Z.G.MUHAMMAD It may also be true for other parts of the city and villages. As mausoleums and Khanqahs dotted downtown Srinagar, some trees also had a halo mystique around them that added surrealness to the atmosphere. Myths also had been woven around some of them. Some huckleberry trees on the vast expanse of Malakhah had their own mystical stories, and so had mulberry and Chinar trees in the compounds of some Astana. There was an advisory from the grandmother for children with a warning, ‘don’t throw stones at huckleberry trees when parakeets and other birds are feasting on the nuts and don’t make water near a mulberry tree.’ We did believe the hackberry trees on the graveyard spreading over almost four square miles from Hawal to Khanyar and other small cemeteries within the gravesites of some saints were abodes of jinnis. Some of us also believed there was something spiritual about these trees because we did spot Majzoob sitting under the shade of a huckleberry tree on the graveyards. Some made these trees abode for the night under the open sky. For passing their nights, the Majzoobs had idiosyncratic ways; some slept with their sacks of charcoal, rags and boots on the shopfronts. Some spent their nights inside the coffins kept outside the Khanqahs and Masjids. The hay inside the coffin was their bedding. The Majzoobs were not like the venerated divines at the royal courts, followed by a train of devotees we had heard about or read in folktales. No acolyte carried a silken parasol over their heads to protect them from the scorching June sun. No assistant continuously scented the street with his rosewater sprinkler as he walked through a town or village, and no tiger skins were spread for their repose. The images of some Majzoobs, who would be seen in our county or visiting our home, are as fresh with me as moonlight reflections on Dal Lake’s tranquil waters. In chilly winters on the frozen-to-glass street outside our house, tall Kamal Saib wearing no woollen clothes would strut barefoot hastily with a graceful gait and dignity. He would often have a few puffs of smoke from the hubble-bubble on the shopfront of Muhammad Kak, tobacco seller and grocer at Khoja Bazar crossing. The grocer owned vegetable gardens in Kak Mohalla, famed all over the city for tasty collard greens and cultivated a variety of tobacco leaves on vast tracts- and prepared a variety of tobacco concoctions out of them in his shop. Having some lovely puffs of smoke, sometimes mixing it with bits of hashish- filling the shop with its aroma Kamal Saib would usually collect scissors, straight razors (barber razors), hair clippers and combs from a humble barber shop in our Mohalla and wash the equipment on a public tap in sub-zero temperatures and return it to him. It was generally believed the poor barber’s fortune had a spin, and his petty shop turned into a big salon after Kamal shop had paid attention to him. Such stories were a galore from our locality and its adjacent localities up to Dal Gate. In Dal Gate, he would often sit on the shopfront of a Drycleaner. Hailing from Barsoo, a village in Pampore, the Saffron bowl of Kashmir, he had no permanent abode in the city; like birds that make no nests in shower and snow, he perched from branch to branch. There were many other stories about his healing touch in the public domain. smoking strong hashish, he would drink a lot of highly concentrated black Kashmiri tea. Sometimes my elder brother Mohammad Yousf would take a flask of ‘Tuth” black tea to him- in a good mood, he loved to drink many cups. But. I had never seen him entering our house while a few other Majzoobs roaming in the locality visited our home. Of these, Naba Mout was conspicuous for wearing many women Pherans- as many as four to five together would often visit our home. A pack of canines always followed him like soldiers after a commander. As he entered our house, the dogs silently squatted outside the main entrance to our home. Names of some other Majzoobs that are fresh in my memory were Shaban Mout, Abula Saib and Haba Mout. Another Majzoob often talked about in our home was Lassa Bab; he had passed away before I was born. Nonetheless, he was only buried in the compound of his house in our Mohalla. I had often seen my father stopping at the door of the Qureshi house and offering Fathiah on his grave. My mother had vivid impressions of him- and the firepot filled with embers that he carried on his bare shoulder was deeply etched on her memory. My uncle revered them- all the Majzoobs that visited our locality. Nonetheless, unlike many devotees of these Majzoobs, I never saw him following them, filling their chilams with tobacco, or keeping embers on them. However, like his elder brother- my father, he never refused to give them anything they wanted. And the Majzoob never retained anything for themselves; they gave away everything they got to anyone, whether a shop owner or a passer-by. My uncle would often tell us they are a unique blend of “Naar and Noor” (wrath and benevolence); one is not sure which intrinsic trait of theirs is dominant at what hour. However, he would love to interact with friars, mendicants, Naat Khawans, and alms seekers– many from far and distant villages visited various Astanas in and around our locality. My mother served them hot tea and loaves of bread; some would occasionally have lunch before they departed to their villages. During Milad un, Nabi, popularly known in Kashmir as Urs Nabi Naa’t- Khawans and small-time religious preachers nicknamed Kis-Wazkhavaan from rural areas arrived in Downtown Srinagar. They recited Naats, Munajat and Manqbats or delivered sermons to small gatherings of devotes sitting under the canopies of majestic Chinars. Towards the end of his recitations, someone from the crowd would collect some coins for them. The preachers reflected on the life and times of the Prophet to hold the devotees’ attention; they laced their discourses with folksongs and tales. On many an occasion, during days of solemnity, my uncle would host one or other of these Naat Khawns for one or two nights and put us on service to look after. One Naat Khan Amin Sahib from Kreeri had almost become a permanent guest during the Milad days and Lailat al Miraj – popularly known in our land as Miraj-e-Alam. All children in the family had been instructed to be polite to him despite his annoying “typical mullah” mindset. Our uncle often told us we needed to ignore his ignoramus prejudices- since he recites hymns in praise of the Prophet SAW, he is his guest to us. Even many years after our uncle’s death, he was looked after for many years by my younger sibling, Ghulam Hassan- perhaps till his death.
Z.G.Muhammad is a noted writer and columnist
