister like that” guide politely told Ahmed. “… So the bears are ferocious

or not…” Ahmed changed the topic, “..No, they are not but you have to be careful…

39 watchman


not to irritate them…”, everybody listened in stunned manner, suppressing their fears.

The guide has an inimitable style who exuded confidence and acted as if in command

of the situation. The children were impressed by his stories about the jungle. Ahmed,

Saif, Bilqis and Rukaiyya all inquisitive about the life and secrets of Black-bears

endlessly talked and listened with deep interest. Thereafter the guide waving his small

stick , lead everybody into the deeper forests. There was narrow but clearly marked

forest pathway with barbed wires of waist-height, there was mulberry trees and

small hedges all over . This was the perfect settings for the Bear reserve anywhere.

Then at a distance one could see the black-bears who ignored the visitors completely.

They didn’t seemed to be disturbed by this intrusion. “what is this giant cage for..”

Rukaiyya, “ Well, this is to tame any aggressive Bear or to acclimatize any new

entrant here. Other times it is used for treatment as well. We often quarantine the

animals here. Sometimes to breed them, this reserve has comparatively high success

rate like the Chinese, have for Pandas” Guide in hushed tones. “What about the

Panthers, Tigers,..” Bilqis. “ …shsh ! don’t disturb the Bears, talk slowly, No, No,…

this place is only for Bears, other animals are old inhabitants here , they are however

protected animals and we help them as and when it may be required…” .guide, then

at a distance a Bear growled slowly and raised its tone slightly putting everybody on

guard. “…just keep walking this is a nursing mother, so it is slightly alarmed, not to

worry” Guide tried everyone. For few steps everybody walked silently, the two men

held the hands of their children, as if to protect their siblings. Suddenly the mother-

Bear took leap and then stopped, and retreated fast towards the thick bushes, where it

became invisible. “ The cubs are inside…we will relocate them soon, its not safe for

them” Guide informed. “…Very often the Male grizzly would attack the cubs and

consequently injure the nursing mother as well.” It didn’t quite assure the visistors

who walked in dumb silence. They all stopped near the Mulberry tree wher the guide

plucked few fruits purple and purple green, sweet in taste, the guide pulled out a

small pouch from his upper pocket and asked the party to spread there hands and


poured little bit of salt in everybody’s palm. “..there it tastes very good with the

salt” . “ this is delicious , cant we have some more” Bilqis said to the guide with

delightful expression. Her cheeks glowing red. “Oh why not…., aren’t you now

afraid of the Grizzly…” Guide in sarcastic manner. “…she isn’t scared, when it

comes to gobbling down…” Ahmed . Everybody busy eating mulberries, as they

started to walk further down. “That must be the Trout Farm” Bhat while looking right

towards his wife Midhat. “well the farm is here for two reasons, the plentiful natural

canal and the food for the Bears and the Big migrant birds” Midhat . The rest listened

to her attentively. “…this year was bad for the birds” Guide who was walking in

front. “anyway the local birds are always there…” Midhat snipped. “saheb, you are

right !”, Guide tried to soothe Midhat’s tone. Meanwhile Rukaiyya and Ahmed kept

chatting in hissing tones while pointing in different directions. Bilqis walked holding

Saif’s her youngest brother’s hand, who was walking fast than her pulling her arm in

front while holding it tightly.

“ Well Iam famished ,Gul,( the guide) what are you serving us with tea, …

aaa fried trout…., I suppose” spoke Bhat. “Janab , today being a holiday we will

have to see if there is someone in the Kitchen there, DFO saheb never sounded about

your visit to the Trout Farm” replied Gul in his usual humble tone. Meanwhile

Usamah took out her professional camera and scribbled some notes on her notepad.

She then started to interview the people who were feeding fishes and were collecting

some water samples as well. The visitors also gathered round the Duct; which was 15

ft across with fresh water supply from the nearby Natural canal. The duct was

covered with a Net , and had a fast flowing water, the surface beneath was rugged to

give the natural gush in the water, which made lot of noise as well. The noise was so

strong , as would the moving boulders make in the Upper stream. It was a pleasant

site when the Trout fish would leap out of the stream and then dive in to surface again

few metres away. “…who can catch fish like a Bear would when they go

downstream…” Saghir broke his long-silence. He was known for his long-silences. “


Oh, it is not difficult.” Ahmed, “ Go ahead…you get Rs.20.00 here and now.”

Saghir . “I will also...” Saif. And Rukaiyya said together while lunging towards the

duct. The trio waited and tried as the fish leaped out towards the corners out of the

small net in the Steel net covering the Duct. After few minutes the trio became

disinterested. Saghir again challenged them to try keeping their hands in the cold

water for thirty seconds. This time Bilqis, Midhat and Usamah also joined in while

Bhat and other employees at the farm watched amusingly. It took less than five

seconds for each to take out their hands , only Ahmed and Bilqis had their hands for

almost the same duration of ten seconds. Their hands turned deep red and were

difficult to move for sometime. “ Abbu,now I know why these fishes constantly jump

out of water, its just too cold to stay in…” Saif said innocently, as every burst into

laughter. Saif held his father’s hand tightly and slid behind his legs.

“Come sahebs , kahwa and fish are ready” said Gul . Everybody sat at the

lawns of the small kitchen, which was meant for the Officers working at the farm. “

Saheb, will the Central government give more money to our Farm, this year, we need

funds badly. As there is ban on tourists there is no source of income” Gul said to

Saghir . “ ye akhbar se hain inse kaho, yahi likhein ( she works in News paper, ask

her to write about it)” Saghir pointed towards his wife Usamah. Gul immediately

stepped just next to Usamah. “ Janab, Please write about it otherwise local people

and this reserve both will suffer. You see , Farm is major source of earning for the

fish-farmers nearby, some of them were poachers earlier.” Gul spoke in concerned

fashion wearing anxious looks.

“Very well, if that is so I will write about it, take us to the nearby villages where the

farming is conducted” Usamamah replied . “ Zaroor 40Janab( Surely Madam), Seven

o’clock I will be there” , said Gul . After everybody finished their grub, they further

walked down the farm climbing some thirty long steps to the Main Forest road. There

40 Urdu term for respected men and women, common expression used in offices around Indian sub-continent to address superiors , irrespective of Gender.


jeep with their driver was waiting for them. “what is that forest path there..?” Ahmed

to Gul. “ “Well that is the trekking route, which runs just next to the fences of the

Dachigam, but there are not many who come here. Although it is nice trek.” Gul

lamented .

“ Can we go for trekking tomorrow, Yes provided it doesn’t rain tomorrow” Saghir

interrupted. “… the weather is pretty unpredictable here as in Srinagar, in any case

this beginning of June, so this is rainy season”. The young visitors looked glum.

“alright if it doesn’t rain then you people go…” Bhat settled the issue. Then the

visitors sat in their vehicle and drove up to the circuit house, it took them half an hour

to cover those just less than Five kilometer long stretch. The visitors covered the

same in three hours. Although the slopes here were not very high , yet the gradient

would feel on account of the slippery forest tract. The tract was slippery as the height

of the mountain constantly exposed to the lower clouds and also the foliage was so

thick that it hardly allowed the sun rays to dry up the dead twigs and leaves strewn all

over. That day the VIP visitors were treated to the sumptous dinner consisting of

roasted lamb and rice with curd. After saying there prayers everybody started to take

their favourite place to sleep. Ahmed , Rukaiyya, Bilqis and Saif, in their night robes

took to the couches in the Main Central Hall which was very big in size . The parent

took to the two bedrooms which were there at the ground-floor section. The first floor

rooms were locked barring one Central Hall from where the view of the whole

Dachigam reserve was possible on given day and time. That night when everybody

was in deep sleep, Ahmed woke up hearing some noise, as if some animal was

working on the bones . The noise like krrtkrrtkrrrrtkrktktktkktkrt…,made him more

curious. Suddenly he saw two red-yellow eyes glowing in the dark looking straight in

his direction. Ahmed did not make a mistake in recognizing the animal, as he walked

towards the window which had grills fixed into it. The big-cat stopped and twitched

its ears for the noise Ahmed foot-steps made on the somewhat creeky wooden floor,

in the dead of night. The pair of eyes suddenly turned away and leaped over the


Barbed-wire fence, landing over with a slight thud !, then vanished. There was no

electricity supply in the night in the ‘Reserve’ there, so Ahmed lit the candle, which

the chowkidar has left on the side table. Ahmed checked all the doors to doubly

ensure they were bolted securely. Then he went over to his sister Bilqis whose blanket

had fallen on the floor. He pulled-up the blanket and covered her with affection. Then

he checked if Saif was asleep properly. Then he went towards the couch where

Rukaiyya was asleep, he stood there and watched her sleep for sometime. Then he

withdrew the curtain, which hanged just behind the couch, the pink-face glowed in

moon-light. He pulled up Rocking chair and sat there watching her. “Ahmed, what

are you doing sleeping on this chair, I hope you have not started to walk in your

sleep”, Bilqis in her sharp voice. “ Ahmed rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms and

legs, looked around askance, then gripped himself. “…aaa…hmmmm…I ….never

mind”, Ahmed with half-closed eyes snubbed her and dropped himself on the couch.

The morning Sun, was covered by the clouds. “Rukaiyya , Saif , get-up , Oh Allah, its

going to rain, our day will be spoiled ….” Bilqis. Then somebody knocked at the

front entrance, which was the Main entrance. “It seems the Panther was here last

night, there is a carcass of a fawn lying at the back entrance”, the chowkidar said, as

he kept his umbrella and Rubber shoes at the Cane-hold. He wore the slippers lying

there, and walked straight to the kitchen. He said louldy “ It might rain any moment

now, your program may not go as planned last night, but you will see Deers in the

compound, if it rains heavily today”.

“why so kaka..?” Bilqis while tying her hairs, clutching the hair-band in her mouth

and walked into the kitchen and stood next to the granite slab. Suddenly there was a

cloud-burst. The chowkidar said “ Allah rahm41…” while looking outside the wooden

window of the kitchen. Bilqis also rushed to the window, it started to rain first lightly

then another cloud-burst suddenly it started to rain heavily. “this wouldn’t last more

than an hour or so…, let me in please…” it was the Guide at the main door who

41 Spare us.


came rushing the steps with umbrella. He took out his Gum-boots, as they were

muddy at the door itself and walked bare-foot on the carpeted-floor.

Thereafter everybody, had break-fast, as the parents also got up and came out

of their rooms rather lethargically. “ So it is raining,…

”Bhat said as he cleaned his glasses looking at everybody while sitting don at the

sofa where Ahmed slept earlier. It became very dark outside. The green vegetation

became to appear still a darker green. The barks became darker with water dripping

down the slender long Pines and firs trees. The rainy-water drops dripped fast their

leaves, as they waved with the wind power shaking them of their weighty moist

slumber.

As the visitors sipped kahwa, tea there was some milk for the young visitors.

Ahmed preferred to have kahwa, then the cow milk, which tasted different and

smelled also. Package milk was still a far cry, although skimmed milk powder was

used on these heights.

“Well, the rain doesn’t intend to halt …as you predicted…” Ahmed to Guide,

in a serious tone. “ …I must have annoyed Allah to make me eat my words…” Guide

putting on grimace and smiled gently. Ahmed also smiled back after looking him for

a moment. “ look the Deers, so many Deers they are collecting in the backyard…”

Chowkidar informed everyone while lifting the curtains of the Central Hall.

Everybody got up and went close to the windows. It was magnificent to see hundreds

of Deer all struggling to get into the wide cMarinar trees to take shelter in the rains.

“..they are collecting here, as on their way back there are no shady trees from the

water-hole just below this Circuit house…” Guide broke the silence. Everybody kept

watching the Deer herd. Suddenly Ahmed opened his huge windowpanes, which

alerted the herd who became uncomfortable. The herd however watched with slight

movement displaying their uneasiness. Their red bulging eyes glowed slightly as it

grew darker and darker. “ if you see there eyes in the head-lights, they would glow

red and put a awesome sight…” spoke Saghir, as everybody stood at the windows


watching the herd. “ We were travelling in the night through forest further down this

place towards the Canal project, in the middle of the road was the herd standing in the

open. As the head-lights fell on them, they just stood over there fixed to the beam.

We switched off the lights and then waited the herd to move. These are really very

simple animals.” Saghir told, “ I will take some photographs….” Ahmed . “ Yes, yes

you stand on the Centre-table and take a group photo with the Herd in the

background…” Usamah, Ahmed’s mother said to him. “ Very well , Ma !” Ahmed

and jumped up the table in excitement. Everybody faced the camera, as Ahmed took

three snaps from different angle. Suddenly it stopped raining, the herd dissipated

within few seconds, leaving their hoof marks only.

“Let us get ready for the trekking..” Bilqis while rushing inside the bed room.

Others also followed pursuit. That day they went to the same spot near the farm by

their Jeep. Thereafter took the Trekking route which ran parallel to the fencing all

over the reserve. The fencing was not all over but it was done in portions where

grazing was common.

The trekking stretch was some few kilometers long and was fuill of short cuts.

These short-cuts made the trek still shorter but exhaustive. It meant that during the

dry seasons from small seasonal streams went dry, they made a natural steps with the

roots and trunks of the trees stood exposed which were firmly embedded in the rocks

upper crust. The spacing between the exposed roots and trunks were sometimes a foot

wide at other were around two feet apart in height. So while the trek route would

swerve round an extra meters, one could just cut those, by pushing oneself to these

heights.

As the it has rained these streams were extremely slippery with water still

dripping down some these streams. The trek route was however pebbled with large

round-shaped stones all laid down so that the surface was hard all through the season

even when it rained or snowed. It wasn’t exactly a motorable tract but the ponies

worked through. Very often one would come across a herd of cows who would just


hold the whole passage some seven feet wide only. At other places it would shrink

and expand upto 11 feet. Some of the pebbles simply stood out as they were just too

large to be leveled. These rock-stones were those from the natural Canal which

flowed just near the reserve. These would simply collect at the banks of the same.

Many structures inside the Reserve were also made of these stones, as a cheap and

easily available material. The hooves of the ponies and the cows made very strange

noise. The cows would very often slip and then recover as there hooves were plain

and did not have the soles as the ponies did. These ponies were of the locals who used

them to haul dried wood and fallen twigs of the trees. The locals around were allowed

to take collect the dead wood from the forest reserve. The symbiotic relationship was

part of afforestation. In fact this was the Central government support plan which was

being tried here as part of the national conservation policy for the dwindling forest

cover.

“Look there is someone on the tree up there…” Ahmed pointed upwards. He

was leading with the Guide, everyone tried to peer through the thick foliage. Then

they heard a voice of falling twigs and branches. “ look they are cutting the fallen tree

there” Bilqis “Gul Muhammad ,do they the permission to cut that tree”, Midhat

asked in a condescending tone. Gul Muhammad the Guide shouted at the man up the

tree. “he says the tree has been marked by the Forest office for people”, Gul

Muhammad “ … that is nonsense, the fallen tree cannot be a dead tree by default, tell

him to stop cutting and that man on top, what is he doing…?” Midhat said adamantly.

The wood-cutters who belonged to one of the contractors reluctantly came down

when they were told that sahebs were also from Department. “ well how can they just

chop trees without permission with forest guards around ..” Usamah asked Midhat. “

Well it is the law and also the corruption, besides there are very few forest guards

here. Guides like him”, pointing towards Gul Muhammad are helpless, and continued

“…before these contractors”, Midhat said. “Every year survey is carried out of the

forest, those trees which are sick and dying, are marked with white paint and are


numbered by the DFO. These forests also have the logging facilities within the

forests.” Midhat explained. “...this is the main cause of malaise here in the forestry

program. Unfortunately, this is an important loophole….”, Midhat “…mmmm…

how…aunty?”, Ahmed to Midhat. “ Well, it is seed of corruption….” Midhat. “……

Ooo ! look the water-hole and the animals, with Sun rays creating a halo around !”

Saif who was sitting on the shoulder of Guide Gul Muhammad. Everybody started

looking down in between the mountains. The clouds below gradually cleared away.

The scene below was breathtaking as the Sun lighted the forests below, the

picturesque aerial view unfolded.

“Where are the bears…?”, Saif asked. “ Well ! the bears ….hmmm…they are

dark colored so they can’t be seen from the top….” Gul Muhammad said in an

amused fashion. Others smiled. It was some two hours of trekking that the visitors

have reached the top of the mountain where small forest canteen was spotted with a

Radio Tower, which was placed for watching the activity in the forest and also the

animals.

The visitors sat at the small benches make of old logs, exhausted just fell to

them. “Look Ahmed is fuming”, Bilqis “….Look those fumes coming out of his

Coat.” Everybody glazed at Ahmed. Ahmed looked over his shoulders with light

fumes raising just above his shoulders. “it seems we will need a Fire-fighter to douse

the flames” Ahmed and smiled back. “The Jeep was without coolant so engine over-

heated.” Rukaiyya finally broke her silence. Ahmed took off his Coat, to cool down.

The heat of the body made the moisture around the coat turn into steam.

There everybody sat and drank tea, with some bread-butter and omelette.

They also ate the fruits, which the ladies have packed before starting for the trek.

Finally took some photographs. The visitors stayed there for some hour and a half.

“…the photography is prohibited here..” Ahmed “…it’s written there” he pointed

towards the wall made of stone-blocks which had the entrance to the small Wireless-


Station, where two Forest-guards sat and watched the visitors through the windows of

the watch-tower instead.

Usamah and Midhat went inside the Watch-station. Usamah took a short-

interview after identifying herself, as free-lancer. Thereafter, she pointed out the

illegal felling of trees, which they have just come across. The guards simply stood

silent. Then one of them drew the courage to say that the cutting and felling is

normally done by the people of the contractors under a permit, that for any further

questions she will have to speak to the DFO. The guards then became silent and

asked the inquisitive visitors to excuse them for fear of loss of their job and

victimization by their superiors for speaking too much.

The visitors made their move from the place. It started to get cloudy up there

and also damp up there. Although, the forest reserve below was very much visible

through the transluscent clouds which flew past the visitors with the breeze blowing

towards Eastwards. It was the end of their tour and the visitors were to return home

that evening. “We would like to visit a kashmiri village” Bilqis to her father Saghir.

“..ye, yes.. we go to the carpets weavers village, sometime later” , Saghir nodded

while holding his climbing stick made of pine-wood. The stick was nicely carved and

varnished with a small metallic grip-top, which was silver-polished, it had some

carvings made on it.

It was also most late evening that the family left finall bid adieu to the reserve

for their retreat to home. Before they left they had some final photos of the reserve,

Guest-house and the workers, the Guide Gul Muhammad, Chowkidar, Guards and

men from the Trout Fish farm. They all came to offer greetings and obeisance to the

superior officials of the State.

The men from the fish farm gave some fried and steamed fish for their

journey back home which was about two and half hours or so.

That night Ahmed and his family stayed at Rukaiyya’s place. During their

vacations Ahmed along with is family-members and sometimes all alone himself,


would visit Rukaiyya’s place and play at the banks of Dal lake. Ahmed learnt to play

guitar during his visit to Rukaiyya’s place from her maternal uncle. He wore

bohemian looks always clad in his dark blue jeans and back T-shirts.


PART III

VISIT TO INDO-CHINESE BORDER FLOW OF SINDH

AND MOONSCAPE LADAKH.


CHAPTER VII

The family stayed in Srinagar, the state capital for about month and a half.

The vacations were drawing to end. The family decided to over stay by another

fortnight. It was long journey full of adventure and new friends. Some relationships

were lasting, some not so lasting one. Subsequently for many more coming years

during Saghir’s posting in Kashmir that Ahmed and his family came to visit the

same spots/places in the Valley again and again. Their first visit was however the

most memorable one.

“it wasn’t an afterthought,

it wasn’t premeditated,

though it manifests so,

It was as sanguine as

Spontaneity though desires so.”

The opportunitry came in the wake of massive corruption scandal. The BRO(Border

Roads Organization) could not maintain the roads last summers, due to the faulty

equipment. This equipment was, one of the biggest symbol of national loot. These

were the Maruti road-building equipment and machines. These were second-hand

machines which were painted new and were purchased by this government

organizatioon at an exorbitant price.

Saghir was to undertake the building of the forward post roads which were to

be then connected with the National High way which ran from Srinagar-Leh, another

300 odd Kilometers of young Himalayan ranges and mountains finally culminating

in the moon landscape of Leh and the Ladakh region of the State of Jammu and

Kashmir which comprised of the one-third territory of the state area. The tension in

this area was mounting and every summer was a source of contention. The

increasing Sino-Pak presence and building of troops and roads in the occupied areas

of the Ladakh division and Skardu were alarming . These regions were lost by Indian


Defence during previous conflicts between India-Pakistan and India and CMarina.

This year though with new Military dictates coupled with some brutal crushing of

the movement for democracy in Pakistan , the defence scenario was getting worse.

Troop mobility was the priority, this region was still completely out of bounds for

foreign tourists. However the definition of foreigner in this Division was much

scarce than one in North-East India. Even the Indian citizens, not permanent

residents of the regions, were required to have the permit from the District

Magistrate or the concerned Army authority to visit some of the remote regions

bordering Burma and CMarina. The security scenario was not that so bleak. It was

the despotic South Bloc42

The visit of new Prime Minister was equally important who has been a

Deputy Prime Minister earlier during the War-crisis.

The family was to travel initially by Air, with new services launched for Leh.

Leh 43was Union territory. So State government had very little control on the town

and capital of the Ladakh region of the State. The new Prime Minister promised the

international airport at Srinagar, also development for the areas falling in the upper

regions of the River Indus popularly known as Sindh , as referred by the locals. So

lot of infrastructure work was initiated that year many with immediate effect. The

long political disrepair warranted the new projects.

It was decided that Saghir will soon have to proceed first to Leh in a Military

aircraft. Later to Nubra Valley. He was to conduct the areial survey and assess the

damage and repairs. Meanwhile the family will stay in Srinagar and go around to

places like Pahalgam and Gulmarg. The two most important tourist spots. The

family spent some time visiting Gulmarg and Pahalgam. All through the state

highways, load of tourist buses local from other parts of land would rattle their nosiy

42 South Bloc is the name of the building housing Indian Prime Minister’s office and Inetrnal security ministries as well.43 Leh being District Head quarters of Ladakh region( one of three Divisions comprising state of Jammu and Kashmir.


diesel engines through. These would momentarily belch out thick black smoke from

their dangling silencers. The word silencer would be plain mockery of the literal

meaning and the mechanical role assigned thereto. At the Gulmarg the family

trekked all the way up to the khilanmarg where a film shooting was being carried

out. They played in the snow for the first time. This was only visible there during the

summer season. Otherwise it was just grass-lands all over in the plains of Gulmarg.

The winters being different story altogether.

Some fifteen days passed away. Family after hectic travelling criss-crossing

the length and breadth of the Kashmir division . They finally halted for their upward

journey to Leh. Everybody was looking forward to the excitement. It would be

privilege visit to the remotest lama state of India. The largely Buddhist part of the

State. Much of it was never reached by the erstwhile ruler called Maharaja.

Maharaja came from the region of Jammu and was a Dogra.44 Saghir and family were

not in contact as, he was mobile. Although his office staff would relay the messages.

There were no civilian communication lines. The National Highway was still not

open for public. The National Highway extending from Srinagar valley to the heights

of moonscape Ladakh divion. The Highway was the vital lifeline was those living in

the upper Himalayan mountainous regions. The heights of Zanskar and Zojila45 are

always covered with snow and this destroyed the bitumen roads. The repair of the

roads usually would start in the month of March itself. However it was opened only

in May for the public. This road channel was lifeline for the rest of region. This was

to maintain the stocks of essential and non-essential items. Summers was the right

and only time for the buffer-stocks. The civilians of the Upper regions of Ladakh

44 This is anme of the caste of warrior class in this region of foot hills of Himalaya.45 Zanskar is the name of the range while the Zojila is the name of a treachrous Pass on a Glacier. The snow in some parts had turned black as it hardly melted. Such being the temperature.


could only manage their supplies through the annual maintenance of the National

highway segment.

Finally the telephone communications in end-May was established. The

family at last heard form Saghir after a long gap.

