BY DR.ABDUL AHAD
The shopkeepers too closed their shops for fear of safety and, thus, deserted the streets and emptied the bazaars of their buzz; bringing Shahri-Khass life almost to a standstill, not sparing even the vastly distant areas on its peripheries
Away from the eyes of general public and off the main street frontage were the workshops, where jewellers were busy preparing their emeralds, topaz, diamonds, rubies and silver and gold ornaments, and in others the copper Smiths were beating, thrashing and moulding the copper for making utensils; the small shops of black smiths, where agricultural tools and implements were
on display for sale; the small tsathalls, where craftsmen were doing sozni, embroidery and wood work; and the shawl and carpet weaving Karkehans, where children were working alongside adults, were also abandoned within no time.
The potters along with their spouses were chaotically engaged with the shaping of wet clay into pots, dishes, cups, saucers and a number of utensils on their wheels became equally panicky to forsake their sheds, located close by opposite these workshops, for their security.
Even the taek-yas, where shodas (charus smokers) met regularly over a cup of zaffarani kahwa and a chellum of charas almost unconcerned with the outside world but totally immersed in Sufiana-kalam on rabab and sitar (Sufi songs) and Soz-i-ruh (soul soothing libretto) were discarded instantaneously. Most of the shodas, who epitomized the figure of grand intellectuals and romanticized the environment of these smoke-houses through halo of blowing clouds of smoke while reclining on massive and snow like white and tidy pillows, had hurriedly to amuse themselves with the ear-splitting repeat of ‘Dum maar dum / pazzarus wotherun gumm.
They concluded their schedule rapidly on an up-beat of:
Dushmanun soore, doostun hoore
Jeahelun Moore, aabidun noore
Choorun khoore, ghunahgarun toore
Life in the sleazy neighbourhood of Tashwan too came to an unexpected cut short, scaring the vivaciously dashing, adorable, sexy, delicate but devilishly mischievous, quite and calculating gals and damsels to wind up their raqus-i-ashaqi (love dance) and hide themselves under the very beds on which they shared the common pillows and quilts with their paramours, patrons and clients in their apartments.
However, out of sheer deference for the religious sensibilities of Pandits one of the contingents of the youth brigade had to slow down for a break up at Narparistan, just to get mixed up with another cluster of slogan mongers at Namchabal, for letting a procession of mourners to follow a funeral march towards Shamshanghat (crematorium) for final rites.
The net result of the circumstances obtaining on that day was, thus, that the mood of Shehri-Kashmir swung from one of exuberance to that of despair in a matter of few minutes. But the biggest surprise was when it emerged that a barber’s shop at Fateh Kadal was least disturbed by the noise and chaos of city’s suburbs. Owned and run by a jolly jokey and witty nasty local face, who had a certain notoriety as tarbaz (liar) and muskher (humourist) with his own brand of humour and con , the shop and a meeting point of the gentry interested in keeping themselves abreast of what was happening in the region. It was stuck with a small group of nonchalant chirpy regulars who were hotly debating as to what could be a more effective preventive measure practicable to discourage the tendency of lie speaking among the people and the general consensus was that it could be done by activating and mobilising vital social channels including home, society and religion: the stinging social rebuke, the parental reprimand, the legal intervention, and invoking the divine retribution through the good offices of peers and fakirs, they believed, would do wonders against this rising menace.
It was undoubtedly so good, so great and so bold of them to express their mounting anxieties and concerns about the evil and devise measures to fight it out fittingly and, thus, proclaim a crusade of considerable collective significance against this perennial social malevolence and affliction. But the million dollar questions are: Were they wholly truthful to themselves? Were they really interested in bringing a change in their outlook? Did they truly believe in what they were discussing and pondering upon?
The one word answer to these is big emphatic no. They were plainly lying through their teeth, making a blatant mockery of truth by weaving around a casuistry of glittery arguments to score a point and influence people. They were replayıng again and again the old thinking bout ulta chor kotwal ko dantay
And that day it was perhaps the third edition of the game, played by none other than the chief liars or upp-a-gears, makars and turbazs of the locality who had earned nick names turra, mooche, gadda, kajabe, hersae, chatang, battech etc. for their harrying habit of saying one thing and doing other. It was amazingly unpalatable and impossible to find a grain of truth in what they generally tated for lie was the elixir of their happiness and an indivisible constituent of the character. Even the vibes of their guise and behaviour smacked of hypocrisy, vindicating Lawrence’s fairly presented caricature of Kashmiri character and what most of the writers believed to be an inseparable and intuitive that had so badly infected this poor nation that Father Jerome Xavier could not evade buying one and the same toddler repetitively thrice from his parents at a time when the sale of children and white slave trade were carried here unabashedly, of course under very compelling circumstances, and when the merchant’s capital was yet to stretch its wings to touch our medieval boundaries to ensure the surfacing of various levels of market economy and many more things allied with it.
However, it was quite a frantic day for the youth to remain preoccupied with processions and by the evening they were so tired and exhausted that they drove straight homewards to have their own sweet time in silence. At home they enjoyed the blessings of their parents and began feeling stress-free as soon as they finished their noon-chai and now they were looking relatively jovial and light in the quiet environs of their hearths.
In the meantime, the sun had set in to shed its orange glow little by little over Koh-i-Maran, Takhat-i-Sulaman, Hurmukh and Zaburwan and the evening autumnal colours and smell of flowers were slowly wafting refreshingly through the atmosphere and the windy cold breeze blowing leisurely at a temperate pace was spinning tiny whirls in the Dal to blur the radiant images of the setting scene in its crystal clear waters. The dust of the noise and rattle too started settling down, letting city’s seething cauldron of emotions to chill down and, thereby, cheering up people to come out once again on the streets and share the flurries of latest rumour floating around. The sweltering chitchat was that the processions were stage managed show of political mules of different hues who had been asked to lend the requisite moral support to a large contingent of armed forces who had already thronged into Kashmir early in the morning.
These political mules are there to carry forward the agenda of their masters. Well known for their exceptionally careful political skills, impressive power of hobnobbing and persuasion, they are always in the forefront, like their predecessors in the profession, to assuage the severity of distasteful and ugly situations which have been arising in the Valley principally since the day the great majzoob appeared to drop a hint about wounte natssun Kasher-e-sazun with sadness in his voice. With their angel like innocence, mule like subordination, dog like loyalty and kid like behaviour, they have successfully assimilated into the political ethos that drives huge pleasure in subjecting them to enormous whipping. But for carrying the lumber gleefully and never wanting in keeping their bosses in good hummer, sometimes they get whoops of delight too.
…concluded
Dr. Abdul Ahad is a well-known historian of Kashmir. He presents a perspective on the Kashmir issue and talks about Kashmir’s history and individuality and personality.
