Paradise on Earth-Kashmir

Shikara-owners chat on Dal 

Houseboat with local women rowing in front

A necklace of Water-Lily!

Shopping on Shikara

Tributary of Lidder river

Aru valley

Pahalgam peaks aglow at sunset

Apple-bound!

View from Gulmarg hotel

Seven Springs, Gulmarg

Gandola-ride

Peak view point

En route Gulmarg

A cup of hot Kehva

Uprooted logs at Betaab valley

Chashm-e-Shahi

curled branches

Nishat

Nishat Bagh

Shalimar Bagh

Row of houseboats

Herd of sheep on Eid 

View from Chasham-eShahi

Cafe Chinar

At Srinagar at noon, the plane taxied past a soldier carrying an automatic gun with his finger on the trigger reminding us of messages, which wished us to be safe. Maqbool drove us through the hustle & bustle of the city to a hotel within walking distance of famous Dal Lake. On hill stations, people used to ask about availability of hot water in the past; now it is about Wi-Fi.  After a sumptuous lunch, we went out for sightseeing.

The first stop was Chashma-e-Shahi, which lies past Governor’s residence. We got down midway to walk through a metal detector on what the driver sarcastically termed as Governor Sahib’s road. We learnt that former PM Nehru preferred Chashma-e-Shahi’s miraculous waters, which were regularly sent for his personal use. Such claims are unverifiable but we did notice a young mother lowering the feet of her toddler son into its cold waters who screamed his heart out. There were others gulping a fistful. We sprinkled a little on our faces before shifting our gaze to manicured lawns with dahlias, marigolds, pansies and roses in full bloom. A couple of trees with their curled branches caught our eye.

We raced to the Nishat Bagh next, where many Bollywood movies and romantic songs have reportedly been filmed. The symmetrical beds of flowers on either side with water flowing in the middle at descending levels or terraces till it finally flows into the Dal lake makes the garden majestic. With mountains in the backdrop, it was a breathtaking view being savored by a mix of locals and tourists. The traditional photographers drew few customers despite their offer of pictures in Kashmiri attire. We spotted a small ‘Café Chinar’ in a secluded corner where we chatted over tea with its young owner, Shabir, a hotel management graduate in his twenties, who had returned to valley to set shop in Nishat.  Asked about the changes he had seen in the valley during his years, he mentioned the militancy of the Nineties when everyone had to carry an ID & leave the keys at home. Things were better now but he felt the negative coverage in the national media about widespread terrorism was hurting the tourism industry.

Shalimar Bagh turned out to be a poor cousin of Nishat when it came to maintenance & surroundings. The crowds had left as dusk descended over the horizon. A lady leading a group of Sikh tourists tried to smuggle them without buying entry tickets. We bought caps from a vendor inside & tipped a gardener who offered us a flower each as a token of goodwill.  Sonamarg was the next stop on our itinerary. We learnt that one needs to ride a pony to view the glaciers & hire a local jeep to reach Zero Point. However, the weather turned against us. It rained throughout the day so we gulped hot tea with shivering hands at a local restaurant and decided to return to Srinagar. The second day, like ill-fated Cricket matches about to be won, was a complete washout!

We checked out for Gulmarg on a clear, sunny morning. The prime attraction of Gulmarg is the famous Gandola ride. Stopping en route at ‘Peak view point’ for a cup of tea, we were coaxed into borrowing a fur-lined coat & gumboots. ‘There’s snow and muddy stretches at Gulmarg’, we were told. Though skeptical, we preferred caution and complied. On the outskirts of Gulmarg, our cab was stopped by horsemen who insisted on seeing the booking slip of the hotel before allowing us to proceed further. ‘These guys will break the cab’, the driver said, ‘than lose their monopoly to ply in the city'.   

At Gondola point, we learnt to our dismay that the longer and more sought after phase was not operating due to bad weather. As we queued up for the shorter ride, the guides began to pester us and halved their charges to ‘just 300 rupees’. An elderly man advised us ‘not to worry about horses and ponies and just roam around wherever you like. Paise zaya nahin karna.’ We sat through the ride mesmerized, with ground rising and falling below us like the waves of an ocean. A heartbeat skipped as the trolley stopped mid-way for awhile and then relief as it moved on. At the exit, we refused to hire ponies as advised and ventured out with heavy gumboots.