The family was to fly in next two days to Leh. Meanwhile Ahmed and

Saif so have Bilqis found the friends in land-lords childen of the same

age. Some others who lived in the vicinity , some Sikhs, Hindus,

Afghans and some Iranians. Ahmed made a good friend with the

Land-lords lovely looking daughter Arasta. The girl was half-Afghan

and Half-Kashmiri. The Kabbanis as the land-lords were known in the

locality. She had a younger flabby brother whose name was Arman.

Everyday the snobbish Arman who was much like his mother, would

boast of his new imported clothes. There were some of his cousins

from Iran. In the evening Ahmed and Saif would come with their

elder sister to play at the Kabbanis paly-ground which was of massive

size. The portion with the Ahmed’s family was the smallest and it had

small gate which opened into the orchard of the Kabbanis. Boys and

girls were allowed to pluck the fruits like cherries, apples, red and

green ones, only under the strict supervision of the mali.46 The

massive house of Kabbanis had three-portions. In another lived a

widow and her two spinster daughters. They had some dogs. These

dogs were the Golden Labradors. A bitch with the litter, were the

focus of attraction for the children. These residents were not so

friendly, yet the sudden burst of life in their monotonous world bore a

reluctant welcome. The children at first waited for the three women to

leave for their daily evening stroll which lasted some hour and a half.

Both Ahmed and his elder sister Bilqis were fond of dogs. Finally one 46 Gardener, in India it is a low-caste among the Hindus


day the entire lot decided to request the ladies, if they would allow

them to rear up the litter. The bitch was no longer fussy about their

presence. The gang fed the bitch which made it still more friendly.

Not far away was the camp of the CRPF47, where the special Dog unit

was also housed. Some of the boys got friendly with the Policemen.

These Policemen also enjoyed their company and took them around

the camp. It all appeared adventurous to those young eyes. The boys

infomed the girls about the dogs squad nearby. They also told the girls

how these dogs were being trained in various jobs. But there were no

pups or Bitches. The kennel was far away in Jammu where the CRPF

reared the German Shepherds and Labradors. The role of this squad

was ever increasing for Bomb disposal and sniffing guns and

ammunition. The CRPF was coordinating with the Army for better

breeding and training of their dogs. The girls were grown ups and

knew that it wasn’t the right place for the girls. This CRPF unit had

most men from Southern part of India. The topography was very

different there, volcanic soil and equatorial climate. These men would

brave winters with not so adequate clothings on tour of duty.

The gang soon realised that they cannot have the fun and

involvement with the Dog squad. The boys in all seven including

Ahmed and Saif tried to influence the girls and goaded them to talk to

the threesome of ladies. The girls refused to oblige, as they were not

happy with their brothers visiting the Policemen. Finally after few

days have passed with the litter now making noises and crawling

around on their bellies with their eyes now open. All the pups

resembled their mother. Ahmed, Saif, Amarjit and punit chose their

47 Central Reserve Police Force, a para-military Central force, formerly known as Crown Reserve Police Force.


pup. They would enter through the small opening in the wooden

partition wall. In valley it was the wooden partition walls which

marked the boundaries much like the state of Rajasthan all desert

where the sand stone blocks were used as the demarcation. Wood was

cheap and plenty, it kept the house warm and gave ornamental

interiors. Although the modern houses were made of bricks, concrete

with roofs tiled . In fact one could easily peep through the small spaces

between the planks which were bolted from inside to form a wall. The

gang looked for some other bitches with litter as to own a pup. It was

not to be.

Ahmed and his family were here for some more than a month

and half. Saghir was still not expected and the family joining him in

Leh was also postponed. The Air tickets were requested for later dates.

The people from the office of Saghir came everyday with the small

printouts of telex messages for the family.Usammah the mother, also

made friends with some women in the neighbourhood. Although the

Khan’s had cook and two peons for the household errant. Usamah

decided to explore the market place herself . Sometimes the ladies

would go and buy some woolen stuff which was of export quality but

was expensive one. Usamah and the family including Ahmed, Saif,

Bilqis and Arasta would go every evening during their stay, to the lal

chowk, the bustling city market for their walk, a daily dose of freshly-

baked Pineapple pastries and tinned Apple juice from the famous

Bengali sweets house. At the famous joint there was always a mad rush

of the tourists , locals alike. However at any given time the presence of

the heavy para-military forces, ever alert and on guard, were indicative

of the sublime peace and tranquil façade.


Usamah and her childen visited the Bhats also. Very often the

Bhats and Khans alongwith the Kabbanis would collect at the Bengali

Sweet House for some North Indian dishes (mainly Punjabi dishes) ,

Ironical though there was hardly any thing Bengali about the sweet

house, barring a few fast-food preparations. This was the Indian

versison of the McDonalds and Kentucky chains to name a few. The

American brands like Coke and Pepsi were now the persecuted names.

The new Central government was not at all in favor of the American

brands and the culture that sprouted around those products. Many

decades later the somewhat same leadership on regaining the power

decided to liberalise the economy and gave in to consumerism. The

same old guard decided to give in, unwillingly though to the wrath of

bankruptcy. The prevalence of wisdom was ever elusive. The political

bankruptcy of Gerontocracy was made evident as policy after policy

unveiled the structural reforms in the country. The social discrepancy

became too evident, to shake the edifice of the political system. Some

power-hungry then made bid to cling to power by changing the

constitutional politics. As the couplet 48 goes ;

“haram ruswa hua

pir-e-haram ki kum nighahi se,

jawanan e Tartari kis qadr saheb e nazr

nikle ….”

Translated it reads :

“The learning went to spoil

for the myopic thoughtless,

48 Sir Iqbal, famous Urdu Poet and thinker, with Kashmiri lineage, lived in early part of twentieth century in Lahore, Pakistan


O’ sons of Tartar49 how thoughtful

And distant vision you’re…”

The repetitive bout of crisis-management made the system

infested with corruption where secure living was no longer available,

even to the privileged. These scenarios were discussed by the elite,

Usamah used the opportunity of meeting these women and men from

the elite Kashmiri background to prepare her dossier for the weekly

newspaper despatch.

As the family waited for Saghir message to reach Leh , they

were invited to a Kashmiri Muslim wedding. The entire family, went

with Kabbanis, Bhats and Singhs as well. They hired a small van for

the purpose. Although the boys came in a separate jeep. There was

strict segregation of men and women. Most women observing purdah.

The most outstanding was the feast which the guests had . The food

was served with men squatted on the floor sitting in long rows. The

atmosphere was bit noisy, as people shouted at each in their local

language. The Kashmiris are known to be loud and gay people, festive

by nature. The culture which loves to eat and chat and chat endlessly.

Then came two men holding vessels and towels on their

shoulders. These were typical Persian way of washing hands before

dinner. A heavy jug-shaped for water and a basin shaped vessel

covered to hold the waste-water. All shiny tin-plated copper vessels.

Then came men with large plates containing large mounds of

rice in real sense. Then the rich gourmet made from lamb meat with

lots of chillies and curd. Some chicken preparation for the special

49 refers to heathen Mongol destroyer of caliphate at Baghdad in 16 th century, who later embraced Islam.


guests like Khans. No local invitee tasted that dish leave alone eating

the same.

“Hey Arman! , how on earth do we finish these tonnes of

rice…”, Ahmed in amazement. As he looked at the rice and other

contents laid all over the rice mound. Each huge plate was shared by

four men.

Arman gave his silly smile and spoke in a sarcastic tone “ …

We(Kashmiris) are so rich as to waste all this rice and throw it for not

so rich like you wheat-consumers from India….”, “ Throw it!….

serious Amarjit( a Kashmiri Sikh boy)…” Ahmed “yaasusss…” as he

gulped down the rista50 . “hmmmm, that is not pemissible…” Ahmed

“….Permissible under what!…” Arman “…I mean under our

religion….”, “Oh I never knew you were religious as well….” Arman

continued with his tone. “Sirs would you like to have some of

Gushtaba and Roghan Josh51 …..” somebody politely asked. He was

wearing a embroidered Kashmiri cap and fawn colored shalwar kamiz

with brown embroidered woolen waistcoat with golden buttons.

“some gustaba please and some curd-sauce” Ahmed while taking ways

for the man to pour it in the thaal52. “ well I was always religious man

and try to behave like a pious muslim, I say my sala’at regularly…”

Ahmed, “…you don’t have to explain and justify to this fatso…”

Amarjit whispered in Ahmed’s ear. “ he is pissed off with you..!”

Before Ahmed could ask him Arman who was busy devouring

sumptous food spoke in threatening tone “ I know you bloody Amarjit

you are spekaing foul about me to Ahmed…” Amarjit scared “…nono

Oh no…please we are not speaking about you, it was about those two

50 A dried meat ball fried in animal fat.51 Two famous dishes of Kashmiri cuisine.52 The huge engraved plate for four people or more to eat the food.


boys who live in the Police colony……” “you you…..” Arman raising

his left fist . “ what is going on there Arman , can’t you ever behave

with your friends for once…!” Mr.Kabbani reprimanded knowing his

spoilt son well. Everybody try to hide their smile, Amarjit could not .

“You sard…. I will not spare you for this….tomorrow you will have to

fight with me in our lawn…” then he menacingly looked towards

Ahmed and other boys who were shairng the same plate. Arman was

the bigger and the bulkier of the lot. At the same time he enjoyed

bullying the younger lot. This year was particularly hard for him as he

flunked. His sister topped her class and in all sections of her standard.

Arasta was in Eight standard, studying at the prestigious Convent

school. An all rounder at the school was good at protocol , polite,

aristocratic in her demeanour, yet friendly. Arasta was much like her

father and Arman was much like his mother. Mrs.Kabbani was the

only daughter of her rich parents, who were very big landlords of the

Valley and held Ministerial portfolios in the State cabinet. Elite of the

valley. Arasta only commonality with here mother was her stunning

looks. Mrs.Kabbani did not bear the typical Kashmiri features, her

facial features were more smooth and round. A distinctive pink

complexion, pretty looking woman for her age. Kabbanis were few of

Indian muslims who retained their cultural and social links with their

relatives in Iran and Afghanistan even after centuries. They

mainatained it through marriages and other means like business. Most

of the Kabbani relatives were into Carpet and Dry fruits merchandise.

Kabbanis regularly flew to Iran and Afghanistan very often. This genre

did affect the mentality of Mrs.Kabbani .

As the party packed for the day and went back to their

homes. The boys apprehended bull-show the next day. It was an


unexpected change of venue for everybody. The boys did not go to the

Kabbanis lawn to play next evening. Instead they decided to go to

Amarjit’s plcae. Amarjit took out all the three bicycles, belonging to

hima nd his younger brotehrs . In all the six boys went to the nearby

paddy fields and tried to catch some fishes and toads. They took

Amarjit father’s fishing rod. Well there were no small fish or tadpoles.

This was only during the rainy seasons which was due to commence.

Somehow the fields used to get inundated with the small fish which

were cooked with rice. It was very much to the local taste and apetitite.

This was quite new experience for both Ahmed and Saif. The boys that

day caught some toads which were of brownish color. Frogs were a

common sight in the area. Each evening the nosiy creatures would ho

around the lawns in the vicinity. On could find them indoors, if the

doors were left open for sometime. Mosquitoes were not that a

problem.

That evening Arman called up Ahmed’s number and said “…

this Amarjit is a crap, you should not mix up with him…..” then

sensing Ahmed’s disapproval by his stony silence on the other end,

modifying his tone “…..anyway last evening was just ajoke, nothing to

take seriously yaaar (friend)” . Somebody spoke from behind, it was a

familiar voice, “Ok Ok you can also talk to him,…” he shouted at the

voice behind. Then speaking back “.. this Hunza, ( Iranian first cousin

of Arman, Arasta) wish to speak to you…” “hmmmm…yes….”

Ahmed broke his silence. “Baji (elder sister) referring to Arasta,

….and Bilqis Appi will talk to Naina auntie for the puppies…then we

all can go and play with them in the evenings…”. Hunza was the

youngest of the lot, almost Saif’s age. “Oh that is good news, my sister

can be really generous to others sometime.” Ahmed spoke within


audible range of Bilqis who was seated on the sofa in the large sitting

room reading some magazine. Bilqis looked at him and ignored the

taunting brother. “ dinner time children….” Usamah their mother

called from the other kitchen which was next to the Main sitting room.

This was the new temporary home as the official accomodation was

relieved following transfer of Mr. Khan to Leh region . Although the

Bureaucrats were in the habit of retaining their official family

residence under one pretext or another , Mr. Khan chose otherwise.

Although the rules permitted him so. However Saghir was honest man,

since his family was not to reside in the region, so he decided to forego

his palatial and tasteful official accomodation. Architectural design for

these houses were almost similar, although the interiors varied a lot. It

seems that the rich Kashmiri elite of the region copied the English and

American designs of late. Raj nagar was the posh area , although it was

plagued by the same basic civic amenities, as were the old Srinigar city

which bore narrow lanes, open drains some even without gutters, leaky

water pipes. The stench in the old markets was unbearable, hygiene

was everything but a priority. These elite also had farm houses in their

huge and massive orchards. There were very few rules meant for them.

It was more of self-regulatory thing, whatever design and architectural

value this part of the Srinagar town had.

Many years later when Ahmed turned into an aspiring young

man, he met Arasta who narrated the horrors they met in the valley.

How they had to runaway leaving their homes , orchards and other

landed property for fear of extortion, kidnapping and most of all the

threat to life. Arasta was in her third year at the Medical college in

Delhi meant for women candidates only. Her brother Arman sent to

US where his Iranian cousins were staying for the studies. Mrs


Kabbani was ill with chronic depression. After here prolonged

treatment, she was a very different person, warm and pleasing. It was

as if the moral transformation have occurred, with some divine

intervention.

Many more elite kashimiris including the Kashmiri Pandits

(Brahmins) went to have themselves registered in the New Delhi office

for assesmment of the loss of landed property and other movables.

Many of this elite element, migrated to USA under various amnesty

schemes and other visa norms. The Kabbanis however made a bold

decision to wait for the political situation in the State to change. Their

gamble paid off, with a definite price.

Next evening the boys and girls were invited for the birthday

treat of Hunza, she was turned five. This was the first time that Ahmed

and others had access to those rooms which belonged to the Kabbanis.

The interiors were as rich and tasteful as one can imagine. All Persian

carpets both Silk and woolen, tasteful copper vessels and decoration

items, walls with beautiful wooden engravings and all panelled with

Walnut and Oak wood. The Kabbanis owned a large Sawing business

also. Mr.Kabbani was the leading Forest contractor of the State. His

wife’s political background and her family connections helped him a

lot. Hunza’s birthday had some Iranian taste, which bore reflection of

now prohibited Shah-traditions. Hunza dressed in impeccable white

gown with a matching head-gear, it looked more of wedding gown

than birthday suit. Celebrating birthday the western-style was now

prohibited in Iran under Ayatollah regime. The elite there in Iran was

now under siege by the intelligence wing called the pasdaran; the

moral police. The Iranian revolution meant dispensing away with the

western life-style and fashions. It did not necessarily meant dispensing


away with the western manners completely. Oil economics and

strategic value kept Iran sensitive to the western values despite the

social revolution. Hunza’s family, were one of the few Iranians who

were migrating to USA lock stock and barrel. It was not due to

persecution but because of the War crisis coupled with the freezing of

Iranian money and assets by the US government directives to the

Banks and Asset managers in USA and UK. It was getting increasingly

difficult to operate from Iran. Hunza’s family essentially in exports.

“….even if we become US citizens we can still retain the Iranian

citizenship, such are the laws of citizenship for natural Iranians….”

Hunza’s mother told Mrs.Khan as Ahmed and Bilqis listened to her

standing next to her while eating the cake. She continued “Times will

change very fast for Iranians, there is complete anathema for anything

connected with Shah, from neck-ties to English language,just about

everything…, this whole region is changing……” .

“Well, well, it is the super-powers which are playing us against

each other ….these Americans and Russians are equally self-serving.”

Hunzas father joined who sported beard and wore a shirt with straight

collars and buttoned up around the neck. “ so you wear chador now…”

Mrs Khan who was wearing a light blue printed Silk Saree. “ look

Iranian revolution is no about wearing chador, …..we have been

wearing the same for years now, yes not a compulsion then. I don’t

have anything against the revolution. In any case the Sunnis are not

that affected lot. Iran always had clergy which was well entrenched in

to our social and political structure. Moreover Ayatollah lived in

France before the revolution….”. “Can I serve you some kababs” Mrs

kabbani with a round bowl conatining kababs, placed in a wooden

tray. “Irna, Mrs Khan is a journalist… a person of your interest, she


writes” looking at Hunza’s mother in surprise she continued as each

took kababs from the bowl “Didn’t you tell Mrs. Khan ?”. “Oh really

is that so !…interesting, what do you wirte….?” Mrs Khan delighted

asked Irna. Irna shyingly smiled took a bite at the kabab. “hmmm,

these are good, ammi,” Ahmed to Usamah . “… I hope this meat is

legal in the State”, Usamamh said , “who cares…!…” Mrs Khan,

Mr.Kabbani joined in who overheard her. “Are there no laws for

hunting wild animals” Hunza’s father asked, looking amazed. “The

vegetarian lobby in power is trying to do all this”, Mr.Kabbani mocked

and took Hunza’s father aside. “So what do you write, Irna ?.Mrs

Khan. “Well I write on social affairs and some children literature….”

Irna bent down to keep her plate in the basket meant for it.

“Come I will show you my books thy are there”, she pointed

towards the room at the far end. This room was next to the one which

belonged to Arasta. “My son …, she pointed towards Ahmed…writes

too, but only romantic poems”, and everybody bursts into laughter.

Arasta and Saif has also joined. “ I am sre your son will be popular,

he has inherited your looks and intelligence” Hunza’s mother said with

compasion in her eyes as she looked at Ahmed. “Ammu he has already

written one dedicated to me” Arasta tried to tease Ahmed. He stood

there shyly bearing naughty smile with strange happiness striking his

heart. By this time Amarjit, his two younger brothers and Punit had

left. Some guests mostly men were seated in the lounge. Mrs Kabbani

was busy in her kitchen with the cooking business, guiding the cook

and her servants. Mrs Kabbani had number of servants, they changed

their shifts one after another. At any given time she had five-six

servants at her disposal. Arman was busy with his old friends from the


school, now in a higher grade than his. Arman was in a reticent mood

that day. He missed his old classmates after he flunked.

Everybody walked in rows past the gallery , which housed the

rooms one next to each other and few facing each other. Arasta and

Ahmed fell behind, “.. this is my room….” She opened the door gently

and swayed it gently leaning her back on to it. She held the door as

Ahmed stood at the entrance. Arasta looked at Ahmed and then stared

straight into his eyes, then entered the room, holding the door, as if

inviting him. Ahmed stepped in braving his hesitation. The room had

massive glass window which opened towards the front Lawn, where

they played everyday. As Ahmed surveyed the room, Arasta went

near the window, the door closed, she stood at the window with her

knee bent , her long grey printed skirt flowing down the stool which

had a chital skin stitched onto the cushion. Then she fixed her eyes on

Ahmed, she directed Ahmed by her hand with nimble fingers to lift the

pillow lying on the neatly laid bed. Ahmed walked towards the head of

the bed, which had a smooth sea-blue satin bed sheet with matching

pillow covers. They folded her arms holding close to her bosom with

ere henna dyed hairs neatly tucked in a pony tail. All along she did not

speak while fixing her look at Ahmed. “…This is my poem”, Ahmed

was elated. She gently nodded putting a soft smile on her beautiful

pink face, parting her deep red lips with teeth barely visible. “…ever

since you gave me that, I have been watching you each evening from

this window”….she paused looked down at her feet, she was wearing

white canvas shoes with gucci markings. “ don’t mistake me, to be

your lover, but I enjoy your attention, you are intelligent, that is what

attracts me. I am older to you. There will be many girls of your

age….”


“ I do not wish to disappoint you, but you must be sincere with

your women, you must not play with them.” Ahmed listened to her

standing straight next to her bed with shock and in amazement. She

continued, lifted one of her Barbie dolls in her hand, she held it close

to her. “…these beautiful women which you see around are not fools,

but they willingly allow their exploitation. I know you are a good boy

with flair for women. Just don’t be spoiled by the attention. The heart

of a poet must be real and authentic to the core, but do not patent it

for surreptious mannerism” she paused once again with her aristocratic

demeanour, she came close to Ahmed lifted his hands close to her and

planted a touch of her lips, Ahmed eyes flickered with joy and passion.

“your poem is my property, I shall read it again and again to myself,

however I do not trust you having know you form sometime now.”

“We can be well-wishers but not lovers I repeat….” , as she walked

away Ahmed turned and stared at her from head to toe. Arasta opened

the door held it with her captivating, now moist eyes looked at Ahmed

to leave her room. They together walked into the room where Irna and

others were present. Bilqis Ahmed’s sister looked up , as the duo

entered. “Irna khala let us hear Ahmed’s poem dedicated to Arasta”,

everybody looked at the two. Arasta gently moved towards the empty

chair next to Bilqis. Bilqis hissed, “you did the right thing.” Arasta

looked once again at Ahmed and then said “ he cant remember his

poems, I will fetch the poem and recite it for you all” Arasta left for

her room and was back with the paper which she had framed. This was

the poem . Arasta once again asked him (Ahmed) if he wish to recite

the same for all. Ahmed was still recovering from the taste which

she(Arasta) has just provided to him.


Arasta looked down at the paper which was now preserved in a

Mahogany frame. She seemed to be in absolute control and command

of the things . She drifted here dextrous long fingers on the paper as if

touching the emotions of the stanzas, which the poem contained. She

looked up, found herself the centre of everyones gaze. “..Well the

poem is titled “Liason”…, ammmm…its in English,” while looking at

Ahmed “…he writes in english and have also been published in a

poetry journal in US, I am sure this poem will do equally well.” She

smiled teasingly.

“ The thoughts which reveal

the dangerously beautiful-self,

remain unsaid, as part of

my unfounded fears. …1

The truth of a legend; its moral restrains, lest

‘transgress your consummate

sight. …2

It was not once or twice,

that the eyes, the loops of

speech, combined for rederssal. …3

I shall live unheard; as enormity

of your condescending

eyes never enabled a liason. …4

I though remain possessed of warmth

and concerns, as cleft in chin …5”

As Arasta looked up the wrpaped silence broke into clapping

and praise by elders. In the corner next to the door Mrs.Kabbani was

standing looking at Ahmed , as stranger. Mrs.Kabbani never spoke to

Ahmed during the rest of their stay in Srinagar .Indeed it was many


years thereafter that when she came to Delhi as a broken and

distraught for her treatment that she talked to Ahmed. Ahmed stayed

mum of the rest of the evening. His empty looks secretly followed

Arasta . Hunza and her family was leave for Delhi then to USA, the

next morning. The proposal to have the direct international flight from

Srinagar to USA was pending for long with the New Delhi, It was

suppose to have the good for the tourist flow in the state which

depended entirely on the income from the tourism and the exports

which were largely was facilitated by this tourist movement.

Arasta and Bilqis have talked to Naina aunty about the puppies

and the eagerness of the young boys. They narrated her how the boys

and Hunza have befreinded the bitch and the litter. Also how they

would sneak into the small gaps of the wooden partition. Contrary to

their much feared grumpy nature Naina auntie and her two daughters

allowed the boys to take the bitch and the litter in the garage to play

and take care of the canine family. The garage was where the original

four wheeler of Jeep company belonging to Mr.Kabbani used to rest.

Mr.Kabbani took great care of his American four-wheeler, it was a

sports model, a powerful machine much suited for the mountainous

terrain. Kabbanis had many vehicles mostly of American and

European make. Their latest addition was a new Mazda, a small white

car. Every other day the cars were lined up and they were washed and

waxed by the drivers, some two three in all. Kabbanis had some other

vehicles like trucks etc. There were two three buses as well. The

Kabbanis were into many businesses like transport, fruits, as they

owned Orchards and also Carpets, some handicrafts as well. However

there main stay was logging Contracts. Next morning it was just

Bilqis, Saif and Ahmed as the schools have reopened after the


vacations. Bilqis around 11.00 am that morning asked here two

younger brothers if they wish to accompany her to Arasta’s school

nearby. “ Would there be something to play with”, little Saif asked

with eagerness. “ yes yus yuuus, my dear younegr brother, as she kisse

him on his cheeks. Saif swung his arms around her neck.Bilqis picked

him up and spoke to her mother, “Ammi I am going to Aratsa’s school

and expect us around lunch time…” Bilqis said loudly as she picked up

Saif’s shoes from the small thatch stand, made of scraped walnut-wood

, placed at the Main Door. “…would they allow you people in during

the school hours..?”, Usamah asked from her bedroom. “ … they are

preparing for the sports festival at the school so there shouldn’t be any

problem, Arasta asked me to come along to meet her friends there.”

Bilqis as she walked with Saif in here arms towards the master bed-

room. “ very well, take Ahmed also.., alone he will feel bored. ”, “ I

am taking your dear son along, don’t worry about that…?, She

waslked twords the main door an opened the gate where Ahmed was

waiting. Ahmed extended his hand to take the small bag which Bilqis

held in her arms. Bilqis bit surpised at the generosity, handed her bag

to Ahmed , who then opened the main door. As Bilqis with Saif in her

arms, Ahmed stooped to call their cook to close the door. The cook

rushed out of the out-house , adjusting his Kashmiri cap on his head. “

coming coming Ahmed baba”. “Please close the door”. Ahmed turned

away and shutting the door behind him. Bilqis with Saif was walking

few steps ahead, Ahmed paced to join them. They climbed the steep

road ahead turned right with the paddy fields on their left. They

walked silently on the road, the sky was crystal clear and shining blue.

On their right was the row of bungalows. They walked briskly in the

afternoon Sun, which was not very hot, coupled with light breeze


blowing across. “Appi there are fish inside…” Ahmed pointed towards

the paddy fields, where the farmers were sowing the crop. “you mean

in those fields…!” Bilqis looked over her shoulder with her neck

slightly bent backwards, Saif also turned his face. “that day there was

no fish here..” Saif exclaimed . “you also came here with bhai53”

Bilqis asked as she held his face close to hers with affection. “ No , yes

there was Amrjit, and his two brothers, Pintu also, but Arman was not

there, he was angry with all..., so we did not to his place”, Saif spoke

with childish innocence. “Hummm, I see.., you like to go for

fishing…?, Bilqis to Saif. “I don’t know”, Saif gestured with his

hands simultaneously, as one is not sure.

Bilqis was wearing traditional white shalwar kamiz like the

some of the girls at the Black gate. This was the school. A simialr face

appeared and took them inside the grounds. This was Arasta. Te scholl

had an impressive building, a chapel and residential quarters for the

Nuns, some of them from foreign missions. The Principal was on the

round alongwith two other teachers. The Prinicpa wearing White robes

like a Convent Nun, she had a rosary in her hand with a small silver

cross dangling. Of the other two teachers one was a Nun wearing Grey

robes with like-colored head cover. She had a cross hanging from the

belt at the waist. The other teacher was in Saree, this was the Head

Mistress. Arasta introduced her guests to her prinicipal, who was a

European and very warm, though with stern looks. She spoke

commandingly, yet carried a charm. Bilqis gently bowed bedning here

knees and head simultaneously, Ahmed and Saif wished the teachers .

“In which school do you study ?” to Bilqis, as the other two looked

around and talked to their staff about the progress on arrangements for

53 Urdu for brother.


the rehearsal that evening. “ I am studying at Convent of Jesus and

Mary, Delhi, Ahmed and Saif study at St.Columbus. He is in sixth

standard and him in KG. We are overstaying our vacations…”.

“Well you must hurry back to your schools , God bless you!”

Principal walked away with the teachers. Arasta introduced the three

some to her friends and said, “Nudrat and nafis are sisters and they can

help auntie shop silk at the factory, nearby. Their father is the General

manager there, they stay also in the same premises, a very nice

place..”paused and then resumed “…its bit scary ,with deep foliage

and huge trees, its like that kids story where the little girl visits the

granny and sleeps in the bears house” hihihhihihi….they giggled

together. Ahmed stood silently behind the circle which the girls have

formed. “Ahmed you stay here ,you cant go to the hostel section, we

will be back soon,” then she shouted at the girl in the Basketball court,

“Shashi, he is our friend, join him for some time”, then she turned

again to Ahmed as the other girls walked together with Bilqis and Saif

towards the hostel “..you play basket ball… or any sport she is our

team captain, ask her for any indoor or outdoor sport”, Ahmed nodded.

Arasta took a few steps and then stopped and swirled back with her

scots skirt flowing, you can hihimmm…. certainly flirt around that is

if you want…” she enjoyed teasing Ahmed. Ahmed tried to hide his

smile. He walked towards the basket-ball court adjacent to the same

was the volley ball court, then at distance was the lawn tennis court.

Ahmed with his disarming smile asked Shashi “ Hi I am Ahmed , how

are you ?” “Oh I am fine, so your from plains..” “Sorry ! I couldn’t

follow you…” “ Ahh I mean you are from Delhi, in kashmir we call

rest of Indians as people from Plains.., nothing offensive, just the

tradition.” Shashi bore typical Kashmiri features but her blue eyes


dominated the facial looks. She was bit tall for her age and athletic

built, almost height of Ahmed . “ you are the first Kashmiri pundit I

have met since my arrival here, tell me something about your part of

society, I hear you guys are different types and don’t mix with the

Muslims and others here.” “ I do not know who told you all that, cant

you see for yourself, may be what you say was true in past but not

now. Ina any case you cannot subvert the majority community” They

reached the Gmaes room where they picked two fibre raquets. “ these

racquets are pretty expensive ones. I purchased two from Pakistan,

mine is Addidas, I play lawn tennis for my school, then I also go to

Sports club in Delhi” , “you aspire to be in Indian team…”Shashi

smiled. “Well my friend you never know, fate may just shine anytime

anyday…” “So you are a fatalist..” “No no…!” Ahmed quipped, “…I

was trying to explain to you in simple terms…” “ you are good at

mixing words…” Ahmed simled and tried to change the topic “you

girls tend to mature, fast, read mind well..” Shashi looked at him, and

said “ why did Arasta say something to you…?” “Ahhh….mmmm….”

“ you don’t have to act like hiding something, she is my best friends

and we share it all” “hmmmmmm, the girl talk” Ahmed tried to gain

ground here. The two started to play tennis. Ahmed was good at power

game, but Shashi played with her skills and baseline game, she used

her height and athleticism to overcome forehand smash and the game

at the Net by Ahmed. They played for some half an hour. Ahmed won

with ease loosing just one game towards the end of the last set, he

couldn’t afford to disenchant the lady.

“Can I treat you to a cold drink, at the canteen” Ahmed “Aw,

that is good idea, but you cant go inside , I will fetch for two of us”

“then please allow me to treat you” As he slid his hand into pocket of


his jeans, “Oh no no.. please..Ahmed , you are my new friend” “…

Please I insist, let it be on me…” Shashi started to walk away “Ok

then something to eat, is on me…”, Shashi turned “…you are

persistent and chauvinist too..hihhihhi…” Shashi took the note from

him and ran with her pony swinging at her nape. They shared burgers

and the cold drinks, seated on the bench in the Park. “I like coke

somehow this new Indian brand is not to my taste” Shashi as she

sipped and looked at the bottle. “ Well this is real stupid and

strange…” he took a bite “…when we went to Pkistan two months

back, Coke and Fanta was very much in the market in both large and

small sizes, so were parker and sheaffer, now when we reached Atari,

for the drink, one finds these unrecognizable Indian brands, hardly any

taste and match for the Coke and Pepsi” . Shahshi nodded, they both

looked around when Shashi said “ …these politicians are silly lot…”

“Shashi your best friend Grand-father is one, who is a Minister too,

just remember that subtle difference…” Shashi puts an agitated look

“…so what I can speak what is true, we are taught in the convent to

speak and stand for the truth. Also the character of women is

indefatigable.” “ Alright we get the point..” what do you man WE?” , “

Ah , that’s my habit moreover the Royalty in England refers to itself as

We and in India WE would be translated for hum, the pronoun in Urdu

means both ‘us’ ; not the US..” he smiled and continued in the same

breadth “…and aaa…’me’…you understand now” “you are impressive

with words dear boy, what do plan to be politican or a Lawyer” “No

Iwish to become a writer, a creative writer” “ Where do you think you

will earn a living..” Shashi with sarcasm. “hmmmm you are write a

creative writing does not feed here, I am sure by the time the stage

arrives, things will be very different.” “you are optimistic” “ you got to


be that is what is creative or rather makes you creative” “Alright what

have you written so far, lets see if you even qualify as a creative

peron” Shahsi emphasised creative in a teasing tone. “ Ahhh I wrote

one poem on yor friend…” “I know that, but that doesn’t make you a

poet damn it or whatever you want to be…” Shashi was always an

aggressive person when it came to discussion. Her intimidating style

would make strangers loose confidence. She tried it everytime she

spoke with the boys. Theirs was all girls school “No I have written

some more poems, and some short stories.. some of them were

published in my school magazines”. “…they let you print all this

romantic stuff” , “ Iwas the editor of the school magazine for the

juniors then..” Aa ha !” and then she gave a hearty laugh, and quickly

got up clearing grass ends from her skirt. Ahmed also stood up

checking his jeans. The grass was somewhat wet, it was being

prepared for the next days Sports event. He took out his handkerchief

and said “ here there is some sauce on her shirt sleeves” Shashi

checked it and looked at him “No down under at the cuff. She turned

her sleeve with her other hand, and took her handkerchief which was

neatly tucked in the belt of her skirt and cleaned it off. She asked

Ahmed to wit at th railings, while she will see if the others will take

longer to come out. Ahmed kept his hanky into his back pocket. He

would always keep his hanky in the left back-pocket. His wallet in the

pocket of his shirt. That day he was wearing his new Chritian Dior T-

shirt a white with brown horizontal linings. His levis new shining blue

color Jeans and Nike snikers with a Casio sports colourful watch made

him stand out with the girls, who passed by. Ahmed in past few

months has grown in height and although slim he has gained weight in

proportion.


Ahmed stood near the railings next to the building façade, he

stood facing the ground. There were more girls who came in their

respective school buses to parctice for the next days competition.

Ahmed thought how other boys would envy him when he narrates the

same to them that evening.

“Are you Ahmed…” Ahmed looked back where the voice

called and without waiting for his answer the voice concluded “…you

can leave, your sisiter and others will be late”. The girl seemed to be in

haste, Even before Ahmed could ask, she stopped and took few steps.

Ahmed holding to the wall of the corridor, which was laid with small

plants. Ahmed amazed “..Get off it, your sister will reach home at

2.00, she will have lunch with us, tell that to your mother”. The girl

then simply vanished. Ahmed walked home and told his mother what

the girl has said.

Ahmed laid in his bed and read a few magazines and then

dozed off. There were no ceiling fans and there was hardly any need

for then. “ “Ahmed O Ahmed O Ahmed”, his mother was calling. As

he opened his eyes it was Amarjit and his two brothers, Pintu and

Arman who were holding two small puppies, which were cooing . His

younger brother was fast asleep on the other cot. “We got them today,

now we can play with them as well”, Amarjit spoke. “ Come out to my

lawn, we are waiting for you lazybums” Arman in his usual heavy

tone. Ahmed knew why Arman was pissed off, Amarjit that evening in

the car has told him that Arman did like any of the boys talking to his

sister. He was over-protective. Even if somebody would go to his

house asking for him, he would resent that.

The boys that evening prepared a small comfortable place for

the litter next to the garage. Each one contributed something. Arman


bought some old blanket, Pintu brought a basket, Ahmed and Arman’s

driver got some wooden planks used for packaging to make a small

house for their Canines. The house was placed in the shade of the

gargae roof. The bicycles belonging to Arman and his sister were

parked there. This was also a small passage with a temporary door

making access to the lawn from other end where Pintu and his family

lived. They were also tenants at the ground floor. This was the only

place which was acceptable to Mrs.Kabbani who was not a Canine

patron by any standards. It was Mrs.Kabbani whose permission was

indispensable for such things. A strict Landlord she was . Once the

boys plucked the cherries from her orchards woithout informing her

gardener, the same evening she knew someone has plucked the

cherries. The gardener was severely reprimanded for his lapse. The

boys sympathetic to the gardener, admitted the same to Arman. He

asked them to keep shut for his mother would froget it all in day or

otwo. Else one would be the target of her anger and angst. The lady

could be cantankerous sometimes. Her moods had many faces, she

could misbehave and insult anybody, so people with experience were

cautious; when in generous mood. Ahmed’s mother found her a

different woman, she never misbehaved or talked ill with her.

However it was Arasta who was friendly with Ahmed’s mother,

Usamah. Usamah found that it was Arasta who was popular of

Kabbani women. Arasta was active in neighbourhood welfare

schemes. She made her Grand-father sanction proper sanitation and

road facilities for their colony. The Association of the Bungalow

owners felicitated the young girl for her efforts. Arasta was also

involved with the Boat-people, the shikarawalas, at the nearby jhelum

river banks. The day Prime Minister came, she led her school


delegation, explaining their intervention project with the shikarawalas.

The intervention program was generating awareness in this class about

hygiene and literacy. Very often the young children would not have

the opportunity at the school. The health of the young girls was also

the topic. Shashi’s mother who headed the nearby District Hospital,

was a special invitee to this project. The Prime Minister was impressed

and praised the convent for the successful young Indian women they

were producing in their institution. The Presnetation Convent school

was culture in itself. So were many other boys and Coed schools,

There was a chance that Ahmed and his brothera nd sister would have

to study here. Their father was assigned a project which would not be

completed for another five years. It was some new roads and building

of small power stations in the remote places of the valley and also the

Ladakh division. However their father wanted them to continue their

education in Delhi. He was of the view that the facilities and

opportunities there were not a match. The scene at the higher

education was still unclear. Bilqis in two years would join college.

Howevere what Saghir their father never told anybody was his fears

about the stability in the region. Any day in the news agitation on

Azadi or arrest of some militants would be there. Though Srinagar was

somewhat safe and peaceful, however the threats to those engineers

working in the Power stations, which included some Russian and

French was very serious in itself. There was very heavy presence of

the Central intelligence and also security forces to protect the key

infrastructure installations in the State. The local police was neither

equipped nor trained to handle any of the anti-insurgent measures.

However this policy would soon collapse and a state of anarchy befell

on the people of the State. An era of political murders, pillage, loot


and rampage would unleash in the State, taking heavy toll

sociologically and economically speaking. There would be the threat

to the same Convent school by the extremist movement. The nearby

paddy fields to the school would become the dumping grounds for

those murdered by the extremists. Saghir has faced kidnappings and

the threats when working in North-eastern regions, his role in War

with Pakistan, convinced him further of the bleak future for the state.

He didn’t want his children to be caught in the political cross-fire of

‘Me too policy’.

At the end of the Sports festival Arasta took Usamah and her

family to shop at the Silk factory nearby where her two friends Nudrat

and Nafis lived . They were sisters. As usual Arasta was the best

athlete of the Sports event which consisted of many girls school in

Srinagar and nearby. These were district rounds. Shashi was adjudged

second best athlete. Ahmed thought they were strange set of friends as

they were equally rivals.

Shashi, Arasta, took their bicycles along. Ahmed, Saif, Bilqis

and Usamamh their mother, Nafis and Nudrat walked ahead of the

two. After walking for twenty minutes, they all took a small forest

road which went down the main road which was built on the

embankment next to Jhelum river. There was almost invisible pillars

marking the entrance to the Silk factory, there was a small board , all

rusted, paint peeling off which read ‘Cooperative Silk factory’, this

was all one could read. The rest was gone. The board hung on one of

the posts which marked the entry. There were dried up tyre tracks

which were visible , there was plentiful and rich vegetation which

sprouted up soon. But for the track it was impossible to know your

way to the factory. Nudrat and Nafis playfully walked ahead the rest


on the small growth of grass which lay between the tracks. “Our house

is located before the factory…, if papa is there then we can straight

away go the factory it closes in an hour”. Nudrat, the elder of the two

and class mate of Arasta spoke without looking back at those walking

behind her. Both Nudrat and Nafis looked similar in appearance and

also in their behaviour as well. Very easy going, calm in their attitude,

they were not typically aggressive as their other friends Shahi and

Arasta were. Somewhat less than go-getter and more of conventional

types. Although they carried great sense of humour and knew lot of

jokes. The two sisters were good at practical jokes, sometimes they did

not even spare their own teachers and friends. As they walked, deep

into the woods. Their nostrils were filled with soft smell , it was

typical of the woods of Pine an fir, although there was some

Eucalyptus too. The CMarinar trees were omnipresent , as they were

the typical vegetation of the valley for many years now. There were

some langurs which were perched on the top of the trees and shouted

as well. This typical variety of monkeys(Change to species)* .This

typical langur was getting more extinct and rare for ebeing hunted.

The valley was equally rich in the variety of sheep and goats. The

pushmina goats were found at higher altitudes, so were the wild goats.

These wild goats were also present in Dachigam sanctuary. After

walking for another 500 yards from the main entrance. There was an

old house with colonial architecture. It appeared to be built more as

castle, than as a house. Although it was not very big. It must be spread

around half an acre or so. There was another small house adjacent to it.

This was the place where the Deputy General Manager resided. The

house was empty. At the very first glance it look deserted and haunted

as well. Some more structures could be seen in the thick foliage. This


was another colony housing some private bungalows. Interestingly

many of these Bungalows belonged to the non-Kashmiris, who could

purchase the land/building in the valley on lease alone. All the top

hotels and hospitality business managed and run in Corporate fashion

belonged to the people who are not Kashmiris. It measn that Kashmiris

had very little experience in organised business activity. This meant

that the government had to be active in putting industries which could

be of Kashmiri origin. Although this proved to be more of misnomer

than a fiscal utility concept. This was soon evident to Usamaha and her

family who could see that the Silk factory was more in to breeding

cocoons than production of silk. The unit looked old and deserted.

Some yarn was being extracted and dyed into raw silk. Here at the

factory substitute for Chinese silk was being prepared. Although this

State initiated sericulture did not seem to be popular even with their

own employees. Such a waste of efforts they thought. The Planning

board would release the finds much after the demand has been made.

This made them loose the competitive edge. It was not that there were

many players in the silk industry or that the sericulture was thriving in

Indian populace. It was the smuggled chinese silk of different varities

that was impossible to beat by these state-run factories be here in

Kashmir, be it other states in South India. “ Assalam-o-alaikum”

greeted the middle-aged man who wearing shirt and trousers with a

sweater which was buttoned up. He had small beard which was typical

in Kashmir, his hair greying. “this is Papa..” As Nudrat and others

echoed the greeting in return “walaikum assalam”. “Please come

inside , this way..” He showed the room adjacent to the front door. The

house had a palatial entrance with a lobby which opened in different

rooms. The lobby was laid by the woven plain carper with small


decorative plants, all along the lobby with uniform spaces between

them. They were placed in the local pottery. The lobby was well lit.

The room was the main lounge which was very large and had number

of sofas in different arrangements, many centre tables as well. There

were silk carpets on the floor of the room. The walls were adorned by

the Pine fruits, some hunting trophies and Tiger skin , the sofa where

the Arasta and others sat, next to the fire-place and the chital skins

adorend the back of the sofas, One culd feel the soft hairs of the dead

chital. The white spots on the Deer skin were evident very clearly. The

hide seem to be well-preserved and cleaned from time to time. One

could keep these hides if there was necessary licence issued by the

forest department or the local officer of the area authorised under the

relevant statute. The fire-place was lit up. It seem that Nudrat has

informed her parents of the visit. The Butts as they were known

popularly amongst the friends, their surname. “they live in great

luxury..” Shashi “..O, you mean you have never been to their house..”

Bilqis while others looked around the room. “No , they never invited

me…”. “ she is cynical sometimes and talks like that…” Arasta

chipped in, she twiched Shashi’s thigh who sighed. “ No I am saying

the correct thing , you cant prevent the truth from happening.” “

Alright you came today uninvited, you could have opted the same

other times” Arasta qucikly rejoined Shashi. “ I am not saying that the

girls are not nice or that they are not my friends, it is just that they

never invited me…” . A man wearing grey ferin and Black shalwar

entered with tray in his hands. Behind him was the lady of the house.

This was Mrs.Butt, she appeared to be a rustic woman, who wore the

traditional head gear which was of silk finely embroidered , deep blue

in color , she wore a firan and shalwar. Her ear rings were very large


in gold and she wore some silver thick bracelet. Her ears were pierced

all through the ear. There were small gold rings which made her looks.

She greeted everyone present and embraced Usamah and blessed the

girls and the boys. The man with the tray has brought some Kahwa for

the guests. Another man who was walking just behind her had a small

basket like thing in his hand which he placed before Mrs.Butt . She

very gent;y whi;le talking to Usamah lifted the side of here firan and

slid the small basket inside. Here arms also inside. Ahmed and his

brother watched it all silently while the girls ended chirping. Ahmed

was seated on the sofa next where his mother and Mrs.Butt were

placed. The girls were perched on the sofas in front. Then Nudrat

walked in and asked the girls to come inside the house. “ Saifooo

would you like to come along” Nudrat Saif simply got up and held her

hand and started walk out o the room with her. “this boy will feel

bored, take him along too” Mrs Butt was referring to Ahmed. “Yes,

yes, right now we are going to my room, we will take him when we go

outside”. The man with the tray who was waiting at the other end of

the room, picked up the kahwa bowls which were meant for the girls

and went out of the room. Ahmed was surprised at the efficiency of

the man. The man Mrs.Butt told was in the Army but was retired for

sustaining injuries making him unfit for serving Army. The man was

from the same village as theirs Mrs Butt told Usamah. “Are these

from the factory” Usamah pointed to the Carpet. “No factory only

makes yarn and breeds cocoon…”, At this point Mr.Butt entered, who

stopped at the door and looked back, said something in Kashmiri and

walked in. everybod looked at the door. Mrs.Butt also said something

in Kashmiri and then faced Usamah. Mr. Butt also sat in the front next

to Ahmed. “ so you go to school, still having summer vacations”


Usamah looked at them and then continued her conversation. Ahmed

sat straight as he sat resting low on the back. “Amm…, its like this, we

went to Pakistan in the month of March and came back later then we

intended to , we have been here for almost a month or more. Now our

father asked us to visit Leh, where he is currently posted, so we are

overstaying by fortnight or so.” “…so your father was posted here in

Srinagar”, “ he is the Advisor to the State government on building

Roads and Dams, may be some more of civil engineering projects, my

mother knows more…”. Usamah who was over hearing the two, once

again turned towards the two. “ she is Saghir Khan’s wife, don’t you

remember meeting him, he was with the chief Minister at the

inaugration of breeding center or lab whatever you call it “. “ Of

course I remember him and why not?” Mr. Butt hastily added. He

looked at the old Wall clock in front, as it struck Four, “ so sister,

Arasta tells me that you wish to see the factory and shop here, but then

we must visit it for we close in the afternoon at 4.30 sharp. Our

workers come from far away places. Although we provide them the

transport, yet some of them have to walk from the last point.” They

got up and started to walk towards the factory, Mr.Butt continued, as

they tread a narrow forest pathway. “…In any case it is not safe for

employees travelling late at night. This silence is deafening, Saghir

saheb is right in his assessment”. “Oh really, he never mentioned this

to me, may he never had the time, he is so busy…” Usamah looking

worried for a while. “ O I am sorry if I scared you, it is just that when

ver we meet people like you, one can talk freely and honestly..”

“anyway what is the point in hiding from the situation…” Mrs.Butt.

She seemed to be upright and straight-froward person, with little

words. She talked simple things, educated till school, but appeared


well conversant with the events happening around. She told Usamah

her fondness for news and journalists. “my wife is very happy to meet

women like you, who are creating name and place for themselves in

the world dominated by men” Mr. Butt spoke withh little smile, Mrs.

Butt smiled and said “ of course, it is not easy for women…I want my

daughters to be someone, May Allah bless them with virtues ! “

“Amen ..!” Said Usamah. “that is my mother, there…” Mrs.Butt

pointed to the Old but strongly-built lady who was plucking some

vegetables. This was the kitchen garden which was situated next to the

factory building. Two other figures stood along with the old lady. One

was Saif and another was small girl wearing wollen clothes. It was

getting cold . The sky was barely visible, as the branches of the tall

trees formed a thick screen. The factory did not have any entrance or

boundary marked. Two huge Iron doors opened into the dim lit room.

Ahmed walking slowly at the end of the three entered the room last.