There were wide grasslands at the exit with seven small springs sprouting out and merging into a stream close by. The high peaks in the distance were hidden by a thick cloud cover. No sign of snow! ‘Were we cheated out of Phase two’, we wondered. Newly-wed couples withdrew to uncrowded spots to click intimate selfies. The weather took a turn. We were now enveloped by clouds and even felt a few drops of rain. Time to savor some pakodas! When we protested at the small quantity being served, the owner of the shack complained he got onions for Rs. 100@kg. Inflation seems to rise with the heights. The sky became clear and a few trolleys jerked upwards towards the snow-bound peaks but our hopes for a longer ride dashed. ‘They are carrying rasad for the fauj. The border is just 10 kms from the peakes and beyond that it’s our Azad Kashmir’, the young man grinned while we frowned.

The evening in Gulmarg was very pleasant when we went for walk putting down pleas to be shown round on ponies, jeeps and snow-bikes. There was a large ghostly building on a hilltop abandoned after it reportedly caught fire. A large park facing the entry to Gondola site showed solar panels. Cottages of Gulmarg Development Authority (GDA) also caught our eye. ‘You can book them online, cook your meals, dine at ‘Khaleel Palace’ or order meals from there’, the attendant told us. As it turned dark and cold, we chose to return to the warmth of our rooms in the same hotel. At dawn, we wiped out the frosty panes to look at the snow-covered peaks. They first looked silvery white and gradually transformed into gold as the first rays of Sun kissed them .

Pahalgam lay to the other side of Srinagar. The five-hour long drive took us through several districts. We halted at saffron-rich Pampore to buy a pinch. Further ahead, there was a row of units making cricket bats out of willow. There was an apple orchard by the roadside whose elderly owner allowed us to walk around and see the fruit-laden trees. Walnuts were being taken off the trees and dried by the roadside. Eid being just a day away, hordes of sheep were being herded to the city for sale. Maqbool explained that those who could afford bought and offered them as a sacrifice and shared the meat with family, friends & the poor. He intended to offer Eid prayers at the local mosque in Pahalgam, which was reportedly built by Afghans. We spent the evening in the local market where I bought myself a phiran, a loose gown, which Kashmiris wear to keep themselves warm in winter.

Shabir took our charge and drove us first to Aru valley through a winding road with a tributary of East Lidder River flowing along. We first ascended to a point to get an amazing view of snow-covered peaks and then drove down to the waters gurgling down noisily by our side. There were huts with muddy roofs on the slopes on which even grass was visible. We learnt that it helped keep the occupants safe when it snows. Those grazing the sheep were termed khanabadosh or wanderers who could retreat to warmer places when Pahalgam was buried under several feet of snow. They are mostly Gujjars. When asked whether any Kashmiri Pandits are still left in Pahalgam, Shabir shook his head and nonchalantly replied, 'They live in Jammu'. We returned to the town and passed through it to go to Chandanwari on the other side.

Chandanwari is the base for the long and arduous trek to Amarnath shrine dedicated to Lord Shiva. The greenish waters of Sheshnag lake turn into a river, caress and go round the boulders hurling everything, including tall pine trees, down the slopes. We were dropped near a few temporary stalls selling handicrafts, Shivlings, bells and other bric-a-brac to the devotees. We stepped into ankle-deep waters, ignoring the warning on the board to stay away from the river. I slipped on a boulder soon after and landed on both my hands. Unharmed and wiser after the fall, I moved towards the uneven, stony steps that mark the beginning of the pilgrimage and disappear into the horizon. Over it are the snowy peaks, enchanting and irresistibly inviting. Imbibed by religious fervor, we decided to climb a few steps. There were rocks with welcome messages for the pilgrims painted by paramilitary units. A couple of reptiles crossed our path deluding us into believing that Sheshnag had blessed us.