“This the cocoon breeding room, this is dim lit for this reason, you

need to have dark-rooms, we feed them mulberries, the trees of which

are grown in plenty in our compound…” Mr.Butt said something in

Kashmiri to the man who was supervsing the whole process. The man

left. “ We have developed a technique with the help of the institute in

Hyderabad54”. He stopped and pointed it to the cocoons spitting the

yarn. “..Here we are trying to culture the cocoons in artificial

surroundings which would cut the loss of yarn and also the breeding

of cocoons.” He was referring to the structure which was that similar

in the vineyard, it had huge spaces in between. The structure also had

threads to which hanged the leaves with small bowls containing the

mulberries, all fresh. They went further to the section weher the

54 Capital of South Indian state of Andhra Pradesh


reserch in breeding program was going on. It wasn’t impressive,

although massisve in terms of size and rooms with huge ceilings. All

the areas were dimly lit. Their guide Mr. Butt who was the Chief

General Manager, explained to be part of cocoon habits. So the

factory cocooned the cocoons.

Their was a small shop which read, factory price. As the

factory goods were low taxed and free of other charges/taxes, so the

goods prices here was comparatively low. Income from Sericulture

was exempted from number of taxes, it was considered o be that of

Agrarian activity beneficil to the small and marginal farmer .More so

the weavers. The translation of the letter and spirit was very rare for all

such schemes, although there were some exceptions.

At the shop the girls also joined them. Most of the goods in the

factory shop was the spun silk cloth, which was from the loom at the

factory . Raw silk, and the yarn was also available. Next to the shop

was a godown and a wholesale center. Usamah bought some clothes

for here and her children. This was cheap but was not as good as the

imported Chinese silk. The fineness was missing. They also bought

some scarfs and caravt for men. Arasta bought a set of handkerchiefs.

She asked the sales lady to pack it into two packets, two in each.

“Uncle I am buying it on credit, tomorrow I shall give it to Nudrat”

Arasta spoke as she checked the pocket of her Scottish skirt. Mr.Butt

simply nodded and waved his hand, he meant its OK.

“Oh its 5.30, we didn’t realize the time” Usamah spoke

surprised as she casually glance at her watch.. “Well you need an hour

or so to just see the things, if you are interested in understanding it you

still need some three hours in all. It is very interesting to watch the

cocoons, how they spin and how the same is converted onto the yarn.”


Mr.Butt poised , as they all walked back towards his house. This time

they took a different route . There was a grassy path which went just

round the boundary walls of the factory. It was getting dark, as dusk

fell. A s feeble notes of azaan reached the woods. The muezzin called

for the dusk prayers. “ Oh you can hear the azaan here. There is no

mosque in our area, or if there is one, perhaps the speakers are not that

strong”, said Ahmed; he continued, “…actually we have been here for

almost a month, but I never heard the azaan. Our driver Hamid took

us each time for our Friday prayers at the mosque in Lal chowk.”

They eneterd the house and walked passed the room where they all sat

earlier. This time though they sat in the smaller room, whoich the

family lounge , it had TV set. a colour one which was a rarity. Colour

Telkevision broadcast was not available. So why did they have one, it

was PTV and its programs which were broadcast in colour that many

in Kashmir had colour televisions. These colour televisions were also

status symbol for the plutocracy in the valley. In this was seated the

same old lady, who had some deep wrinkles at the forehead and on the

side of her eyes. Saif and on small girl were playing with the toys

sitting next to her on a Diwan. The old lady was peeling and cutting

the fresh vegetables she plucked fom the kitchen garden, Mrs Butt

explained who these people were in Kashmiri. Usamah went close to

her for the blessings. It was common for the young to seek blessings

from the elders. It was part of regular social mannerisms. This was

true irrespective of religion or caste. It was much like the same as

serving water to the guest in India. It is one of the oldest tradition, with

origins known to be in the Buddhist traditions. The monks would serve

their guests and visitors a glass of water first. The hot and humid

climate year round made the people adopt hospitality, with a definite


utility. Water which was the origin of many wars and boundary dispute

is symbol of courtesy in Indian masses. The riparian neighbours of

South Asia were precisely the good example of water and war. The

nascent states bore the boundaries which were measured on the basis

of watersheds. The surveyors and the law enforcing tehs ame became

the tedious part of the political history. The military forces tried to

redraw the political boundaries, many times burning themselves to

desperation. The uncertainity gripped the poor and the privileged with

slight difference on occassions of crisis.

“you must dine with us oh good lady”, Arasta translated from

Kashmiri what the old lady said. The old lady only spoke and

understood Kashmiri language. Nudrat’s grand mother was eighty

years old, yet she was very active for her age, now a widow and alone

she lived in the village near Srinagar. However ever since Nudrat’s

grand-father passed away last year she lived with Mrs.Butt and her son

in law. Mrs Butt who had gone to some other room, overhearing

repeated the invitation. Usmah politely refused saying “ their father is

due to call at around 8.00pm tonight , its important as we cant call

him. He calls from an Army facility.” “ Oh in that case I shall no

insist, but tell us when it would be suitable for you people to have

dinner with us.” Mrs Butt spoke as she lifted the peeled and nicely cut

vegetables and gave it to the man who was standing near the sofa. She

spoke to him in Kashmiri. A young woman served them all tea and

pastries. She was Mrs Butt’s cousin and was employed in the factory

itself. The old lady was a freedom fighter, with Sheikh Abdullah and

his party. She belonged to a village which was completely burned

down by the British-backed Maharajah’s forces. “my village” she had

a denture placed , so the hiss sound, came every time she spoke, “ was


one of those where even four-olds sang songs of freedom and struggle

against the colonial yoke and Maharajah’s tyranny. “But then what is

the present struggle all about ?” Usamah asked as Mrs.Butt watched

the two, speaking through young translator Arasta ,she gently sipped

her tea. “ this I cant say, I am no longer political, whatever I can say, is

what I read from newspapers” , old-lady mused. There was a silence ,

the old lady broke it “ this may have something to do which we did not

solve then, the “plebiscite” should have been done, as promised” she

paused and looked up, she glanced at everyone, then sat straight and

turned towards Usamah “the jailing of our leader and dismissal of the

governments after governments and bad elections, all destroyed any

chance of union with Indian republic” Usamah was surprised at the old

lady’s precise analysis. “ you contested any elections?”, everybody

else in the room listened to the grand-mother. Saif and little girl also

stopped playing. The two sat on either side of the old-lady. “ Well, I

contested two election, women are respected here. I won both the

elections, I saw to it that there was no rigging, it was tough, rival party

wanted me to loose, The Central forces also did not help us. But then I

told you my village is exceptionally courageous and outsatnding. Lot

of camaraderie, one big family, so we had our way, people voted and

saw the ballot boxes were sealed and not changed on their way.” She

sipped her tea and said in a low voice, brooding and contemplating “

the whole of Kashmir was not that lucky”. “ I wish to interview for my

newspaper” Usamah spoke in excited tone “ why you are a

journalist ?” Lady asked, she then quickly added “ there is nothing

interesting about me to write, in any case Kashmiris are of no interest

to Indians” “No I am sure if more of newspapers cover Kashmir, they

will understand Kashmiris, there is need to get acquainted with each


other” Usamah, while shifting through her purse, looking for her pen

and notepad. She also took out the visiting card box, which was of

Chinese make and gold-plated. “This is my card” Usamah handed the

same to Mrs.Butt . The old lady was either in pensive mood all

through the narration or was expression less. She smiled very little.

Although she was very calm and confident, given the fact, an illiterate.

Sometimes exposure and ability, take care of shortcomings. She was

the first generation leadership, which were good at grass-root contacts,

because of which they continued to be good organizer of support to

their party and its agenda. “ I shall meet you some other time say

tomorrow or day after….” Usamah , as she scribbled something on the

Notepad in Urdu.

“But do you think that you have the second generation of

leadership ?…”, “No I don’t think, it will be sometime before we have

the leadership who have the grass-root and down to earth approach.”,

“what about the militant leadership like JKLF and others” “Oh they

have their own agenda, they might succeed, if the Indian government

does not deliver its promise on development. My village still doesn’t

have many pucca55 houses , same stone and wood .Each winters there

is no electricity and water. The telephones go dead. To get treatment

the PHC doctors are not available during the winters” she took a deep

breadth as she spoke non-stop. The old lady spoke with eloquence and

with great precision. The analysis was of impartial nature of the

circumstances around. The prophecy she made would also look

probable to any avid political watcher. It grew darker as the leaves

ruffled and the tall trunks of Pine and Fir and other decidous trees

turned into slender silhouttes. The brooding old lady in these woods,

55 cemented or modern arhitecture


was the perfect mixture of natural elements of contemplation and

solitude. Suddenly there was a loud cloud burst, surprising all those

inside the house. The sky was clear, and now it seemed to rain any

moment. “I think we must leave immediately, as it is getting late and

now this rain, none of our servants at home…..” Usamah hurriely kept

her notebook and pen in her purse. “But how will you goo back”, Mrs

Butt, “Oh auntie its is not that far, some 15 minutes” Arasta spoke.

“No it might rain,…hmmm Nudrat get Noore, if you get wet here,

may fall ill, God forbid” Mrs Butt also got up, and asked her guests to

wait. There was the Car outside waiting for them. This was the

official car, called Ambassador a copy of original Morris. So when the

colonial masters left , the new masters christened this as the official

car. Although but for the design nothing was English about it.

Although the monopoly in the car market continued depsite some nut

and bolt technology , this car had. It succeeded the giant American

Cars which were hardly acclimatised to the Indian roads and there

dimensions. Well the Car revolution was hardly part of the scheme,

although it performance was better than east German Traby56.There

was hardly any change in the design and engine barring a few here and

there. The former Prime Ministers’ so wanted to build an Indian Car

and an empire aping and inspired by some Korean and Japanese giants

who proved themselves in the same decade. The peoples car at an

affordable price in India for the growing middle-class. Usamah and

many others in her circle would often hope to own the Japanese car.

Other cars were cumbersome and poor on performances. Moreover

this Desai government was keen on making the left-over MNCs leave

the country. The poor MNCs shifted their small operations to other

56 erstwhile East German car, the wait-in period was three years and it was rationed.


South Asian places. Undaunted like those foreign journalists who were

asked to leave during the Emergency era , they too were hopeful of

return. However as the fate of the populace would have it the return

was slated after whole decade of indignation.

It began to rain lightly as Usamah her three children, Arasta

and Shashi sat in the car and bid good-bye. This was the latest in the

series called Mark 4. The diesel version was awaited as the petrol was

getting expensive to maintain these petrol-guzzling giants. In the West

the move for fuel-efficient cars was not catching up with the State

machinery, as the State was the largest fleet-owner here in India.

Pakistan the riparian state was different, with people owning cars, as

bicycles in India. It was like anybody and somebody can own a car.

As the Car moved out of the main entrance which was marked

by those dilapidated pillars and climbed on to the main road which ran

parallel to the River Jhelum, The Car first turned right but then the

occupants decided that Shashi too had to be dropped at her home.

Alone would not be a responsible idea. The Car stopped and took a U-

turn, as it sped towards the Maren Mohalla57. The car stopped near

double storey house. It was raining heavily, in less than fifteen

minuets of heavy down pour the dark streets, were flooded. The drains

here were choked all over the town. The roads were narrow in this

area. “well we’ve been never here” Ahmed broke the silence, as Shashi

prepared to get off the Car. She politely asked to come inside. Usamah

sought to be excused for the day and promised to be at her house some

other time. The vizer of the Car broke-down, so the driver had to drive

very slowly and clean it, by protruding his out from the car window on

to the wind-screen. The mist inside was wiped again and again by a

57 Urdu for cluster of residential houses/colony.


cloth. It took them more than an hour to reach their house, to what

would have been a twenty minutes journey. The streets at Ahmed’s

end of the big house of Arasta were also flooded. This end fell into

different council zone. So they first went to the end where Arasta

lived. “ Auntie can itake Bilqis along, it is all very lonely in the house,

it looks too empty after the departure of Hunza and her family” “Ok,

but Bilqis when you want to come home phone Ahmed” Ahmed seated

in front did not react. He just looked towards his left, as Arasta and

Bilqis alighted. A chowkidar58 rushed form inside the gate with an

umbrella, he was wearing a rain coat and rubber shoes.

The family then reached home, still raining hard . They had the

Car parked right at the door steps, as the entire street was flooded with

knee-deep water. The water got logged more as the there was an open

drain which carreid the storm water. This was choked at number of

places. It was intimidating site, as if the house would get flooded.

However , as they went inside, the higher level of the house prevented

it getting flooded. Usamah quickly opened the padlock at the entrance

door of the house, as the phone was ringing. By the time she switched

on the lamp, it stopped ringing. “We shouldn’t have stayed so long

with the rains coming…” Usamah with worried looks as she unlocked

the other rooms and switched the lamps. From the master bed-room

she called Saif and asked Ahmed to lit the fire-place , for it would

make the interiors comfortable with the temperatures dropping fast.

Even otherwise the night temperature would always hover around 23-

24`C. Saif was half asleep by the time they reached home. Ahmed

went inside the kitchen and lit the gas-burner, and kept the utensils

which contained the food on it. There was hardly any need of

58 Urdu for gatekeeper.


refrigerators which was quite unlike Delhi. Ahmed then switched on

Television. This carried the news of CMLA in Pakistan was

contemplating to hang the incarcerated former Prime Minister whom

he served. Usamah rushed out of her room to hear it all. Ahmed looked

back and then both watched with glued attention. The State channel

which was broadcasting the news started to show some clippings on

the rise and fall of the imprisoned Prime Minister. It also carried of the

befallen executive head’s visit and signing of the peace accord with

Indian Prime Minster who lost power to the strength of electorate. One

could see the daughter of the befallen Prime Minister, the focus shifted

as the daughter was now active in politics and was heading the

political fiefdom. Politics in this society was still a privileged center,

the struggle for true plebian representation was getting evident and

ominous on the other side of the Sindh river59. The daughter was

slightly more than a sophomore in crude realdom of fluid politics.

“Her charming looks cannot help the MRD…she needs more than

simple courage to handle this machismo(referred to CMLA)60”

Usamah spoke, as she leaned at the wall, Ahmed silently watched the

news. The phone once again rang. “put down the volume…”, Usamah,

Ahmed quickly switched it off.

Usamah greeted the caller, with salaam, yes we went to

Mr.Butts place, the phone was ringing as I was openeing the lock at

the entrance. It stopped ringing as I reached it…..So what is the

program, ….you are calling from there…”, Ahmed stood next to his

mother, in between she asked Ahmed to lower the gas flame . Ahmed

59 River Indus, from which the name India is derived by Arabs and British, Bronze-age civilization thrived at the plains of this river which travels from CMarina, through Glaciers of Upper Siachen, cutting across the Mountain Ranges, in India and then to Pakistan, finally merges in Arabian Sea, near Karachi, such is the Riparian value.60 He very often boasted his stint at Sandhurst.


went to the kitchen, Usamah just hummed, as she listened patiently to

the caller. This was her husband. “in your drawer….” “Ok, Ok, …

Ahmed, Ahmed” she called as she held the receiver to her ear drawing

the mouthpiece slightly away from her face. Ahmed walked quickly

towards her mother, “look inside the drawer”, She pointed to the

medium-sized study table which had a wooden revolving chair .The

table had carvings at its edges, these were peculiar handicraft table.

Ahmed pulled the single drawer, which the table had at the left, it was

of walnut finish and wood. Ahmed then looked at his mother , “There

must a cheque book in a white envelope”, Ahmed shuffled through the

drawere pulled it more outside and saw a white envelope, a he opened

it, “yes there is one, should I get it there”, Usamah gestured with show

it to her. “ It says thirty thousand rupees….” , it costs three-four

thousand by Air from here…” Ahmed pulled the chair for here mother

from the single chair which were lying on the other end of the large

sitting room. Usmaham pulled it still neare and sat on it. Ahmed stood

right behind here leaning on the back-rest of the chair. The head-rest

of the chair was carved much the same in pattern as that of the edges

of the study Table. “So today is Wednesday,…no it’s a daily flight, but

its very heavily booked. There is a back-log of travellers, for the flight

each time is unable to land at the Leh Airport due to bad weather”.

She paused , as she listend to here husband “ Very well then I will ask

Mr.Kaul to arrange it all for us. He has been regularly calling us,

yesterday they have come to our house, we ate dinner together.”

Mr.Kaul was the senior officer at Saghir’s office in the Secratariat, he

was nearing retirement, he wanted to be a Deputy Secretary in the

ministry, but each time he failed to win the promotion. The man was

nice and active in the Secratariat Union, which prevented him from


doing any work on his desk. His work was being done by others. May

be he was one of those who enjoyed that way. At number of times he

asked Mrs.Khan to put a word across Saghir saheb for promotion.

Although the man was too sincere to help Usamah and her kids, than

for the sake of appeasement or any rewards in return. His children

were in USA, all three were Doctors there. He owned a palatial house

in the vicinity, he was moderately rich. As Ahmed spoke to his father

on the phone his mother went inside and came out with a telephone

diary in her hand , she went in side the kitchen, and started to stir the

large spoon in the cooking Utensil . She opened the tap sand washed

few plates and glasses for the dinner. The Kitchen was next to the

sitting room, with the pantry window, the door was on the other side

which opened into small space which was a lobby for the house. This

place was partitioned by the Plastic curtains. As Ahmed hanged up the

telephone, somebody rang the bell, Ahmed switched on the verandah

bulb and saw Bilqis with man standing behind her holding an

umbrella, it was still raining though mildly. “Abbu just called” Bilqis

thanked the man standing right behind her. It was the chowkidar, one

of the longtime servant of Kabbanis. He held many secrets and knew

all about Kabbanis. He was Mrs.Kabbani close confidante. The man

was responsible for all the news about the activities of the children and

Ahmed in particular ever since Hunza’s birthday. He was too polite to

be ignored by the visitors to Kabbanis, who rewarded him lavishly by

the tips or the bakshish. Bilqis walking into the kitchen’s direction

asked happily as she walked passed Ahmed, “so when do we get to

meet him ?”, “Ask ammi , I think in two days time” Usamah her

mother coming out of the same and went to the side table where the

phone was kept. She overheard the two “ yes may be , provided tickets


are also arranged. She was calling up Mr.Kaul and whom she asked

the favour to arrange for their travel, that the family wanted the

bookings three days after on flight to Leh from Sirnagar. The voice on

the other hand asked about Saghir and assured the family about the

reservation and their journey. “No thanks we have arranged the other

things, some shopping, tomorrow, just their clothings, we don’t have

the warm ones….Please send the Car in the evening, if possible,” she

paused and listened intently as she cleared some dust on the granite top

of the side-table with her fingers. “that would be nice, say my regards

to your Begum(wife) please !, khuda hafiz”. She disconnected the call,

“Bilqis, get the dinner”, she spoke loudly as she dialed the number,

“yes madam, Delhi number is 234567,” she hanged up, and sat on the

chair lying there. “lets us see what has become of poor Mehnaz and

Sahil, she spoke jocularly as both Ahmed and Bilqis smilingly looked

at their mother. The phone rang once again. “yes Madam, …Ok I am

holding the line, the bell is ringing,” Usamah spoke to Ahmed and

Bilqis who were now seated at the Dining table. “helllllo...” she said it

long way with her mouth slightly open as is the case when one is

overjoyed. “Mehnazu” she affectionately called the on e at the other

end. Ahmed started to pour food into his plate, Bilqis looked at him,

but kept quiet. The two changed their behaviour ever since Hunza’s

birthday, perhaps they were growing and their rival status was

receding. Moreover Ahmed as the man in the house, felt more and

more responsible. As their talked on phone. Ahmed spoke, with his

eyes fixed on the chicken curry bowl, “ I am feeling very hungry…”

and he continued with the food. Bilqis picked cucumber from the salad

plate, and walked towards the phone. “here, talk to Bilqis”, Bilqis

greeted with a salaam and started tete a tete. Usamah picked her diary


and got up the chair, she gently patted Bilqis to sit on chair. “yes my

son what are you having, you want something other than this, …want

some slice or any other thing… I couldn’t cook anything fresh for the

dinner” Usmah also sat down and satrted to pour food into her plate.

She then kept some mixed salad of tomato, cucumber, beet-root, in

Ahmed s plate “you must make a habit to eat this raw, its good for

health and is digestive in value.” Ahmed sat quiet and ate the salad, as

if saying alright it makes sense. Usamah teased Ahmed by pushing his

elbow with hers, Ahmed looked up at his mother and smiled. “I don’t

want my son to look glum,” she knew what Arasta has told Ahmed but

could’nt get the time to talk to her son. Bilqis informed her all. She

tried to draw him into a conversation. The mother and son shared a

very close relationship, they were very candid. Usamah took extra care

that her son grows up as a creative minded person. She always bought

him books and took him on such occasion and places where the

creative men and works were available. She was the mother who

would not only nurse but also groom her children. She knew Bilqis

would one day become a Medicine woman or a scientist, she excelled

in Science and had lots of patience which one would need to be a

Doctor or in research. Bilqis drew natural flair for science. Ahmed

although still young for the career direction, he too was a keen

observer of Nature, much like his uncles was fond of hunting and

Bird-watching. He would become Wild-life conservationist or one who

would sustain his living out of the same. Ahmed read lot of books on

Indian wild-life. He was quite update on things like project tiger and

coming up of sanctuaries, reserves and the problems they faced. More

recently he bought on expensive professional camera for wild-life

photography. Usamah was a modern mother who wanted her children


to be focussed and successful . Her children though naturally imbibed

the honesty and values from their father who was known for his

integrity.

“Ahmed what became of your photographs which you took at

Dachigam reserve ?” as she took a bite, chewed it then continued “…

Mehnaz”, the woman she spoke on telephone, her cousin who was

living in their home at Delhi, they were on a honeymoon. Bilqis was

still talking to Mehnaz on phone, as the two sat on the table.“…and

Sahil would be going back to the Bird sanctuary at Bharatpur, we can

go there in your autumn vacations, you can take more photographs

there”. Ahmed using his left hand lifted the transparent jug of crystal

ware with its small handle to grip, the protrusion looked too frail to

sustain the weight of the Jar when full to the brink. He poured some

water first into hers and his own glass. It was boiled as the water was

rich in minerals and salts as well, the water treatment facilities were

hardly functional. Kidney and Gallstones were common among the

inhabitants and also those who would stay for long. Saghir their father

was lucky some time back to have pass the stones through urinal

passage.

Bilqis also joined the mother and son, Ahmed was eating some

apricot and apple pudding, which they purchased form the shop last

evening. The pastry shop in more than forty-five days of their visit, did

not prepare the Pineapple pastry that evening, on account of the labour

unrest. There was some labour agitation in the whole valley for better

wages and deals for the people who toiled in the unorganized sector in

the state. It was bit unusual spectacle which the left-wingers managed

here. Although only local newspapers carried it , the national


television was oblivious. Many things were taboo at State-run small

television network.

“ why Bilqis , how about our young Salim Alis’61 photo

exhibition this monsoon in Delhi” she winked at Bilqis, as if asking

her to help him pep up. “ yes of course ,some of them are excellent,

the timing, effect of sun light, the clouds and and those Deers,

especially the fawns, which jumped around everywhere…, we must

visit Midhat auntie’s house Ammi”. Usamah gave her stern looks, she

wanted them to concentrate on Ahmed and only Ahmed. The genteel

mother wanted her son to take a clue from her. Sometimes such

juxtaposition of thoughts help one decide and overcome the flux of

thoughts. That night at the dinner it was decided that a photo

exhibition will be arranged and which will be inaugurated by the

famous Ornithologist himself.. “Ma…” children would often address

Usamah, with affection and choice, “what will Saif have..?…”, “just

the milk dear” “ ok lukewarm will do…” “hmmm.”. Bilqis wlaked into

the kitchen, as Ahmed and his mother cleared the table . Ahmed then

walked into his room. Ever since his father left for the project work,

Saif slept with his mother, so Ahmed used to be alone in his room.

Ahmeds’ room had a window which a grill a mesh wire as well to keep

away flies and mosquitoes. He switched off the lamp and shut the

door half. He further drew the curtains. After changing in to his kurta

and pyjama , he remembered that he was to offer evening prayers it

was 10.45 in the night. He went out to the Bathroom for ablutions. His

mother ans sister were already offering sala’t in the sitting room.

Bilqis handed the prayer mat to Ahmed who was going into his room.

61 He was a famous Indian ornithologist with most authentic; his magnum opus work in three vols on Indian Birds and their kinds.


Bilqis would never sleep in her room, she always would lay her

bedding on the carpet in the sitting room. Her room was at the

secluded end of the house and her window like any other rooms

opened into the Orchard. Bilqis used to sleep late and would rise late

well past six in the morning. As the windows faced East, Sun would

shine fast on hers first. The sitting room would remain dark enough to

sleep till seven in the morning. It was a family which started its day

with the dawn, Bilqis being the sole exception. Many a times she was

reprimanded by her parents and grand-parents alike. It is believed that

the women folk must be early risers only then can they get good

husbands and rear up their children well.

Ahmed offered his evening salaa’t and went to bed. As she

snuggled into his blanket, he saw the small opening in his room which

opened into the small attic. He lifted the stool lying nearby and kept it

on to the bed and climbed, he opened the small latch which was

visible. As he tried to open the same , he could feel its weight, it was

somewhat jammed to be opened by his efforts. He tried to put more

pressure on to it, as if defying the gravity. It opened with a gentle jerk,

as he tried to open it further its hinges made creeky noise. He quickly

came down and lay still in his bed, lest somebody would wake up.

Since Bilqis was in the sitting room, with dark silence around, she

could hear it. It was her habit to get up and check up things for herself.

He then stepped out of the bed with the stool still lying on top of it,

walking on his toes, he peeped out. Bilqis his siter was asleep, who

probably forgot to switch off the study lamp which was placed next to

her pillow. Ahmed switched on the night lamp and kept the lamp on

the study table after switching it off. The whole room glowed with red

lamp, as id in a ‘Dark room’. Ahmed checked the main door, liofted


the curtains and peeped out of the same. The sky was suddenly clear

and it was under moon-spell. As Ahmed drew the curtain back, he was

lit up with his prankish idea, why not leave the curtains open. Bilqis

would be furious with a well-lit room in the early hours of the

morning. However, today he was in sober mood, he smiled to himself,

glanced at his sister who was deep asleep, walked to his room on his

toes. As he walked on his toes he could feel the soft wool fibers of the

carpet tingling his feet. He once again climbed atop and opened it with

the force of his hand, he could now stand straight, the ceiling was up

to his waist. The attic was all moon lit. and the glass panes all washed

up by the rains, looked clear. As he pushed himself up with his arms,,

seating himself he stood up rubbing his hands gently to clear off the

dust which he could feel. He could smell the dusty air inside as he

walked on his toes, the ceiling was made of wood but did not make

any noise as he walked . From the glass-panes he could see the house

where the Kabbanis lived, it was shining silver in the moon light.

Although at a distance, still Ahmed could see a curtain flowing in an

out of the window, it was the only one, with the lamp on. Ahmed tried

to open the Glass pane which was installed in a window with grills

although it was bolted and locked from inside. He tried to count the

windows, this was the nearest one to the wall. “So she is still awake”,

Ahmed said to himself, as he wondered why Arasta was not yet

asleep. Then as if a miracle, a figure with hair flowing in the gentle

breeze leaned out of it and started to look towards the attic. Ahmed

suddenly became conscious thinking that she could see him. Her torso

draped in the white night-gown, merged with the lunar settings defying

the darkness of Umbra. Ahmed looke around, as he stood with his

head slightly bent. The attic was smaller to his height. It was empty,


with his toe-marks only visible, something was lying in the dark which

lay in the other corner, he couldn’t see it properly. So he walked in its

direction, his toe stumbled on the small lid, he tried to regain the

balance lest he would fall down from the opening in the ceiling. After

regaining hi balance, he walked near the object as he felt it with his

toe, it was wooden stool, a small one, which was used in the kitchen

by women. He gently stroked it to clear off the dust and blew air from

his mouth to clear the top, he turned it upside down lest there would be

any spiders. Then he took the same towards the Glass-pane and kept it

down, after having looked at it. He sat on it, and watched the White

penumbra defying the black magic of stealthy night. He gasped at her

sight. Ahmed after long time sat and started to have a feeling which

was an internal rage to speak out, to converse, to say it all. He felt this

choking feeling each time he had the urge to write. The creativity of

the thought made him restive as he was deluged by the flood of words

and sentences which in turmoil would be written and erased , this

erasing and writing would continue until the chosen words fall in

order. Ahmed could feel the heat around hi ears, he tried to wipe the

sweat with the bottom of his kurta, and bent both the ears to allow the

release of heat and cool them. The figure then stood facing his Attic,

as in telepathy. Ahmed could not understand this and believe that the

same girl is watching his house who reprimanded him not three-four

days ago for taking liberty with her. Ahmed spoke few words and

dedicated to her frialty. He named it “Umbra”, Next day he knew

what he would do. Ahmed came down and jotted down the poem,

inside his blanket, using his pen-light torch. He cleared the dust off his

clothes and feet and went to sleep. Suddenly Ahmed was elated and

back to his own self. He knew he was in command of the situation


here. Next day Ahmed decided to visit her during the lunch-break. As

Ahmed was walking towards Arasta’s school, at a distance he could

see a familiar looking figure cycling down towards him. He stopped in

amazement and joy. “Oh hi Ahmed what are you doing here?” “Oh I

was coming to your school, just to tell…you..” he stuttered and tried to

draw courage and be flawless. “…I wanted to tell you that we are

leaving for Leh in a day or two, depending on the reservation…” “Oh

really !,so soon” Arasta couldn’t hide herself. “Ahhh I mean it is a

nice place to visit, we also went there last year,” Arasta took her eyes

off Ahmed. Ahmed came nearer to her and kept his palm on her left

hand, Arasta was taken aback by his boldness, this was the street.

Although nobody was there on this street leading to the Banks of River

Jhelum, just the two of them. Arasta gently slid her hand from his

loose grip. “This is my new poem, I wrote it last night” Ahmed looked

straight in to her beautiful marble eyes , he continued “Now you are

my inspiration”. Arasta climbed down her bicycle and started to walk

without saying anything with the piece of paper in her hand. She

walked with head down. Ahmed walked just behind her with one hand

on her school bag. After walking few steps, Arasta asked Ahmed to

walk with her bicycle, as she opened the paper which was of white

colour. She began to read, and gradually fell few steps behind, as if

she lost her strength to keep pace with Ahmed. She knew she was

loosing to Ahmed, yet she was not in tears, nor did she feel any

outburst. The poem read as “ UMBRA” :

In the moon-lit plain

The window with curtain

Flowing, smelling

The aroma, spread


Of breeze, the

Intoxic extents. …1

You draped in virgin

White, laced me with

Figures of love,

Attraction, which

Were of fatal extent …2

The dark silhoutte

Of lonely me in the

Forlorn attic,

Blessed by your sight;

A vision by moon light

Might, when Umbra

Shaded the sullen

Black for your

Virgin white. …3

You shown,

You shown as if in bliss,

For me. …4

Avaricious me;

An immortal vision

To mortal self. …5

The two did not talk till they reached the gate of her house.

Arasta walked few steps behind Ahmed, her gaze fixed at Ahmed .


Ahmed all the way could not dare to look back, he walked looking

straight once or twice he looked sideways just to catch glimpse of

Arasta. Ahmed could feel the clinging sight of Arasta. Arasta just

walked inside the side gate attached to the main gate made of wood

and with strong brass nail protruding from it. In the olden days these

nails would prop up from the massive gates inth Forts and small

havelis for protection from the elephants. These elephants were used to

pull down the magnificent doors. In Srinagar, there were no elephants

nor was this a fort of any King or Nabob. Yet Mrs.Kabbani wanted

here entrance to look like a fortified gate. Mrs.Kabbani was very

particular about the secure environment inside the walls of her house,

as if the inside would ever remain invincible.

Ahmed handed over the bicycle to the old chowkidar and

started to walk away. The clouds have grown darker , as if to rain, it

hrew arker and darker, a strong breeze started to blow across , the

giants trees started to swirl as if in gay mood. The green color of the

vegetation became more greener, then there was acloud burst. Ahmed

looked at the sky and hurriedly took steps towards his house at the

other end of the giant compound. He walked some three hundred yards

when he heard someone calling from the back, the voice seemd

familiar, it was frail and said ‘Ahemd sahib, Ahmed sahib’ . Ahmed

about turned towards the voice, he knew why the chowkidar came

calling , yet he wanted his ears to hear the same “Arasta bibi, is calling

you, it is going to rain, you will get wet” the old man looked twoards

the sky. He was holding an umbrella in his han, it was large enough to

accommodate two. Then came the rain drops as the trees shook their

leaves with new resilience and force. The monsoon was here. The old

man opened the umbrella and walked a step outside the umbrella


cover, behind Ahmed. Ahmed tasked him to walk next to him lest he

get drenched. The old man was very elated by this gesture. It appeared

how Kabbanis treated their servants, it was very aristocratic and a

complete compartmentlisation of treatment for class of humans.

Ahmed walked inside the main gate, he has walked down the

same number of times, but today was different. However he expected a

meeting in the massive hall at the ground floor. This hall was more

like a reception hall of any big hotel or guest house . The seating

arrangement was very formal. It was not clear why this hall was left

with scant furniture and settings. It looked too modest for the affluent

like Kabbanis. Especially since they were very particular about their

aristocratic appearance. Arasta’s nag was lying on of the sofas. Ahmed

walked near to the same sofa. It was getting dark inside with just two

lamps lit at the door. Then a door at the far end of the room opened ,

which lit the Hall . This was Arasta, who asked Ahmed to come inside.

Ahmed lifted himself from the comfortable couch. He was very

relaxed and confident. This was Ahmed in contrast to the one which

people saw in last four-five days, ever since Hunza’s birthday.

Ahmed entered the room, which was very formal, with sofas

and a rocking chair, an Air conditioner. There were just two trophies,

panther and an antelope. On the centre table were two glasses of Apple

juice and some dry fruits bowls. The glasses were placed very near to

each other. Arasta waited at the door and asked smilingly to sit down.

She sat very close to Ahmed .So close as if their thighs would touch

each others. She was still in her school dress. Ahmed realised that she

was wearing some makeup like lipstick, eye liner and a strong

perfume, probably “poison”. The whole room was filled by the fine

smell. Ahmed was very fond of perfumes. Ahmed knew this was


different Arasta, who was willing to kowtow to his wishes. He also

thought women-folk are good organizers as well. Somebody as

beautiful as hers have to make less efforts to add looks to the settings.

It rained heavy lie a storm, the window panes became doused and the

droplets made it opaque. It was raining very hard outside. “Ahmed

have some juice” She lifted the glass and presented the same to him

with one hand below the other holding it. Today Arasta was very

respectful with him. Ahmed could sense it all. As if he could read her

mind well. Ahmed was always like that, he read people well. Many a

times he enchanted and surprised people with his faculty of reading

and enumeration of individual. Arasta locked Ahmed’s gaze with her

marble eyes, they were of blue-green colour. Her pupil had a black rim

encircling the marble finesse. The maroon shade of her lipstick was so

distinct from her cherry-coloured lips. Ahmed relaxed with his back

now resting, Arasta still sitting at the edge faced towards him, as she

gently sipped the juice from her glass leaving small impression of lips

on the edge of glass. As she lifted the French-crystal bowl, which had

walnuts she said “ I liked the poem, and gave a naughty smile, just

don’t go on writing on me, there arent many frames” “ I will name my

whole collection of poems, someday when it gets published”, Ahmed

spoke for the first time, the barrier was gone, their informal tone was

back. Ahmed at this point wanted to appreciate her looks, but then he

witheld the same, for instinct told him so.

“Don’t try to flatter me …” “Well that’s a promise”, “I

believe” Arasta took a deep breadth. After a long silence, sipping the

juice, Arasta rang the bell and asked the man, to get some more juice

for Ahmed. She knew Ahmed liked the same. So she ordered more

without asking him. She was already imposing her taste and wishes.


Ahmed was enjoying it, every moment of it. “ Ahh your parents and

Arman arent home” he hesitatntly asked as Arasta played a cassette on

the music system, which he did not notice, as it was so well

camouflaged in the deer skin. The gentle notes of a ghazal joined their

conversation in background only. Arasta casually replied, “they are

upstairs, perhaps asleep” . This made Ahmed somewhat uneasy, since

Mrs.Kabbani no longer welcomed his presence in her fort. However

Ahmed was too brave to breach her domain, in any case it was much

supported by her own daughter. Their game was too small to be play

daughter aginst the daughter, they were still too young and eager to

wait for each other. The whole tradition of majors taking bold steps

was well entrnched on this lively couple. Now Arasta has made her

willingness too obvious. It was likely to reach her mother and

everybody else in the house. The two sat and chatted and achatted til

the rain stopped completely. Ahmed and Arasta came out of the room,

they could hear the voice of her mother, who however did not come

downstairs to make her presence felt by both. They walked out of the

hosue and towards the lawn, they saw the pups were asleep, they

opened the latch to the door next to the garage and entered the big and

wet lawn. Far away some leaves and twigs have fallen on the ground,

where the tree were planted in a row, next to the boundary.

“you shoes will get wet, I will walk to my house” “ Very well,

I hear you are leving for Leh, hope to see you upon your return. Let

me say this,” she paused and then looked in front, as if trying to peep

into a distant future. “ …I still subscribe the same theory about you, so

if you are sincere, or you must prove the same” Ahmed withs erious

looks looked up, he could see Mrs.Kabbani watching them, there eyes

met. Ahmed then looked at Arasta and said “ I wish to marry you,


Inshallah, the same will come true, it’s a gentleman’s promise” .

Arasta continued without looking at him “ I hope you stick to your

words, we will always remain in touch, if you convince me without

fail, I am yours forever.” Ahmed looked and blinked with his both

eyes, as if in approval. They both turned and walked in their

respective directions.

Ahmed reached the small door in the orchard which divided the

orchard and the house in which they were staying. Ahmed tried to

push it open but found that it was bolted from the other side. He

jumped up and shouted his sister’s name, who was working in the

kitchen . The small door was visible from the kitchen window. The

door was all wet and slippery, on many occasions otherwise Ahmed

would just climb up the door in the partition wall and jump over it.

Bilqis came out with her head covered as it was still raining very

lightly. Moreover Ahmed was in a joyous mood, Bilqis could make

out that today he was different, she tried to ask , but then he tried to

silence her with his own words “ Hi Sis !, what were you cooking, try

something to match the weather and my high mood.” .He walked in a

very relaxed manner, complete with himself. Bilqis just watched him

and bolted the door. She walked past by him , quickly. Ahmed entered

into the sitting lounge where Saif was playing, he went close to him

and lifted him and embraced him. You want to go outside, come we

will puck some cherries for everyone. Ahmed walked out with Said in

his arms. They went to the two young trees which were now fruiting.

These cherry trees bore few fruits but those were sweet ones. A they

would grow old they would fruit more and more. Since the fruit was

prone to fungus they have to be really taken care of. Ahmed and Saif

plucked the cherries in Saif’s pockets. He was wearing overalls with


large sized pockets. Their mother who was sleeping inside woke up

and called them inside since it started to rain once again. Saif and

Ahmed went straight to the kitchen where their sister was preparing

for the lunch. As Ahmed washed tehcherries and looked for the bowl.

“ Here you can put them in this bowl” Bilqis placed the lovely bowl.

Ahmed ‘s mother and Ahmed shared many common tastes and

preferences, their passion for crystal crockery was something just next

to one which can be described as obsession. They have purchased lot

of Japanese crockery crystal ware, which were cheaper to those from

France or other parts of Europe including Belgium. The Customs at

the Atari were very fussy about these items, yet they had allow with

levying of duty. It was their habit to reduce the commodity which was

then distributed by them as booty. As if for token, some of the

confiscated goods were sent to the Government warehouses were when

lying unclaimed for the stipulated time , these goods were auctioned.

In much rare instance did they issue summons to the people for

proceedings under the statute. This was to protect the Indian industry,

although it was hardly doing. The repressive customs were solely

repsonsible for preventing consumerism and the boom in the economy.

Everybody realised it , yet there was dormancy. People would then put

up with lot of nonsense. The two years of constitutional emergency

has scarred the systme forever. The servants would please the master

of the house, their loyalty shifted the day new one took over. If the

master was repressive , it behaved in the desired fashion. On the other

hand, if it was not so then the servants also behaved in the relaxed and

candid fashion. The servants no longer served the house. They were

slaves of the masters of the household. The household was more or

less crumbling , as the age of crisis-management, withered like the old


houses, the system was taking the shape of a dilapidated portion and

the servants were soon to be the victims of the same. Many a times

when one would see the Old dilaptaed buildings, strcutures, the

monuments as they are referred, the loyalty of servants to the

houselhold was the reason for the loss of prime world of the

magnificent buildings and Forts, no matter hwo strong and energetic

they would be once. Next two days passed much faster than Ahmed

and Arasta anticipated. Thereafter Ahmed and his family was move to

Leh where Saghir his father was now placed.

In those two days Ahmed and Arasta met number of times on

one pretext or another. It was also for the first time that Arasta visited

Ahmed and his family at their house. Each night thereafter they slept

very late. Ahmed would go up the Attic and she would stand at the

window, just as when she inspired Ahmed to pen his thoughts. Ahmed

was getting serious more so unwillinglty,a s if some hidden force was

working on his emotive values like a balck magic art. He ever doubted

if he would ever fall prey after being victorious. However he had falen

prey to his ownself. Ahmed was extremely impressed by the challenge

posed by Arastas’ precondition to emotional trust . On one such

occasion, Ahmed wanted make their secret public. He wanted to do it

before they left for Leh. He was aaware that on his return ther would

be hardly any time for such celebration. He wanted that there

relationship was revelaed in the most secretive manner. He was very

protective about relationships, somewhat inhibitive as well. At the

same time Ahmed however did not want to reveal it all at one go. Then

he finally decided. He knew this would only bolster his image with

Arasta. In few days he has read her personal likes and dislikes.

Moreover Arasta was a simple person whose moods would reveal it


all. Ahmed was master in manipulating his emotions, a very private

person. It was strange the night next to that afternoon when they sat

and discussed their olifelong commitment Ahmed thought that night

sitting in the Attic as Arasta leaned at the window, with her hairs

flowing with the breeze, she would hesitantly waive at him, he would

send a signal of approval by switching on off his pen-light torch. He

wondered that night what was so commonbteween the two i.e. himself

and Arasta. He found that they were attractive by some genuine love

and attraction. He did not hide that this was not love at first sight.

However it was more a gradual thing than anything else. He

remembered how when he was first introduced by his elder sister , he

was attracted to this beautiful girl whom he found difficult to ignore.

This was less than three weeks earlier, He never was short of girl

friends, including some nice looking ones. However this became

exception. Ahmed could not sleep that night thinking why Arasta

became an exception ?. Was it here demeanour, very aristocratic and

discreet, yet accessible. Strong and valiant yet vulnerable. He

pondered and pondered, until the crack of dawn. He could hear the

puppies which started to call in the morning itself. Arasta waved him

goodbye around midnight.

Today was the last day of their stay in Srinagar, Arasta, as

yesterday, came to Ahmed’s house for the Lunch. Mrs.Kabbani was

intelligent, she thought this was a passing phase for her daughter,

which would just die down . as the visitors would leave. Although she

knew her daughters’ resilience and perseverance, yet Arasta’s mother

treated her as kid. She was not wrong in thinking so. However,

although Arasta and Ahmed did not get to marry each other in the end.

Ahmed and Arasta remained loyal to each other for a very long time to


come. Ahmed married to another girl on her insistence. They were too

busy to think of the dire straits lying ahead in future.

Unaware we chart our course of life, the kind of optimism

which keeps the world throbbing with passion and life. Evnetuality is

part of the bizarre element in human existence. However the ones

driven by passionand others driven by avarice or greed stunt there way

mch beyond than those with pessimisn and depressed attitudes.

Although tehre is no denial the two lead qualitatively different desire,

which have what is synonymous for years now i.e Cann and Abel.

“Ahmed come on boy its 9.00 clock, we have to go to the

bazaar…” Ahmed’s mother called, as cleaned the room. She removed

the surtain and tucked them. Ahmed pulled his light quilt to cover his

face from the bright day light. “Ahemed, O’ Ahmed, did you not hear

me O’son.” She came near to him and gently scruffed his hair. Ahmed

still wriggled inside the bed.

“Alright you get anothr half an hour,.., I do not know what is

happening to this boy”. She went murmuring outside. Ahmed simply

looked outside the window he realised today was the last of their visit

in Srinagar to reveal to his plans . As he was climbing down the attic

he decided the same .

Ahmed was getting out of his bed when he heard the bell

ringing. “Ah h ha look who is here, you didn’t go the school ?” “No

auntie the strike is still continuing, so the schools are closed for the

day” . Ahmed could make out Arasta’s voice. Hers was very soft and

sweet as well.

“Bilqis, I feel really bad that you people are leaving…” “Well

why don’t you join us to Leh, I am sure we will go beyond that”, she

pause as she wiped the dining table, Arasta stood near her picking


some plates in her hand. “Papa called this morning so he said we might

vsist border areas, and the Nubra Valley, you know ladakh scouts..”

she pause and looked at her whiled handing some glasses from the

table. Araasta while while walking towards the kitchen with the

glasses in the tray, she tried to peep into the rooms and also while

coming out after placing the same in the kitchen. she tried to catch

glimpse of Ahmed, who slept in the room whose door opeened in the

lounge . This door was still half close and the curtain were drawn.

However she could not draw courage to ask, for him. Bilqis standing

on the other end of the table could see Arasta’s predicament in her

conduct, as their eyes met. Bilqis tried to ignore, to avoid

embarassment to Arasta. Bilqis and Araasta were very simialr in their

nature so they paired well.

Ahmed who would spend longer than what is usual time for

others in the bathroom , today he was quickly out of the bathrrom

which was attached to his room. He hurriedly wore his ironed, white

embroidered kurta and pyjama. He combed his hair put some deodrant

and perfume. He looked himself in the mirror just to check his looks.

His beard was growing thicker and darker, so was his moustache. His

face-cut would never tell his age, his features were sharp though,

which made him look smart and handsome. Ahmed smiled to himself,

and walked out of the room without his slippers. Just when he was

about to the open the door of his room, he realised that he could feel

carpet-tingling in his feet. He looked down and quickly bent down to

pick his slippers under the almirah in the corner.

He walked confidently out of his room. Turned right and

walked straight into the kitchen. Then he quickly came out and looked

where Arasta was sitting, on the sofa, in the lounge. He pulled a chair


while wishing her Arasta looked up with a vivacious smile . He started

to have his break-fast. Bilqis placed the plate and glass for him and

served Kashmiri Naan62 and butter. The moment Bilqis left, it was

just the two of them in the lounge. Ahmed looked at her and as if by

instinct so did she. Ahmed in spur of moment, or lost to his emotions,

winked at her. Arasta amazed, booed him. Ahmed gave a naughty

smile while devouring Naan, he poured some water after finishing the

same he poured some juice in his glass. Ahmed gestured to sit near

him at the table. Arasta got up and walked near the table. “What are

you eating ?”…she then asked and continued “huh huh , you are a

typical kashmiri” “why you guys have juice in the morning” “No we

don’t, we eat them, we don’t crush them , as we value them for their

freshness and fruit value.” “Ok you dont have to lecture me , people in

the West prefer juice in the morning” “ I dont know about the West,

but in this part only the sick and feeble drink in form of juice for

nourishment.” and she bursted into laughter. Ahmed tries to escape her

fun, but couldn’t help smiling. They now began to cherish every

moment they spent together. Meanwhile Bilqis came in with Kahwa.

She quietly went into her room, without saying a word. Ahmed and

Arasta took their cups to sit at the sofas which were lying on the other

side of the large room. “It might rain, the clothes are still hanging

outside” Ahmed s mother called from inside. “… I heard you saying

there was some strike, so what about market. Will it be open?”,

“ammmm…oour school was closed as a matter if precaution than any

other reason”. They were referring to the strike which was called by

the pro-autonomy political groups there. Moreover the strike for

making Ladakh region integral with the state of Jammu and Kashmir

62 This is like any other Naan but is of small size and is very brittle for the taste as well.


was very successful through out the mountainous region and the

valley. It was believed that this would then give the State more

political voice in the Parliamanet and the Assmebly as well. This

wasn’t a populous province. The need for political muscle dawned on

regional forces long time back. This was now manifesting into a

movement. The coalition government in the Centre was much a

welcome stage for such evolution. However it wasn’t very serious i.e.

the call for strike. The schools however,for fear of sporadic violence,

always closed down till normalcy was assured. The assurance was not

to come from the adinistration but was to be read in the conduct of the

political wings and groups, specially the aggressive and militant ones.