At the parking bay, all the vans except ours had returned. Shabir suppressed his obvious dismay and drove us back in silence. From a height, he showed us Betaab valley, renamed as usual after a Bollywood film shot there. ‘You get the best view from here & there’s nothing else. The entry fee is 100 rupees’, he said in a dissuading tone. We chose to go in nonetheless. It had a park with a cottage, a small bridge connecting the two banks, logs obstructing the narrow river. There were gaily-dressed Kashmiri girls out for a picnic and vendors selling snacks outside the gate. I pointed out to the man on the counter some of the mistakes on the Notice Board. ‘Wrong grammar’, he dismissively said. We returned to pick up our luggage and return to Srinagar.

It was Eid. There were apprehensions that separatists belonging to Huriyat might stage protests on the beef-ban. The internet had been switched off. We had received a call to be cautious from a friend who had friends in the government. Maqbool was driving at a leisurely pace despite the absence of traffic on the highway. I wondered if he was doing so on purpose to ensure that the day got over by the time we reach Srinagar. Be that as it might have been, peace and calm reigned everywhere on the way. People were carrying gifts of meat for exchange and shops, except those selling sweets and snacks, were all shut down. Someone remarked laughingly even the cops appeared to be on a holiday for none was to be sighted.

Dal Lake was thronged by locals and tourists. The road running parallel to it has luxury hotels on one side and a pedestrian walkway on the other. It was reminiscent of Mumbai’s Marine Drive. We waited for a shikara to row us to the houseboat for the final day in Kashmir.  Lateef, the owner, showed up for awhile, and introduced us to Abdul who, despite the festival, had offered to take care of us. We chose to return to the banks for a walk before supper. The houseboats were all lit up by now. Their images flickered in the water as a flame flaps when whiffed by a wind. One could hear crackers in the distance & some fireworks. Subdued in comparison to what one sees on Diwali but a welcome change for being less polluting and noisy. We spotted even a post office floating in a houseboat. Wondered whether it had any takers in the days of instant messaging & internet! 

We woke up on the final day with a call for prayer from the nearby mosque. It was built on land but could be reached only from the lake. The sky lit up in the distance and birds began to chirp and dive into waters to look for prey. A shikara selling flowers approached our houseboat as we sat sipping some kehva in the front. Local women were seen rowing roofless boats and tending to chores. Abdul invited us for the hour-long shikara ride across the lake. A CRPF motorboat sped past on a routine check leaving a wave of ripples in the waters. My botanist wife spotted a water-lily in the vegetation near their camp. Abdul bent, plucked one, made a garland of it with pieces of its stem and presented it to her. Shikaras, evidently on a cue, parked themselves along ours to offer varied merchandise like necklaces and bracelets with semi-precious stones, jewelry-boxes made of paper-mâché with intricate floral designs to the ladies.

We rowed past ‘Sukoon’ a luxury houseboat with its own motorized shikara to a market on the lake. You could buy everything from Pashmina shawls to leather coats. A young girl was rowing away a gift of mutton in a perforated plastic box covered with a hand towel in her small boat. While the ladies shopped, Abdul’s friend sat on his haunches and enlightened us briefly about kurbani or sacrifice performed on Eid. ‘Allah asked Paigambar, the Prophet to sacrifice his son to Him. When the son was made to lie for the purpose, the child asked his father to blindfold himself lest he may find the sight too much to bear. However, after the sacrifice, what the prophet saw was not his son but a sheep. That’s how the tradition began.’

We were told that God was just testing whether the prophet was prepared to part with what was dearest to him. A female is never sacrificed so the whole controversy about banning beef was irrelevant. Besides, animal sacrifice is there in other faiths too. Plants too have life so even vegetarians kill in order to feed themselves. Coming from a commoner, such concerns sounded valid so we just nodded. Concluding our visit to a place compared with jannat, we also felt matters relating to faith and diets are best dealt with sensitivity and left to individuals. After all, the purpose of religions is to unite people with love.The plane soon ascended above the clouds giving us the last glimpses of the green valley and its snow-covered peaks. Adieu Kashmir!

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