It would only take few minutes for the normal streets to turn bloody.

The test of scale of antcicipated violence being if no damage to the

public property was reported for next day or two. People in the valley

knew what the movement was against or say what the aim was.

It was the nature of state, which they were against not the

public by and large However the State employees were the possible

exception only. Although these days the situation was not so grim.

Many groups were hopeful of the new Prime Minister. A new Central

Minister for the Kashmir Affairs was a new hope, much some thought

like Secretary of Ireland. The Westminster model was desperately

trying to search for the solution, drawing inspiration from other

systems facing such political secession. However it si very incorrect to

folow the models, the model to individual crisis develops as the Crisis

develops or evolves through its stages of peaceful means to violent

means. The combination of the two means or complete divorce

between them.


Usamaah and Bilqis were getting ready for some last minute

shopping. Saif came running to the lounge with socks in his hands. He

looked for free-hand, so approached Araasta talking to Ahmed. She

was holding a magazine in which she was least interested . It has been

lying in her lap half open ever since she came. On seeing Saif with

socks in his hands she spoke “Come dear, I will help you wear them”.

Saif sat next to her. She held his feet, and appreciated the sticker on

the socks. “this is six million dollar man, he is very powerful…” Saif

innocently. Ahmed was enjoying pudding after his breakast as he

chatted with her. Ahmed was very fond of sweets and enjoyed eating

variety of meals and dishes. He preferred local cuisine than to what

they would generally eat at home, as a norm. Ahmed was quite a

cosmopolitan that way. Of course he was very particular in his tastes

of Non-vegetarian, he only preferred halala.63 “Araasta would you

come shopping…” Biqis asked, as she ironed her clothes at the stand

lying in the lobby.” Arasta faced her side and said “Is everyone

coming”. “..except Ahmed, everybody else is…”. Bilqis responded in

somewhat shrill and irritated tone. The duo Ahmed and Araaasta

enjoyed this reponse and smiled at each. They were happy that their

relationship was gaining credence and people around were beginning

to notice it with an element of seriousness. Even if that seriousness

was equally recent and overcast with an element of doubt. The doubt

was more on Ahmed who did not carry an image of stability when it

came to his girl friends. Ahmed being a handsome looking boy, with

innocent looks was an instant success with girls. His features coupled

with his articulate self, worked wonders in gainaing friends. It was not

that they were girls, just that he was equally at ease with them. As

63 The preferred one(that allowed/permitted)


would most boys be of his age, eager to have grils friends or to mix

with them,not knowing however the way to go about the fairer-sex. It

was his liberal upbringing that went as an important input in moulding

his attitude and behaviour towards the boys and girls. Although bit

discreet in his company. He only had few fast friends . Ahmed was

very sure about the lasting relationship and the persons around him.

His mother who was crucial to his parenting, influence him to the

extent of bring discreet about his company, particular in terms of

mental aptitude. Usmaha his mother was insistent on the scholastic

bent to her children. Her children responded equally well to her

expectations. Itw as a perfect sample of educated class. Although

Saghir Ahmed’s father was a busy man with site work, his guidance

was always there. Although this gave them single parenting most of

the time. Usamah their mother knew the challenge, so she decided on

free-lance job than a fixed career and office routine.

“Well if Ahmed is here then let Araasta be here also, she can b

a company”, Usamah said as she checked herself in the mirror placed

in the lobby, she continued “Anyway I am expecting Midhat to join us

at the Lala chowk bazar..” . “ Oh really..! Ma.” Bilqis loudly from her

room where she was getting ready. Meanwhile the bell at the door

rang. Ahmed went to the Main gate and opened it.

“Ma the Car is here…” Ahmed spoke from the lounge and

went to the sofa where Araasta was sitting. “why don’t we take the

chairs outside, its pleasant there” He said to Araasta while standing

near her. “ why chairs, I prefer to sit on the grass, it must be dry…”.

They bid good bye to the three. “Ahmed why don’t you show me the

attic,” Araasta excitedly spoke in a high tone. “shhhhh no that loud,

that chowkidars of yours, that spy of your mother must be around…”


Ahmed tried to calm her. “Ahmed don’t talk about my mother like

that, alright she is fussy but that does not gove any of us the right to

talk in disrespectful tone” “ I am sorry dear, I didn’t mean that…!”

Ahmed held her hand as if assuring her. They sat down at the grass

and talked and talked about their child hood and likes and dislikes.

“Ahmed why don’t you show me some more of your poems, or you

have written just two of them” Arasta tried to tease him. Ahmed

quickly got up and rushed into the house and fetched a red-colour

diary. As Araasta read them all, Ahmed watched her. She read them

all, must be twenty odd poems. “who among the poets have inspired

you?” “ Well I am inspired by many poets,although I read very little

poetry…”.he paused and looked at the tall and huge euclalyptus tree

whose thick leaves hid the sun whereby creating a huge shadow on the

house and the lawn in front. “ aa.. ya I was saying…” he tried to

recollect “my problem is the medium, I can only write in english,

although my content is what you find in Urdu poetry, Ghalib, Faiz,

Iqbal and many others inspire me. More recently I came across a poet

who has experimented in the Urdu poetry. It is unique. All the peoms

begin with a common sentence ‘Purani baat hai lekin ye anhoni si

lagti hai’ (its an old saying which appears strange). My mother is great

fan of this poet, he visits our house in Delhi.” Arasta continued to read

his peoms as Ahmed talked to her.

“you are a good poet, however I find it strange,” she paused

looking at the diary again, said “ this is rather starnge to find

somebody like you, never writing a romantic peom. I find only the

ones date more recently , those dedicated to me only fall as romantic

poetry.” “ ..Poetry my dear is inspiration and thought put together, in

your case romantic views and attraction came together, rather I should


say that it clicked, it sort of fitted in that frame called Poem.” Now

come read all later, I will show you the attic. They left the diary in the

lawn and went into Ahmed’s room. Ahmed as susual kept the stool on

the bed and pushed the wooden opening , which flung open making

noise as it hit the ceiling. Ahmed helped Araasta reach up and then he

pushed himself up. The two with their heads slightly bend looked

around “ I never knew there was an attic in this house, in fact it is for

the first time that I have been around this house. In the beginning it

was a godown, then an out house, later on it was converted into a

house with some alterations.You are the second tenant we have” “ of

course you were not friendly with them..so…” Ahmed tried to tease

her. She lightly slapped him on his cheek. The two stayed around for

sometime Araasta noticing the dirt, asked him to get a broom or a

vacuum cleaner if it was there. “Ours doesn’t work.. I will get the

broom” “ Oh and bring something to lift it all, a dustbin perhaps”

Ahmed went down and brought the dustbin and the broom. Araasta

covered her face with the long dupatta 64she was wearing. She asked

Ahmed to cover his mouth with the other hand. As she lightly

broomed , stoking the dust. The air inside became heavy. The two

coughed. Ahmed tried to open the small grill which was locked form

outside. Ahmed broughta jug of water from the kitchen threw it on the

ceiling to settle it. He also brought a duster to wipe it. They came

down all in the dust. “My god look at my face and clothes they are all

dirty..” Arasta as she looked in the mirror while washing here hands

and face in the Bathroom. “ Madam you must learn hwo to clean and

wash, I am not a rich man, cant afford the servants” , Ahmed taunted

64 long piece of veil which women wear to cover their heads or simply throw over their shoulders , generally worn on shalwar and kamiz.


her. “ Yes you are right , it is one thing to supervise and other to do it

all yourself” Araasta replied seripously, her face all covered with soap.

They walked outside in the lawn. “ it must be one o’clock or aorund

that” “Ahmed looked at the wall behind and said “yes, its quarter past

one…bu why do you ask, you are having luch over here with your in-

laws” “O, O, so we will see…” “ Come on, this way we spend some

more time together” Ahmed couldn’t believe he was honestly

expressing his feelings. Although Usmah and others were expected at

Lucnh they did not. The duo were already feeling hungry so, Araasta

looked in the kitchen for all that was available to satiate their apetite.

Apetite and Company are directly proportional. “ Well I am not good

at cooking…buuutt let me try this…” “Oh you are good at cooking lots

of things” “A h m e d “ she snubbed him at the pun of the word.

Ahmed helped her made th soup, it was a lamb soup. There was some

bread, so she made sandwiches. “what would you like to have the

sweet, sweetpie…!” “Ahmed , that’s enough for the day.” They went

out and sat in the lawn. “I will get the ketchup…” “ Oh see if there is

some other chilly or coriander sauce” Arasta was wearing impeccable

white shalwar-suit, with heavily embroidered long traditional Shirt. It

was very finely embroidered. “Here, Oh I just noticed, you are

wearing fine embroidery work”, Arasta looked at it and said, “ Oh I

am also learning it from my mother, it takes six-seven months to create

such a piece…” “you mean t_h_a_ o_ u_ t long” Ahmed spoke in

unclear voice with his mouthful.

“Araasta, how many children would you love to have” “ Oh I

would love to have houseful of them, provided you earn that much”

“A ha !” “If you keep on being creative, I seriously doubt your

potential” “ Well you may be correct in presuming that the Creative


men in this land cannot run their families by just ‘writing business’, “

he grew pensive “…But” he spoke with a stress on the word, “…but ,

this country or perhaps the society is once again going to respect the

freedom of thought and people with vision and rebels likely.” His face

wore much seriously look . Arasta was still in a playful mood. “…

look the ultimate test is the Intellectual capability and richness…”

Arasta pretended as if she was not interested in this conversation.

Although she intently listened to him. They shared the understanding

which was more of the supportive woman behind the successful man.

Arasta was appreciative of his acheivements however she love to eatse

him as, as he would occassinal get defensive and emotional. The two

then locked the house and went towards the garage where the pups

were playing. They took them out of the small make-shift dog-house.

All the pups were of fawn color and resembled their mother. The duo

cuddled them and kept them in their hands. It was bit humid and

smelly there so they decided to go to the lawn. The pups which could

now move to some distance, tried to crawl around their feet. Arasta

called one of her servants and asked him to fetch the Basket-ball. The

court was right behind the garage and the basketw as fixed at the wall

of the same. “You know that this game least interests me..” “ Very

well, Mr.Ahmed two people can’t play hockey or foot-ball which you

love to play.” Arasta dodged Ahmed and marked a basket. “ you really

play well” “ Not better than Shashi…” she was referring to her school

friend and classmate. Ahmed tried to blacok her throw by jumping, his

fingers barely touched it and it went swerving away from the basket.

“…That doesn’t make you any good player” angrily she spoke making

faces. “So why be angry… are we proving something here” “ …the

competituive s pi r i t ,yuuu hahh…!” as she lunged from the left side


outside the ‘D’. “ Hah competitive spirit…!” he mocked at her and

continued “…ever heard of the World War era…” He was very fast

barely keeping ball udner control, and jumped higher and reached the

basket “ this game was born then,” he grinned at her. Arasta wiped the

sweat , her face now deep red colour. She tied the long dupatta over

her left shoulder which was then tied around her waist. She was

playing bare foot, so was Ahmed. Theoir feet all soiled and dirty.

Ahmed was very fair, yet the pink complexion Arasta stood fair when

compared. As they stopped to drink some water,they saw Bilqis

walking towards them. She entered the Lawn from the Main gate and

slowly walked her on the walkway, her dupatta65 lying loosely on

head. She always wore it on her head . Arasta wore it more formally

than what the dupatta was intended for , or as worn by the sub-

continent muslims. It was a substitute for the scarf or the loose head

garment, worn as a veil.

“what took you so long…” Arasta shouted at her , as she

poured some chilled water at her feet and around neck. Bilqis kept

quiet and looking staright in Ahmed’s eyes she said “ you have locked

the door, and on top of that playing here. You left everybody

wondering, whatever happened to you?,” She started to walk away

after reprimanding Ahmed. winked at Arasta and with his fingers on

his lips gestured at her to remain silent. The two started to walk behind

her. After walking a few steps, “ now there is no point, you go on

with the game”. She kept walking on the pathway which ran in the

middle of the Orchard. “ I will open the door it is locked”, Arasta

increased her pace walking past Bilqis with keys in her hand. As she

opened the padlock at the wooden partition door, Bilqis angrily looked

65 Loose head garment worn over shoulders or as a shawl to cover the ehad and torso.


at Ahmed. She was envious of the girl who was taking most of her

brothers time and attention. Bilqis was very possessive of her two

brothers, Ahmed and Saif. Arasta quickely riushed to open the main

entrance. She looked outside but nobody was there, she peeped still

further to her right. A car was slowly approaching in the direction, on

the main road. She could see a small hand waving at her. This was

Saif. Waving back she smiled, like always and stepped inside. Arasta

was one of those with a pleasant personality, making others at ease in

her company.

This was the last evening for Ahmed and his family in

Srinagar, their morning flight to Leh was scheduled for next day.

Arasta and Ahmed knew that they may not meet each other for next

one year. The evening was also special. Arasta’s mother sent for her

thrice but she vaguely replied. On the fourth occasion, it was her

snobbish brother Arman, who came to Ahmed ‘s place for the first

time. Arman came from the same Orchard door and waited at it. This

time Ahmed went, Arasta was standing behind. Arman spoke in softer

tone, which was quite unlike him. His face turned red,as his sister

refused him. She also spoke something in Kashmiri, her tone little

harsh, than usual. Ahmed could guess, she was reprimanding her

brother. It was her assertion for independence and self-confidence that

gave here distinct identity. Ahmed respected her for that. That might

when they were having dinner, Saghir called, then Mr.Kaul. They

were confirming, the departure. “Ha ha, your father, was asking for

kababs66 , poor felow is already fed up with the mess-food…”

Everybody listened to her. Arasta that evening was with Ahmed’s

mother, Usamah helping her in the kitchen.

66 Minced meat with ingredients fried of bun shape.


That evening was also full of pleasant surprise, when Sheikhu,

Ahmed’s cousin called. He informed them about their plan to visit

India in September, when they will have short break.

Arasta was interested to know all about Ahmed’s family and

their relatives, etc.

It was almost midnight when everybody sipped tea sitting in

the lawn, after finishing their kitchen work, packing also. Moreover

this house would fall vacant in less than a month or so.

“ Ma, I will just escort her to her home and will come back,

you people now sleep”, Ahmed said while lifting Saif, who was now

asleep. It was not very cold that night, as would be so in the season.

“Very Well”, Ahmed’s mother walked inside with the tray in

her hand. Bilqis and Arasta hugged each other and bid good bye “don’t

forget me, I enjoyed some of the best moments with you…” “ how can

I, you are really nice, you’re like a younger sister to me”, Bilqis kissed

on her fore-head, they were of same height. Although Bilqis was much

older to her. As Ahmed walked away, she said “ take your time, I will

leave the door open” Arasta blushed and walked with Ahmed with

lifting her eyes. Her gazed at the ground.

Ahmed and Arasta walked slowly towards her house, as they

reached the garage , the bitch came near to the two and started to walk

right behind them. “ I think everybody understands us in my house”

“the same may not be true about mine”, Arasta paused “ I don’t know

if ever we will visit Delhi for a short-stay, in case we visit in

December on our way to Australia.” Ahmed looked at her, it was the

last night when the full-moon would shine, with the twinkling stars of

the milky way,shining ever brighter with full energy.


“Ahmed, I know you do not like to wear ornaments, but these

are cufflings,”she opened the small knot at the corner end of her

dupatta. Ahmed wondered the whole day why this knot, now he knew.

The cufflings were very finely carved of silver. They bore his name

on inside. Their small stones shine in the moonlight. They kept

walking hand in hand in the big lawn, untill they were tired. They

didn’t talk much. Ahmed could see the amber light in his lawn. They

parted with a promise to phone and write. Ahmed for many years kept

the cufflings in safe, then when he started to wear them, at the parties.

Next day early in the morning, Ahmed and his family were

ready to leave, “ your eyes looklike you didnt slept” Ahmed’s mother

remarked as she locked the his room. “ Iwill lock the main door and

others, you can sit in the Car”, his mother handed the keys and went

out saying “ Come quickly !” , Ahmed while standing at the steps

leading to the lawn, faced right and tried to see if Arasta was standing

in her window to say goodbye. He quickly bolted the entrance door

and locked it. Then he ran towards Arasta’s house, as fast as he could.

The dog was running with his tail wagging fast alongwith him. He

stopped at the walkway leading to the garage. Arasta was standing in

the window, she was dressed up for her school. She winked , smiled,

floated a kiss and waved him goodbye. Ahmed tried to catch his

breadth, just ran back.

That day they flew to Leh but the aircraft could not land on the

treachrous air strip, in an unpredictable weather. The aircraft hovered

around for more than half hour, but couldn’t land. It was all cloudy,

the aircraft bounced in a turbulent manner, a Boeing 737.

The aircraft came back to Srinagar, the flight was scheduled for

next day now. Arasta was too happy to see them back. It happened


thrice. Nobody except Ahmed and Arasta enjoyed the same, secretly.

They vouched each moment of togetherness.

Finally on that sunny day, they landed in Leh a small desolate

town. The plane was carrying passengers which comprised mainly of

the construction labourers who worked for the BRO, under

Contractors. There were some women too. “See we get to land because

of these toilers of land” Ahmed’s mother thanked God with tears in

her eyes. The approach to the air strip was treacherous, the aircraft was

to land with pinpoint accuracy, as the final approach was surrounded

by the two hillocks. The thin air made the jobs of the jet engines real

hard. The engines roared and roared to control, the glide, only an

aircraft like 737 was found maneuvrable enough, rest were sturdy

Russian Andropovs, which ferried the Army and other defence forces

men, women and their families. It was apart from the supplies to the

whole volatile region of moonscape geography. At the aircarft itself

some instructions were given to the passengers, as the air was thin and

breathlessness could be caused. The airport only had one structure

which wore temporary looks. It was bright and sunny. Saif holding his

mothers’ hand, rushed to a figure which came out of the shelter-shaped

building. He was their father Saghir, who has been waiting for their

flight for past one week to land at Leh. Though such delay was quite

common, due to landing difficulty and the risksa involved. “dont’ run ,

walk slowly !” Saghir cautioned Saif, who kept on walking fast. They

greeted each other, and in a single motion lifted Saif in his arms and

kissed him, hugging him, as he embraced his wife and children.

Some junior oficers were also there. Saghir asked his

family members to stay in the Lounge. This Lounge was recently built.

A semi-permanent structure. At the waiting hall, a junior officer stood


by the family to take care of their refreshments, while Saghir met the

Contractor and his labourers, who were also aboard the same flight.

The man was Salim Limpu, an Assistant engineer from the Project

office. He explained “Madam!” , he addressed very softly “…Saheb is

very different and takes great care of his staff including the temporary

employees under the Contractor. Saghir was a different type of

bureaucrat, rather a technocrat. He was convinced that it was not

possible for them to make or look for the statutory changes. The

constraints in ordinary course of working were getting more and more

obvious everyday. The colonial masters worked with a different

objective and the labour legislation was so repressive as to cause non-

employment, than employment generation. The small difference,

which one could make, was by creating a team effort. It was rather

surprising to see that most of these labourers were from the hot-humid

areas of the country. However, after many days of wondering how

these labourers survived the rigours or adjusted to the harsh altitude,

Salim pointed to the small packet which these men and women carried

in their pockets. These packets contained the local tobacco and lime. It

was to be kept below the tongue or at the side of the mouth. It kept

their body warm, as it raise their temperature. Moreso it was. It was

an addiction but worked wonders to their employers. Unlike Chinese

opium addictionn these men wer found by the British Colonial masters

that tehse men would simply die off toiling in the public works. Dying

of hunger was better dying with ulcers and throat cancers. As the

Khans travelled across the leangth and breadth of this barren scape

these labourers were omnipresent maintaining roads in nearby and far-

flung areas. This was the season where the roads got clogged from the

water flowing from the melting snow.


Chapter VIII

Saghir was a man of small average height,

fair, good-looking, an over-all charming personality. Off

late he started wearing spectacles. So he would always

hold spectacles in his right and left hand. His profile

would fit description of a man who is always pre-

occupied with his work. As though he was obsessed

with the task he was entrusted with. His charming and

disarming mannerisms made him instant favourites

with his labour and officers. His sense of humour was

equally sharp. It could be easily understood by the

illiterate labourers who spoke very different dialect and

language as well. Saghir was as if cut-out for this job.

The job of building one of the difficult roads all through

the year for the Army and civilians did require a

leadership and camaraderie. Thus Saghir was not a

typical bureaucrat or an engineer who belonged to the

elite core of engineers. His wife and children

understood his obsession and never came in between

his work and passion for Road building research. His

papers and techniques were being accepted as national

Road building standards and were also appreciated

abroad. Many of the UN or International development


Banks while executing such infrastructure jobs were

looking for his model. Saghir was consultant to many of

these organizations. So it kept him very busy. Salim

Limpu while watching Saghir said to Usamah , “…

saheb, is the only engineer-consultant whom I have

seen maintaining the library at the site itself, and a

small testing facility. This field lab has been established

from his own money. A small amount was provided by

BRO and Army here. Saheb, is never angry with

anybody. These days he is teaching us all how to

conduct simple lab tests.” Usamah sipped her tea

quietly and smiled intermittently. “ Ma Ma ! this airport

has a tin roof…” Saif amused interrupted. He drowned

his face in his mothers lap, in a playful mood. Usmah

lovingly lifted his head and smiled back. Salim said “…

that’s because this is a make-shift building. The project

for airport building is yet to find funds.” “ let me tell

you something about the humble beginnings of this air

strip, it is hardly an airport.” Then as if reminded of

something, he called Salim, his assistant who was

standing at the entrance of the VIP lounge along with

the newly arrived labourers and their contractor. The

men and women probably were too lucky to fly, there

may be many flights from Leh to Srinagar, but it was


the emergency that the whole lot of semi-skilled road

workers were required. However, they did not look

excited at the opportunity. Their harsh realism

shrouded the temporary elation. One of the gang-

leaders or the sub-contractors spoke to Usamah , while

the family was travelling to Nubra valley, his name was

Shanta Singh. “ Our life is full of temporary things, it is

a sort of daily struggle. He paused and said “ when

people as deprived as us, are treated well by men like

saheb, we feel hopeful about God and his world.”

Usamah was moved by this man’s realism and struggle

for survival. She told Saghir about the man, how he was

full of praise for him. Saghir said in his usual blunt way

“their miserable life is no match for my nice words and

behaviour…” he continued as he kept his spects in his

coat pocket, “ I cant change this exploitative system,

but I try to show them the not so dark side of the

system”.

“Come lets go !!!!!” Saghir lifted his son

Saif in his arms, he walked out briskly, followed by

Usamah, Bilqis and Ahmed. Ahmed walked with his

eyes glued at the brochure about the Ladakh Scouts in

his hands. His father’s name was also there. Bilqis held

his arm lest he would trip on the floor. The floor was


not very smooth, although cemented. The airport

seems to be hastily arranged. Everything from Taxi

operators to the bus operators including tourist guides

and others were present. There was just the rope to

separate the passengers from the visitors. There was

very little police, except for the security check. The

presence of the intelligence was very obvious, as this

was the sensitive region and it was recently opened for

the foreign tourists. The land which fascinated the

young and the rich westerners. No doubt some of them

were from Western intelligence agencies but many

came to the magnetic effect of the land of Buddhist

wisdom and way of life. The monastery was the order of

the day and social reputation. Many young boys from

remote corners and rural areas came to these

monasteries. Some of them were centuries old and

institutions by themselves. They professed their own

curriculum and had distinct scholarly identity and

importance. As the family headed in a Jonga67 towards

the Station engineer’s Compound bearing the CPWD

Board. Saghir described the situation in the area.

Children listened intently. It was barren site which they

have never seen. A Bitumen road in the rocky and

sandy terrain appeared like a crawling snake with

67 An old American version of military personnel carrier and multi-utility vehicle.


barren rocks in the distance. It was like a moon

landscape, without any vegetation whatsoever. The

hard surface around seemed to be sun burnt or tanned .

Ahmed who was sitting in front talked to the driver

who told him about the places to visit and about the

time they would need to acclimatize to the rarified

atmosphere/air. They were drinking the canned lemon

juice. Anchuk , their driver lived inside the office with

his small family. Saghir’s office which housed three

agencies i.e the CPWD and PWD68 , BRO69. Base Army

Hospital was also nearby. This was BRO’s temporary

head-quarters and which was Saghir’s office also. The

Army Engineers also occupied a small office. Just

behind the office complex there were the living

quarters of the senior engineers. In this landscape

wilderness took the connotation of the land for the

sages who sought wisdom and truth in its desolate self.

The serenity and the ambience was breadth-taking. For

Ahmed and his brother and sister, this was quite a

novelty. They have never seen anything before like this.

Yet this solemn peace and holy ambience was

threatened by the means of modern warfare. It was

very obvious in the town of Leh and its suburbs. Army

68 Central Public Works Department.69 Border Roads Organization


was the symbol of civic life here. It was modern

education. The only contemporary life-style which was

not Ladakhi.

Ahmed and his family waited at the offices

which are well-guarded. There was a boundary-wall

with barbed fences on top of them. This office was not

one of those sensitive installations. However it was

recently ransacked by an irate mob, which was

protesting against the Central regime for the neglect of

the civic needs of the area. They claimed to be the

political voice of the young Ladakhis. The office still

wore some signs of the recent upsurge. It looked

freshly painted. As there was arson also. Since there

was hardly any presence of the local Jammu and

Kashmir Police, it was easy for the agitators to burn the

office. Luckily no important records or designs were

lost to incident of arson. Saghir never informed his

family about the incident. It was only revealed much to

their shock and amazement by the staff driver, as they

went around the office premises. The Generator room

was really large, as the electricity was erratic and non-

existent for all utility purposes. They could see Saghir

coming out and going inside the rooms which were

made in single rectangular row. As they finished their


tour of the office complex, their staff driver took them

to the lawn near the main entrance. They could see

some underground structure, basement type with a

narrow opening. Almost like a fox hole. Anchuk went

quickly down the stairs and soon came out of the place

with a tray and cups of tea for the visitors. There was

very little staff in the office. It looked deserted. As

Anchuk went down the small narrow opening, Ahmed

and Saif peeped down. They wondered what that place

could be . Something secret there……!

hmmmmmmmm.!!!!!!!!!!. “You have a canteen there”

Ahmed, as everybody eagerly awaited Anchuk’s reply. “

No young master, this is how people here in Ladakh

live. They have their houses dug in the ground, this

works as insulation. We can grow barley on the roof-

tops.” He paused as Ahmed and his family wondered if

he was telling the truth. As they later found while criss-

crossing the Ladakh Division that the hundreds of

houses were constructed in straight and random ways,

like that of Anchuk and their roof-tops were used for

harvesting the barley during the summer season which

lasted less than three months to be precise.

“Anchuk smiling continued “… since we are

short of staff and accommodation , so my family was


given the option to make extra money by undertaking

canteen job as well.” “ you mean this house was

provided by the government” Bilqis as she sipped the

tea. Ahmed, Saif and their mother intently looked at

Anchuk. He felt amused. “This is one house which does

not find mention in the papers. This was made by

us.”( he meant himself and his family). Anchuk was the

essential part of the visitors itinerary. He was an ex-

service man and a ware veteran. His was typical

Mongol features with sun burnt face skin, which looked

rough. He had wrinkles on the side of his eyes and just

below them. Saghir trusted him for his honesty and

reliability. Driving was real skill and test of nerves in

this region. Anchuk was really polite person, as was a

common characteristic all over the place. Local people

were courteous and helpful. However they were not

very comfortable with the people from Jammu Division

of the State. This was the Union territory under the

Indian Constitution so in plain terms it meant that the

day to day affair were decided by the Central

government at New Delhi. Those days the area was

under turmoil. Number of demands were set by the

Ladakhis. Bi-polar local politics was coming of age, as

the end of single party domination in the local politics


came to end. The local rage did had the blessing of the

religious elite. Although the lamas in their maroon and

yellow robes were hardly in the lead.

“ It is believed in the mountainous regions

that the mountains are strong ,

yet they have enormous patience and

perseverance.”

Topography and social character do run

side by side with each influencing and reflecting the

behaviour patterns.

After an hour or so, Saghir came out and

walked straight into the vehicle, asking everybody to

get inside, quickly. Saghir by character was always on

the move. He was not a man in hurry but on the move.

This was very peculiar of him. A source of jealousy for

his superiors and sometimes colleagues. Every key

project in infrastructure segment bore his signature.

The state government of Jammu and Kashmir was not

relieving him of his assignments, thus keeping him

involved in every project. Lest his deputation is ended

by the Union Ministry.

Saghir and his family finally settled for the

day in their spacious home which had a glass house and

massive bed rooms. The house was really huge by any


standards. It was full of all modern and expensive

gadgets. At the home there were two people, one was

Karim the cook and errand man, the other was Akram,

he was the part-time gardener cum cleaner, although

he was a permanent Peon. Although this house did not

have a garden barring a few pots of plants. As they

settle down the telephone rang. Salim Lempu picked it

up and asked the caller to hold as saheb was busy.

Saghir took the call, this was the District Magistrate,

Magadh Raj Singh, IAS70 . He was back in town. The

man was very fond of evening parties and a poet

himself. As Urdu was the administrative language here,

the rich Urdu poetry came naturally to him, given his

flair for the same. Saghir was the man who loved

poetry, so they were complementing each other, in a

way. In any case there was very little to socialize, as

these men(officers) were completely alien to this part

of the world. More recently, the violence has made

their interaction even more regular during the day

time. The incident of arson at Saghir’s office, was

recent only three days ago. Luckily the irate mob did

not hurt or injure anybody. Saghir was very persuasive,

yet he failed before the mob mentality. The leader of

70 Indian Administrative Services, a colonial legacy and symbolic administrative unity throughout India.


the mob was very polite with folded hands , he asked

Saghir to leave, to avoid a situation. Saghir was angry

for not having the adequate Police support. The

telephonic conversation was exactly about the same.

However, Army was now helping the local

administration in quelling the violence and controlling

the local agitation. However even Army was very

cautious, as they did not want to loose their good-will

and the community relationship which they have

earned in so many years. Many of the ex-servicemen

were also the part of this local movement. The

disgruntled Youth demanded more and more as the

only choice of employment in Army was no longer a

favourite with the young men in town of Leh and some

other towns in the division. These young men wanted to

present in the local administration. This agitation was

completely localised and infuriated the Central

government, which wanted the local body to be

suspended. Thus the silent and barren tracts of the

Glacial Himalayas were deeply embroiled in the

struggle of the inhabitation by the mankind. This

however did not hamper the visitors from getting the

touch of the pace of life , which was slow but absorbing

for an urbane character. The visitors were asked to be


confined to stay in the house and possibly to make

little movement. This was for acclimatization of the

visiting family. In the rarified and dry air here, it was

required that those visiting eat lots of butter and drink

lime. Akram left for the market. He was office peon to

Saghir but worked as part-time in the evenings to earn

a few extra money for his family. The salary was hardly

decent enough to sustain the modern life-style. Like

Saghir he always wore a white shirt and light colour

trousers. As the visiting members inspected the house

Ahmed decided to put in the glass-house. He was

fascinated by the view . This was the front of the house.

Their Bungalow was located I the center of massive

tract of land with the barbed wire fencing. A small lawn

with very little grass , then porch. The main gate was

made of the wood. The Bungalow was completed only

few months back, so the paint and the lime coat on the

walls was still fresh. As Saghir was most of the times

in the field office. The house had Karim, a young man

as the sole occupant. Karim was interesting character

with rather low IQ. He was very fond of smoking bidi 71.

He would go out of the house in to the backyard every

half an hour or so to smoke. During the days to come he

71 Indian version of cigar, but of cigarette size. Local tabacco rolled in tendu leaves, a bundle of them would cost 15paisa.


befriended the kids and took them to nearby places. He

was not form the office. Karim was the domestic hand.

His wife and children lived in a remote village near Leh

region. Usamah appreciated him for cleanliness of the

house and kitchen as well. Ahmed took to the Glass-

house and slept on the diwan . The electricity supply

was erratic. Although his father had a generator set

installed. It was always running out of diesel every

four-hours. So it was decided that the generator would

be used in the night time only. There was no need for

the ceiling fans , the temperature was just comfortable

for the visiting family. Although there were no ceiling

fans, even otherwise. These houses were insulated and

had small fire-place in every room. The tap water was

very cold. It was a rather precious commodity and not

many houses had the privilege of having running tap

water. “Ahmed wake up son its maghrib 72” Saghir was

home. Ahmed’s mother also came to the room and took

the grocery bag which he was carrying. “ I think we

slept for more than 4-5 hours”, Usamah said while

going in side the house. Saghir sat at the sofa in the

Glass house. It was a combination of the glass house

and the drawing-room. A medium sized room which was

served as Drawing room as well. It had large curtains

72 Prayers at Dusk hour, also an expression for late evening.


all its three sides. Then there was the door which led

inside the rest of the accommodation. It had sofa sets,

corner tables in-between, center-tables and a Diwan73.

It also housed a Book shelf. The room also had a glass

ceiling. This ceiling was covered by a huge canvas

cloth, during the summers. This cloth can be removed

by a lever system outside the main entrance. Ahmed,

his father and mother were having their evening tea

when Bilqis and Saif also came. Bilqis lifted her duptta

round here neck and was tying her hairs, Saif was

walking just behind her, half sleep and half awake. Saif

straightway walked into his father’s lap, who cuddled

him and kissed him. Bilqis picked the cup at the lying in

front of Ahmed, and took a sip and then smiled back at

Ahmed. “ eeeeee….youuuuuuuuu……….iiiiiiiiiiii……she

always does this on purpose….!, this is not fair” , Bilqis

sat next to Ahmed very coolly. “there is no need to

shout in your fathers’ presence” Usamah reminded

Ahmed of the hierarchy. “ Betu74 you can ask Karim to

prepare a cup of tea, he younger to you” Saghir, their

father, who was playing with Saif. “Papa don’t you ever

favour him to me”. “Ok Ok, get some stuff to eat see, if

there are some dry fruits inside” he said to Bilqis.

73 A large single bed with plain head and foot sides.74 Expression for child.


Ahmed silently sipped his tea. “ Begum75 , you should

prepares some siikh-kababs76 , its been long time since

I had all that decent food” , “ Very well, I will ask Karim

to get the gosht77 you get mutton here” Usamah. Karim

walked in with a tray an cup of tea and some dry-fruits.

Bilqis carried a bottle of coke. “Don’t drink that much

here” Saghir warned her. Bilqis was very fond of

carbonated drinks. They have brought the cans from

Srinagar, although the coke was recently thrown out by

the Central government which was bent on

nationalization and throwing out all foreign companies.

Little did the constituents of the coalition at the Centre

realize that twenty years later when they would once

again wield the power in South Block78, they would

reverse the order by their own executive directions and

orders.

Ahmed was still busy reading the book on

the Ladakh scouts which he caught hold at the airport.

Salim Lempu was holding in his hand when they

reached the airport at Leh that morning. Ahmed was

completely unaware of the presence of the other people

in the room. Bilqis also sat next to her father kneeling

75 Madame or how one adresses his wife.76 Barbecue kababs77 meat78 office of Indian Prime Minister


her head in his shoulder. She kept one arm over his

neck and kept massaging his head which still had all

black and thick hair. “ papa you must take care of your

hairs, they are getting weak,” “…see they are falling

on your shoulders….” She looked at his hairs more

closely. Saif tried to peep up by lifting his head

skywards. “hihihi…” he giggled, as he looked down at

his mother. “hahaha, what is funny, Papa he needs a

hair cut, rather get his head shaved off like a monk”

Bilqis teased him. “ why don’t join the order, then we

can have some peace in the house” Ahmed pitched in .

“hmmmmmmmm….don’t be harsh on your sister she is

not going to be with you forever” “ Ma why do you

always say that, I don’t want to get married” and she

kneeled over her father’s shoulder who smiled and

cajoled him by tapping his hands on her left cheek. “

you bachcha79 party can go to the nearby club for

Table-tennis and other indoor games. Then after two

three days when you have settled then we will go

around the place” Karim who was standing next to

Usamah taking instructions, intervened “ Saheb there

is one table lying in the garage, it needs small repairs

then baccha-log can play there.” “…Oh is their one ?”

Saghir was surprised. “I think the office must have

79 kids


purchased from the recreation funds.” “Begum we may

not have funds for our library and field labs but

certainly the recreation funds’ he he he !!!!!!……..” he

jocularly remarked. “Funny are the ways that our

system works” , Usamah smiled and replied with

sarcasm without lifting her head. “Papa’s department is

not an exception, everywhere its like this” Ahmed took

a moment from his engrossed reading. “ Aha ! look my

son is an intelligent person and he analyses well too.”

“papa he gets more pampered and snob “ Bilqis

remarked without any emotions, she still sat with her

head leaning against her father’s shoulders. The next

day being a Friday. An important day for the

congregational prayers at Noon hour. Ahmed who

suddenly realized while casually glancing at the

calendar, by the Border Roads Organization. “Karim

bhai where can we go for juma ki namaaz (Friday

prayers). “ Karim looked at him and said “ baba its far

from here, either we can go on bicycle or by car.”

Karim always looked confused when he was asked for

advice. He was not a self-confident person. Many a time

during their stay, the kids would have fun at his cost.

But he was nice, never complained about small things.

He enjoyed kids, it was sought of replacement family.


As he only got to see his family twice a year. The kids

also took great care, they got on well and understood

each others temperament. Next few days of their stay

were full of the anecdotes and escapades. Karim all

along was an integral part of them. He narrated lot of

stories, about War and the debris in and around Leh.

Although during the peace time this town was bore

little signs of disturbance. Of late though the

simmering discontent was manifesting in to Buddhist-

Muslim tussle. The demand to change its status to

autonomous region from union territory was the bone

of contention.

It was on Thursday that week that the Head of Tibetan

Buddhist order ; Dalai Lama was to visit the town. So Karim took the

kids to the main temple in the town where he was to be welcome and

bless the devout. It was remarkable as many Tibetan Buddhist fled to

this place when China invaded Tibet. Indeed this was a refuge point

for the Tibetans, who sold smuggled goods in the local markets and

the weekly Tibetan market. These were the migrating people who used

the old trade routes and trading points for the smuggled Chinese

goods. It was indeed ironical that these displaced Tibetans were

surviving by selling the Chinese goods in the Indian markets. Ladakh

was natural home for these refugees. At the same time Ladakhis also

took the advantage of selling these goods. Calculators and digital


watches were most popular. The small button cells were also available

cheap indeed sold like hot cakes. The European travelers however

scrolled through this weekly markets for the precious stones and

likewise.

The Dalai Lama arrived in a small car which was

pushed by the monks of the local order and those of the Tibetan order.

He was received by the Local Head Lama and other senior Buddhist

Monks. The ceremony was fairly disciplined although the devouts

jostled to get the glimpse of Dalai lama. Many could

manage to kneel on their knees with folded hands and

bent heads. There was heavy police presence and

plainclothes men. Karim and kids were already there

about an hour or so early. So they got the right place at

the entrance of the Giant temple in the center of the

town. Local politicians also came to seek his blessings

and view on political situation in Ladakh. It was noon

when the Holy man arrived. Many of the European

travelers were there with their snazzy cameras and

movie cameras. Holy man movements in India were still

secretive for fear of Chinese intelligence. Although

Chinese were not that foolish. Chinese were scared of

their own disintegration than creating instability in

other countries. It was this fear of disintegration that

made them act apprehensive and some times political


paranoid. They were hardly parochial. West would

always project this insecurity as political evil or

aggressive Chinese Dragon as it was then referred to.

On seeing the Holy man they came back.

Next day they went for the Friday prayers in the town

mosque. That day they went in their fathers’ car. After

the prayers they shopped for the groceries and some

other things like clothes, etc. They bought some wind-

sheet jackets and sleeping bags. They also purchased

two small tents from a shop. Few shops qualified as real

shops, others were just small grocery, dark and dingy

then. These shops were mainly owned by some shop-

keepers of Delhi. The owners of these shops were

essentially small and big suppliers to the Army and

other Defense forces . these shop-keepers knew their

father well. Many of them tried to even bribe him

through various means to extract the supply contract to

the PWD and BRO.xiii Saghir’s integrity was beyond their

influence. It is precisely that earned him repute and

regular transfers. Saghir was bit uneasy that day, as he

constantly was on a look-out. Ahmed observed him but

kept quiet. Then they went to a pushmina80 cooperative

workshop , where they saw how women worked those

80 woolen fibre from the Pushmina goat. An expensive variety. Very soft and light in weight, extremely warm.


expensive shawls. Here Saghir ordered one for his wife.

Hew was expecting some royalty on his books, which

would go in to pay this expensive gift. Just few yards

from this place they went to another cooperative where

Ahmed’s instant favourite Apricot Jam was prepared

and packaged under a State scheme. Ahmed was bit

hesitant to accept that Apricot Jam can be so delicious

to leave his tongue savour it for his entire life. The tins

did not bear any markings, to avoid taxes. Although it

hardly helped in marketing. The Supervisor , a man,

perhaps the only man there apart from the chowkidar.

He told them that these tins were for the export and

were labelled in Delhi by the procurement/exporting

firm. Ahmed was surprised to hear the same. The

supervisor offered them as sample. At glance of it did

not look too appetizing. Some what deep maroon much

like a marmalade than Jam. “Wow can I have some

more….” Ahmed was instantly hooked to this recipe. No

doubt he had sweet-tooth. Saif also liked. So there

father bought few tins of small size. “Abbu we need to

buy one tin opener” Ahmed to his father while holding

the packet in his left hand containing the tins. He was

walking along-side his father. They both loved to walk

at a fast pace. They never bothered if others could


keep pace with them. “Oh we have one” Karim who was

still tasting the jam stopped and spoke clearing his

mouth. “ Fine” ; Ahmed .

AS the men drove down towards the Airlines

office, next to which was a guest house, where Saghir

stayed before shifting to the present official

accommodation. They sat at the office for sometime

where the refund for the return fare was taken. Ahmed

could c outside form where he sat. there was a huge

queue of women and children in their traditional winter

dress, although it was June now. The women wore their

traditional head-dress with precious and semi-precious

stones embedded in it. “Is this Q for kerosene”, Ahmed

asked surprised, as these women and children had

Jerry-Cans tied with barley rope to their foreheads and

waists. “ Oh that young-man is the long Q for potable

water”, said an elderly man who was sitting in the office

next to Ahmed. This was Major Rahim, he was war

veteran, a heavy smoker, friendly, robust. He just lived

next to the main temple, in the town. Major Rahim

carried a personality who would befriend children in no

time. Ahmed and Saif would visit his house many a

times whenever in town, along with their newly made

friends in Leh. Major Rahim in less than 15 minutes,

xiii Public Works Deptt. And Border Roads Organization.


impressed with his answers to Ahmed queries relating

to life and times in Leh. It was his words, rather opinion

that shaped his outlook of life and times of Ladakhi and

advent of Ladakh Scouts. As they traveled the distant

and remote parts of Ladakh , the new symbiosis

became ever more apparent. Major Rahim like most

senior citizens, lamented about the performance of the

young recruits, who were not up to the mark. That less

and less local boys were joining the officer ranks.

Perhaps he didn’t realize the emerging power of the

city-phenomenon or Urbanization. Delhi was central to

the circumstances of Leh and perhaps to the region of

Ladakh region being a Union Territory.

For change in plans, Khans’ would be

returning by road to Srinagar. It was two day trip by bus

or Jongaxiv . As the coming Sunday they were planning

to leave for the Ladakh Scouts raising day celebrations

in Nubra Valley.

It was hot here as this part of the town was

all open and no buildings/shades. There was just one

tree-shade in the compound of the Airlines office. This

was the only tree which was found in the whole town of

Leh. They had few tins of fruit juices , but they needed

to catch some grub. Instead of driving home, they drove

xiv SUV(sports utility vehicle)


straight to the Army Mess where a mix of

Dogra ,Kashmir Regiments and Ladakh scouts were

stationed . This was a family station so to speak. Saghir

wanted to complete some official work with the Army

for the Nubra Valley project before they left for the

Raising day celebrations. So they first went to the Army

mess and had some food. All nicely cooked. They ate

vegetarian food for they knew it was not halal. The

visitors were here for more than a week now. While

Saghir went to meet the officers from the Engineering

Core. The children waited in the Waiting hall of the

officers mess. Soon after ten-fifteen minutes they

started feeling bored by sitting glued to just one place

watching VCR. As they explored with Karim and their

driver keeping watch on them. They walked out of the

Mess Compound towards the next compound, it read

‘Kennel’. The boys knew this was their place. So they

walked inside without anyone stopping them. The

compound here were not walls but were just divided by

thick bushes all neatly cured, with barbed wire

demarcating the compound limits. Only the structures

were made of concrete. Naturally it was a difficult task

to haul cement and other modern building material up

at this rarified atmospheric heights. Both Saif and


Ahmed were fond of Dogs and hunting with them. This

commonality made them friendly with many who were

much elder to their age . “So sir, are you the trainer”

Ahmed asked cautiously to the man in Army uniform.

He was standing in the corridor of this barrack type

building, tending to the feet of German Shepherd. He

lifted his head somewhat surprised to see the kids

inside the compound. The dog seemed to be well

behaved. “ Yes that’s right, this is Sheru” , He referred

to the Dog which started to wag its tail and opened its

mouth. “ So you are new here” , he further asked, as he

removed the bandage from the hind leg of his dog. “Oh

we are visitors, our father is a Consultant-Engineer with

Army. He is there in the next office.” “ Ok young men,

you like canines” “ yes Sir, We do, in fact we have one…

aaaaaaa…….” He hesitated then said “…can we go

around and have a look” “ Oh sure, why not…” . He was

an Army Sergeant, Ahmed could make it out from the

stripes on his sleeves. He was from Dogra Regiment. He

proudly wore his straps, two full ones. He has served in

War and at Siachen ,twice as well. As they went round

the Kennel most of the Dogs were dosing with their

heads lying on the front paws. The kennel was

dominated by the intelligent varieties, like Labrador,


Golden retrievers, German Shepherd. One or two

Mongrel variety. Saif finally broke the silence bit excited

by all those canines. “We just met Major Rahim, he too

has Dogs, you know him” “ Oh yes, we served during

the War together,… brave soldier received shots in leg

so was retired on disability”. Sergeant Vishesh Dogra

was gallantry award winner and the dog he was tending

to, was his team mate. As they walked past the kennels

and stopped in front of a commemoration board. IT was

a varnished wooden board with Canine head of brass at

the top. These were the names of the Canines who died

in action. Their photographs along with their trainers

were placed on the walls in the corridor. There was a

dispensary and a huge training ground at the back of

this building with training equipment placed in the

open. “ These canine soldiers are trained in survival

tactics, sniffing bombs and land mines, messaging and

carrying first-aid kits to the wounded during the War”

Sergeant proudly told them as he took the boys around.

“Baba log81, saheb is ready to leave, Come lets go…..! “

This was Karim running towards them. He was one

jittery fellow, always close to being nervous in a

situation.

81 Vernacular here it means Kids.


It was a sunny hot day with June

approaching here but the gentle breeze prevented one

from getting sun stroke. At various points the giant

boulders from the local rocks bore the regiment marks

and their distance from the last stone. These boulders

were carved as those used to mark the arable land for

revenue limits. The drive ways were not charcoal or

bitumen they were just small pieces of stones , then

rolled over by the rollers. They were regularly pressed

so that the drive ways did not get bumpy. Some times

the strong winds would erode the top layer to create

huge craters in the middle of the roads itself. The dry

winds would peel off the delicate face skin in no time if

not taken care. Many of the top ranking Generals and

other officers lived here. Even the soldiers here wore

peace time uniforms. There was hardly any apparent

reason to believe that less than 450 kms from this place

IRBMs82 were placed to hit in case of any border

dispute. Chinese dominated the threat perception here.

Although the new Dictatorial regime in Pakistan was

changing that perception in the Army circles on this

side of the upper glacial Himalayas. This perception was

backed by the remnants of the last 1965 and 1971

Indo-Pak conflict. The place was full of war veterans

82 Intermediate Range Ballistics Missiles


and soldiers. Indeed Ladakh Scouts was essentially to

scout the young Ladakhis to defend their motherland, a

benign off-spring resulting in employment opportunity.

The barren face of these arid sparse bore little

challenge for young and energetic in organized and

disciplined fashion. An alternate to lama was discipline

of Army regimen here. As the span of travel broadens

and widens, this perception increasingly dawns as a

distinct realism. The weather though was not always

at odds with the children in any case. The young body-

chemistry was more conducive to such harsh

conditions. Their bodies adjusted faster than the older

ones would usually take to acclimatize.

That evening when the family was planning

for their trip to Nubra and beyond. Their Driver came

with the news that there was a riot in the town between

young Buddhist and Muslim members of the

community. It took some time for the Police to come

and save them. The Bad news was that Major Rahim’s

house was also attacked and the main temple in the

town. It all happened immediately as they left the

market for the Cantonment. “ Well Nobody sounded us

in the Cantonment area” Saghir said somewhat angrily.

“ Get me the DM” Every went silent. Riots in this far off


land, reminded them of Walled city area of Delhi. Riots

were quite common in some pockets of the Walled city.

However there was a trend of late that new areas and

pockets were getting affected by the Communal

tension. The sour legacy from independence-era was

spreading its tentacles much on account of hydra-

headed politicos.

“It was the truth of the same morning which spell the

Dawn,

the red-blood flow coloured the fresh waters, choking

the life”

Communal tension was still a source of

insecurity and brooding for the religious minority here

as elsewhere in the sub-continent. The spread in the

new geographical areas was taking psychological toll of

those who thought ;

“ now the upheaval of minds has generated

sanity

I think I was wrong as the fury bellows

dreading it.”

It was Magadh Raj Singh, District Magistrate

on the Wireless. “ So Raj How bad it is , Over !”. “Oh

nothing, it is off-shoot of that protest in Kargil on


neglect by Central government, there are few injured,

more from Police than the public, Over “ Ok then we

meet in the evening” “Fine, try to have an escort Car,

or take the other route, so far I haven’t ordered curfew,

Over” “ So we meet Khuda Hafiz”83. The family mood

grew somewhat somber , that afternoon. “This bloody

politics is ruining us….” Saghir while handing over his

wireless to his driver Anchuk. Karim left the room

without saying a word. There was some silence in the

room with Saif making occasional sound or two. After

ten-fifteen minutes Akram entered with Karim. Karim

placed the cups and saucers and while Akram laid other

plates for servings. Ahmed asked Akram, if these riots

occurred for the first time. Akram stood straight,

paused and then said “ people here are tolerant, but

this growing frustration and weak cord between the

Center and Ladakh region are causing disharmony.”

The two then left, as the family deliberated on their

forthcoming visit to Nubra and what all was in the

offing.

That evening the Khan’s visited the District

Magistrate’s house , who was now more than just a

colleague to Saghir, there wave-length met so they were 83 (when bidding good-bye)May God protect you.


friends now. They had something in common, their

integrity and uprightness. In civil services this virtue was

reason for lot of political and locals ire, at times also. This

complimenting task was ran as a common thread between

the similarly placed officials. Although such nexus was

getting feeble and less seen. This was possibly due to

combination of factors. It could be seen by everyone that

the crisis-management was all but anything concrete

which the system(machinations) achieved. The

administrative options were running out and the

machinery was simply withering. Saghir was a determined

man , so he took no escort, that evening family drove

through a different route to Magadh Raj Singh’s residence,

it was almost dusk hour. The sky line shaded pale orange-

red with scattered clouds appeared to be painted with the

same glow of colours. As they reached a magnificent

structure, with the sloping roof-tops. Ahmed at the first

glance was reminded of Aarasta’s house. Although this

was smaller in size and its expanse. The lawn was two

layered and the gate was on the left corner of the

Bungalow. The Sentry came out and verified . Then he

opened the gate with one hand holding his Enfield .303

rifle in his other hand firmly with a chain attached to his

service belt. He wore a ceremonial Police cap. As they

drove inside, on the driveway which was lined by

Eucalyptus trees. This part of the two of Leh was full of

vegetation and trees, would qualify as elite residential

area with some Army offices and camps.


Now almost dark and the lights were on. The drive

way was laid with red sand, as was the tradition. It

substituted for the red-carpet or perhaps facilitated the

ruling elite with this distinct colour of the terra ferma.

Magadh Raj Singh and his wife stood at the main door to

greet the visitors, with their two daughters. They both

wore light-warm clothes, as the temperature dipped

during the night with slight chill in the breeze. During

many days of the vacation rather an extended vacation,

Ahmed with his brother and sister would spend many days

and evenings at this house and some neighbouring

houses. They made new friends here. Singh’s daughters

were of Ahmed and Saif’s age. They were very friendly

and excellent hosts. Dina and Chandra along with their

mother were visiting their father like them. Only that they

have been coming here for the third consecutive year. It

was kind of informative to meet these girls who told them

about their travel experiences across the Ladakh region.

They had some interesting tales to tell. Dina was the elder

one with a charming personality and Chandra was equally

ebullient and chirpy, but more beautiful. Dina could easily

relate to those who were older to her. So Bilqis and Dina

went well. Dina could make out the competing sibling

rivalry in hour or so that they spent before dinner. So she

balanced Ahmed and Bilqis, thus managed to keep both

happy, at the same time. Those who knew the siblings

commended Dina for her inter-personal skills Their

parents sat in the drawing room, while they went around


the house and sat in Dina and Chandra’s room. This was

the official residence of the District magistrate. The

District Magistrate was over all in charge of the law and

order situation and the revenue administration, who would

also preside on land disputes and appeals arising thereof. As the town witnessed riots in the

afternoon. There were additional enforcement which

camped just outside their house. “ Dina get everybody

for the dinner” Megha their mother called. She was fond

of western outfits, that night she was wearing her bright

red sand silk suit with a cream blouse. She was fair and

nice looking. As Dina and others were coming down,

they saw two girls, climbing the stairs. Dina excited “

Oh hai,,, Ghazzz… and Doma, when did you reach

Leh” .Dina rushed down and in the middle of the steps

they kissed and hugged. Ghaz or Ghazanfar as the

name was, a Kashmiri girl of her age, whose parents

were doctors. Her mother headed the District hospital.

“Oh me and Papa arrived this morning”. Chandra and

others stood there watching the three talk in middle of

the steps. “ Dinoo, you forgot to introduce them,”

Chandra, shaking Dina from her ecstatic moment. Dina

was very emotional and warm person. “ Oh ya, gals,

meet them, they are our new friends from Dehli.” The

two looked at them and smiled. Ahmed was just behind


Chandra on the stair case. Ghazanfar in her inimitable

style “ Oh we have a handsome friend”, Ahmed replied

“ of equally lovely faces…” he giggled , so did

everybody. “Baba , saheb is calling you all” the Butler

intervened. “Ghaz, cant you stop being yourself, for

some time” Dina jocularly remarked. She could see the

face expression which Bilqis was carrying. She stood

there holding Ghaz hands and when Bilqis passed them

she introduced her “ this is Ahmed’s elder sister” . Ghaz

did not hesitate, with equal flamboyance wished her

back. Ghazanfar and Bilqis never became friends, her

first impression was enough to draw animosity. She

never took liking to those common friends or otherwise

who were too daring on her younger brother(s).

That evening after a long time they

ate the Kashmiri food ,wazwan so tastefully made in the

traditional cuisine method. Last time it was at a

wedding of the son of a the prominent political family of

the area in Srinagar. That evening as the elders sat in

the corner smoking, chatting and some drinking. The

young ones had their dinner served by Ahmed’s mother

to supervise them. Both Ghazanfar and Doma were

introduced to her by Dina. As it was only half past

seven, though dark ,the younger lot took permission to


go to Doma’s place. It was only some four-five hundred

yards away. This was a relatively safe neighbourhood.

In any case for all practical purposes it was just four

houses away. This was the elite residential area which

housed the richest. The houses here were palatial and

spread in Acres. The DMs bungalow was the smallest in

the area.

The seven of them left for Doma’s house.

Doma who was equally talkative, spoke breathlessly,

she was the only child in house, rest were all elders or

grown ups. She longed for the company much like

anybody would of same age-group. As they went past

she described each house and the residents therein.

She described the occupants with such ease and grace,

as would Tourist Guide. Doma was very refined and

cultured for here age. Her family was one of the leading

Buddhist scholars of the region who were also very rich

at the same time. The road was lit by the decorative

street lamps with mercury bulbs. The electric supply in

this area was never a problem. As they neared Domas’

place they could see the multi story building after a

very long drive way. There were many cars parked both

outside and inside these were the tourist cabs. All brand

new Ambassadors84. “Ghaz, did you notice the stars,

84 Name of the model of the only car of Indian make then.


there are so many of them , sky is full of them.” Ahmed

and Ghazanfar were walking two three steps behind the

others. “you are damn right handsome!”. Bilqis slightly

turned back and glanced at Ghazanfar, and then looked

in front, with a sigh of disgust. Doma did not stop from

her non-stop description of the neighbourhood but

smiled as if knowing what has happened, Dina and

Chandra knew Ghazanfar well enough, so they did not

even bother to smile. They went to the same school in

Srinagar. She and Dina studied in the same grade.

“Doma how come these Taxis are lined before your

house?” Saif asked with some amazement and in the

same breadth he asked ……is there a party tonight”

Dina chipped in just as Ghazanfar was about to say

something “ Doma has a guest house , it is one of the

oldest tourist inns. The house is in the same compound

right behind it.” She pointed to a separate structure

behind the big building which was now clearly visible.

Ahmed suddenly felt that his right hand was sweaty and

could feel another palm of Ghaz’s hand. All along as

they walked and talked Ahmed failed to realize that

Ghaz was holding his hand. As they entered the

compound, the floodlights made them visible to the

chowkidar standing at a distance. Ahmed tried to


release his hand as he winked at her. Ghaz winked back

and said “NO” in a teasing fashion by opening her

mouth but without making any noise. Ahmed then

moved his lips without making sound “ You are mad….”

And he pointed towards his elder sister. Ghaz was one

persistent person. Ghaz was quite easy going with

everybody, less formal, less protocol. She did what

pleased her, very independent minded for her age and

upbringing. Ahmed loved girls with such attitude , for

such types’ posed a personality and mental challenge.

Although once when Ghaz spoke of his choice of girl for

marriage, he mentioned everything opposite to what he

admired her for. That moment was revelation of sorts

for her, she did try to change but it lasted not more

than a day.

As they walked the drive way and saw

someone walking out towards the gate, Ahmed with a

gentle jerk released his hand from here grip. Ghaz

teased him with a facial expression to which he threw

his hands saying as if saying sorry!!!.

At this point while others who were

mesmerized by Domas’ chatting , Dina gently looked

over here shoulder and nodded her head , smiled and

then started to look straight, as if she was watching all


along with a third eye. Ghaz took a long step, and just

twitched Dina at her neck and then walked normally

next to Ahmed. Dina just didn’t make any noise and

gently rubbed her neck. Their personal chemistry was

very obvious, they have long been friends to know each

others moves well in advance perhaps.

On another occasion Ahmed found out the

two could team up well and in an evil fashion also.

Ghaz’s cousin was at the receiving end. Poor fellow

tried to be extra good to Dina at the cost of Ghaz. So

Ahmed never took chances with the two. As prevailing

wisdom, he never interfered in their affairs, even when

asked by them in their innocuous manners. The man

who passed by them wished them in accented English “

Hi !!! kids” , Ghaz was quick to respond who hissed

“how about you darling!!!”. Either the man didn’t listen

or ignored the little girl. However Bilqis turned clasping

her hands and said quite angrily , more helplessly “you

are some piece of a thing” .Ghaz kept quite, so did

everybody, but they kept walking. Ghaz was walking

with her head low, desperately trying to hold back her

smile. Her cheeks turned deep purple red from the rosy

red, and she bit her lips with her teeth so firmly, that

she gasped for breadth soon after. Bilqis and others


went inside the inn whole Ghaz and Ahmed stood in

silence waiting outside. Only Doma came out to call

them inside, “we will go to one of the empty rooms.”

“Aha Sure why not……”Ahmed “after you Ahmed “ Ghaz

said.

As they climbed the second floor, Ahmed

and Ghaz appreciated the nice interiors made of wood

with ladakhi inlay work. The inlay work was very dark

and bright colours, ferocious looking creatures. Yak also

dominated some inlay work. These were natural colours

made out of leaves, crushed stones, etc. The inn had

three storeyed and was very big with 10-14 rooms on

each floor, with two elevators. As they walked on the

third floor towards the end of the aisle, one could see

the bright and shining stars from the glass panes.

“Come inside ! will you please”, so Ahmed

in chivelrous mood asked Ghaz to go first. Ghaz gently

bowed touching her long black chiffon skirt at its ends

in the traditional English manners. But she suddenly

stopped at the door and stood with the back towards ,

keeping it open and stood there smilingly. She gently

slided her silk scarf lying around from her neck with her

left hand and in the same action swerved it inside the

room, as if asking Ahmed to go inside first. She was the


most unpredictable person and Ahmed was all for her

charms. Ahmed smiled and then entered the room

where every body was seated in rectangle. Some on the

sofas others on the edge of the bed. They were all

chatting and acted as if they were ignorant of Ghaz and

Ahmed’s entry. “The half of this floor is vacant for two

days as the guests are gone for the rafting expedition,

so guys we have this whole place at our disposal. Doma

was wearing yellow pants and a printed jumper on it.

She was very fair with characteristic deep red cheeks,

which you get from the rarified atmosphere. She told

her friends that the interior of the rooms were designed

as assemblage of the three cultural inheritage those

from Jammu, Kashmir and Ladakh. It was her mother

who designed the rooms, she was trained interior and

décor artist. So the Inn was very personalised thing for

Doma’s family. “Yes, but now my dear this room 202

has Delhi” “Oh yes” , Doma quickly responded to

Ghaz’s comment, Ghaz was seated just next to Ahmed

on a two seater, which was lying at one corner where a

pedestal with lamp-shade of yak skin stood next to it.

The room had wall-to wall carpet with woolen ones on

the floor and on the sofas lay the silk ones. These small

silk-carpets were from the Valley, as they were Persian


in terms of design and patterns but for the weaving and

knots which was different though equally fine. Such

exports made the Valley people famous and rich in the

Western apart from being termed as conflict zone. Then

there was a desk and small refrigerator. The room had

wooden panels in three sides and the side where it

opened to the small balcony, the wall paper surrounded

the glass doors. The rooms were not centrally heated. It

came with a small convector and a fire place to keep

the rooms warm during the biting winters. There were

very few houses to have the plumbing facility. This was

a recognized guest house, now the oldest one in the

town. Ever since foreigners were permitted, it was a

thriving place. Business was good. There were lot of

Buddhist travelers that was equally inviting factor for

many young tourists from West. Although unlike

Dharamshala in neighbouring state of Himachal Pradesh

where one could find the young westerners learning

about Buddhism and walking in yellow shirts and

maroon robes. Here it was not so. It appeared more of

Tibetan and Indian form of Buddhism and without the

outside influence. The life still appeared to be moving at

the pace as it did few hundred or thousand years back.

Only the olive green look like colonisers in the remote


and the farthest of civilization on earth. It was

interesting to see the monks with cameras and

watches. Doma took them around , all the rooms looked

similar with yak heads hanging on the wall. They had

comfortable Double beds some had single beds as well.

They also had small colour TV sets . Since there was

very little TV to watch. The Guest House ran three video

channels to choose from. Each room had a small

chinese transistor.

“Guys you wont believe this but I saw TV set

in Pakistan which had just TV tube and small in-built

transformer and noting inside. No valves,etc”, Ahmed

said while playing with the cordless remote of TV and

trying channels. Most of the channels were playing

Hollywood films and English language serials. “ we have

our own customized Dish Antenna but the Army

objected to it so we cant use it anymore, otherwise we

use to receive twenty channels here with the help of

Sattelite receivers. The foreigners like such

arrangements ”. Doma entered the room with a man

behind her holding a large serving tray containing some

dry olives and orange juice. “ Oh ya!!, I saw that in

Pakistan, they have quite a few of them in Karachi and

Islamabad, not many in Lahore. All colour transmission”


Bilqis broke her silence as she sipped juice from a

beautiful French crystal glass which had a shade of

blue. “Wow ! that should be really great” Chandra said

as she picked some dry olives,(which looked equally

fresh if not juicy) in her slender palm on a white paper

napkin. Chandra was the better-looking but not so fair

as her younger sister. The waiter was wearing the

traditional long coat made of yak wool fibre and

embroidered at the collars and at the sleeves round

wrist and shoulder and served with white gloves on. He

wasn’t wearing any traditional cap which men normally

in this part wore at all times. Obviously this was meant

to make the foreigners accustomed to the native life,

which they came to explore. Maroon was the most

common colour for dress after black. Both were sacred

colours. Then Chandra and Bilqis engaged in the

conversation which was drawn from their experiences

from recent visit to Pakistan. The whole set of seven,

divided in the three groups, Ahmed and Ghaz, chatting,

on one side of the bed sat Chandra and Bilqis and then

Doma, Dina and Saif. Ahmed was always discreet. He

avoided mention of his girl-friends to his female

acquaintances. He has learnt this from his experience.

He would gradually reveal himself to the new faces. His


charms came first. This sought of impaired the others

opinion in lop-sided manner. Most of the times he won

accolades as being gentle and nice, chivelrous was the

common adjective with his female counter-parts.

Chandra and Bilqis were now deep into

conversation, when Doma the energetic, entered the

room and spoke in the same breadth, that they have a

dormitory on the same floor which was open and the

same was ideal for the “Eyes-Spies” or hide and seek.

Well lets the play the game. Chandra and Bilqis stayed

while the rest left for the dormitory which was at the

eastern end of the floor Doma as usually walked a step

ahead and walked on her toes most of the time. She

wore the canvas shoes most of the time, with her name

written on it. She was fond of tattoo marks. So she had

one or two on her arms which she changed almost

everyday. Those were not permanent ones. Doma was

gregarious in nature but she was comfortable with

herself when all by herself. This dormitory was not

exactly a dormitory type it had wooden curtains to

separate the beds. Ghaz suggested that the lights be

switched off and the curtains be removed so that there

could be little light from outside. “We always play like

this “ Ghaz came out. She volunteered to be the first


one to be the ‘Den’ They played for some time when

the waiter came upstairs with the sentry who was on

duty at the main gate of the DMs house. He was the

another man who entertained them and kept them alive

on what was happening in remote areas of the State.

There was little to do in normal times for the sentry at

the main gate except for the ceremonial part. He made

Ahmed and others aware that his enfilef.303 rifle which

look so impressive was not capable of firing more than

five bullets in a row, in case of eventuality. At times the

rifle simply refused to fire, it was almost 50 years old.

There was number and which read the name of the

manufacturer and bore the British crown insignia. The

barrel from inside appeared rusted. Although the sentry

whose name was Maroof Butt from the Jammu and

Kashmir Police spent everyday some 2-3 hours

cleaning, polishing, oiling the old rifle, it was of little use

to the already rusted barrel. He was the head of the

three member guard team which lived in tent at the

back of the house. They maintained the round the clock

vigil at the door. At one occasion Ahmed asked Maroof

Butt “you are posted at the main gate but this is a

huge house so what if intruder comes form the other

side?” “ Oh there are three of us, the others keep vigil


on the other side even when off-duty” “But you have

just one rifle and three magazines of bullets” , “Ah you

are an intelligent boy, when it is difficult times we call

the reinforcements like you saw when you came here

first time”.

As it happens many a times when the most

insignificant incident or people influence some very

important decisions, in a perhaps more inspiring

manner than ever. Ahmed who aspired to joint the

Army which he admired for discipline and excellent

opportunities, changed his preference forever soon

after the completion of this visit. It was Maroof Butt

wise words which changed Ahmed’s perception based

on his recent experiences the role Army played and its

real utility. It was two days after Ahmed and his family

returned from the visit to the Nubra Valley and the

Ladakh Scouts functions that culminated with the Air

Chief Marshall being the Guest of honour on the raising

day celebrations. Ahmed along with his brother Saif

took Dina and Chandra to the nearby Army kennel

which was at a stone’s throw away distance. On that

day Maroof Butt was having night duty so he wore

civilian dress and accompanied them .Ahmed was

discussing the kind of display the Army men conducted


and the colourful firing also. The two full rainbows in the

sky worked as wonderful backdrop. Maroof Butt was

listening carefully. He had a character, whereby he

would love to advise children on their taste and

preferences and how to improve on manners. As he

listened to Ahmed intently admiring and his decision to

join Army, he kept quite. Maroof Butt watched Ahmed

very closely on his enthusiasm to learn more and more

about Army and its regime or establishment as would

be appropriate to describe a democratic nation’s Armed

forces. In an country subjected to whims and wishes of

Armed forces such a description would embellish the

same.

On their way back to Dina& Chandra’s

house , Ahmed and Maroof Butt were discussing the

Army and Police, when Maroof Butt took the opportunity

to influence Ahmed’s future aspiration. “Army and

Police is not development, people as intelligent like you

should strive to become Engineers, Doctors, scientists,

teachers and even politicians…” Politicians…

hahahaha…!!!! You must be crazy….Maroof”, “ No why

not…???, if only we could get more good and educated

people in politics, could we improve our lot.” Ahmed

looked over his left shoulder at Chandra who was


walking just behind them and perhaps listening to their

discussion. He pulled her along. “Chand(he admiringly

referred to her)…He says that educated people and

intelligent people should be politicians….in this

country…” Chandra trying to regain her balance, “…

Maroof is correct and I agree….!!!” Chandra spoke with

conviction. Ahmed looked askance and shrugged his

shoulders and threw his hands in air as if in

disagreement. “No No Ahmed, you think over it and one

day when you grow up and learn more about this

world , you will find that I was saying the right thing”

….Maroof Butt, their sentry paused for a moment and

looked behind to check if the others were following

them. Saif, Dina were collecting some wild flowers from

the creeps overflowing the neighbouring walls. He then

turned in front, into an open vast bitumen road which

curved at Doma’s house almost as if disappearing into

thick bushes one side and the houses on the other. The

road faked the horizon.


Chapter IX

It was 8o’clock in the morning when the Khans’ packed in the

Jonga which was their official vehicle with driver Anchuk and Ahmed

seated in front while rest of the family sat in the back. This Jonga

was refurbished had two parallel red color cushioned seats behind.

It had the curtains and came with heater, a stereo and a wireless

set. In another Jonga behind were three subordinates of Saghir

Khan. These men were also invitee to the raising day celebrations

for their excellent work this summer in making the roads functional

across khardungla and beyond Nubra valley up to Saichen. The

highest road in the world at more than 18484 ft above sea level. It

had a rarified air. On top was a small temple with small flags tied to

small strings criss-crossing each other.

Last night Dina and Chandra told them about the burnt

mountains and debris still lying in those barren mountains. Ahmed

and his brother and sister embarked upon a journey in landscape

which they never imagined. The trip would make them that the

vastness of the barren mountain landscape can be equally

inspiring as the vastness of Ocean.

It was the same Air port road, but this time went past the

same. Ona slightly tightly curve they saw an Airforce Avro

approaching the air strip right in the middle of the two rocks. This

was the new route which was devised after the numerous air

accidents involving many Air force jets and other planes. The local


believed that since the Aeroplanes disturbed the sanctity of the

Black goddess while flying over the temple, the accidents occur.

The Air Traffic science never believed the local version, but a new

strip was built in keeping with the local sentiments. The only tricky

part were these two small rocks, which could not have been blasted

away. Any major blast would have changed the course of the River

Indus which ran in its upper course here like a wide but shallow

river. On its banks the Khans and Singh’s went for picnic many

times. On each occasion they caught some small fish and were the

only people at the banks for miles and miles of blue crystal clear

water of the river. It was this river which gave the word India.

The river being unique flowing from China creating valley and

gorge in Upper Himalayas and then flowing into the plains of

Punjab across the current Indian borders with Pakistan. The river

seems to be vibrant slightly noisy like small kids, behaved like

adolescent when it leaves Indian side of line of control into tribal

Kashmir. Long gone were the days when this river would keep the

invaders at bay and challenged. The high water-marks were now

the artificial borders, long drawn by McMohan on a blue print, but

now red patches mark the course of river, the soured riparian

rights, the estranged riparian neighbours. The vibrant youth of the

river-flow was no longer a soothing moment , where the tired

refugee or the soldier could drink the water without being hit by

enemy-fire.

THE RIPARIAN NEIGHBOURS

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