SANJAY PANDITA
We live in an age of multiplied comforts. Our homes are well-lit, our tables are full, our lives, at least outwardly, seem free of the hardships our forefathers endured. We earn much, we spend much, and we believe we enjoy much. Our wardrobes are abundant, our travels frequent, our luxuries within reach. We pride ourselves on having secured the markers of success—cars, homes, titles, and a lifestyle framed by convenience. Yet amid all this prosperity, a persistent question hums beneath the surface of our lives: is this the real happiness?
The question is not new. It has haunted humankind since the beginning of civilization. But in Kashmir, where philosophy and mysticism have always walked alongside daily life, the question has found particularly deep and poetic answers. Here, the traditions of Shaivism and Sufism, though born of different idioms, converge on the same eternal truth—that real happiness is not found in the multiplication of external comforts, but in the discovery of the self and the recognition of the Divine within. In our world of abundance, this truth sounds almost paradoxical. But for the mystics of Kashmir, both Shaivite and Sufi, the paradox is only an illusion. Happiness, they tell us, is never outside—it is the essence of being itself, waiting to be unveiled.
Kashmiri Shaivism, one of the most profound spiritual philosophies of the world, asserts that the ultimate reality is Chit-Ananda—consciousness and bliss. Abhinavagupta, the great Shaivite philosopher and mystic of the 10th century, taught that happiness is not something to be acquired, but something to be realized, because it is our true nature. The Shaivite seers used the metaphor of the necklace. A woman who wears a necklace around her neck yet searches frantically for it everywhere else is like the human being who looks for happiness outside while it is already within. This is our condition: we search in wealth, in possessions, in titles, in recognition, and in relationships, but all the while, the source of happiness lies closer than the breath we breathe.
Lal Ded, the towering poetess and Shaivite mystic of the 14th century, sang this truth in her vakhs with piercing simplicity. Her verses stripped away illusions and left the seeker naked before the essence of being. She declared that worldly possessions were futile, that real happiness came only from the realization of one’s unity with Shiva, the supreme consciousness:
“I came into this world with nothing in hand,
And naked shall I depart.
Why then the pride of wealth?
The body itself is the temple,
Seek there the lamp that never dies.”
For Lal Ded, external happiness was like dew that evaporates with the morning sun, while inner realization was like the snow of the Himalayas, enduring, silent, and immovable. She reminded us that the pursuit of pleasure outside only strengthens the chain of bondage, while the inward journey frees the soul into eternal bliss.
Parallel to this, Kashmiri Sufism arose with a similar insight, though expressed in the language of love, devotion, and surrender. For the Sufis, happiness is not in multiplying possessions but in dissolving the self in the Beloved. The path of Sufism is marked by fana, the annihilation of the ego, and baqa, the abiding in God. Nund Rishi, also known as Sheikh Noor-ud-Din Noorani, the beloved saint of Kashmir, poured scorn upon wealth and materialism in his poetry. His verses were simple, but they carried the gravity of lived wisdom:
“Don’t be proud of your mansions and wealth,
They crumble like clay pots in the rain.
Sow remembrance in the fields of your heart,
That harvest alone will not be taken away.”
For Nund Rishi, happiness was not in the grand house or in fine clothes, but in the peace that came when the heart was watered with zikr—the constant remembrance of God. External comforts are like shadows; they vanish when the light shifts. Only the Divine presence within the heart endures.
Shams Faqir, another Kashmiri Sufi poet, spoke of happiness as intoxication with divine love. His verses overflow with longing and union. For him, the world’s pleasures were like stale bread, while a single sip of God’s love was sweeter than all the treasures of kings. To the Sufi, the real banquet was not the feasts laid out on golden plates but the feast of the soul when it communes with the Eternal.
What is remarkable is how both these streams—Shaivism and Sufism—though differing in metaphysics, converge in essence. Both point to the same truth: external happiness is fleeting, inner happiness is eternal. One may recline on silken cushions and still be restless, while another may sit on bare earth and glow with serenity. The Sufi seeks God through love, the Shaivite seeks the Self through realization, yet both arrive at the same door. Lal Ded’s cry to turn inward echoes Nund Rishi’s call to abandon pride in wealth. Abhinavagupta’s philosophy of consciousness finds kinship with Shams Faqir’s ecstasy in divine intoxication. The language differs, but the truth is one: happiness is not in things, but in being.
At this point, when prose itself seems inadequate to capture the subtlety of this truth, poetry flows in as a natural companion. Here a free verse can express what arguments cannot, allowing us to feel rather than merely understand.
You build your houses of stone
but the heart remains a wilderness
You pile your treasures high
yet the soul wanders thirsty
The lamp you light on your table
cannot burn away the darkness within
The silks on your body
cannot cover the nakedness of the spirit
Search not in markets
for the pearl rests already in your breast
The river you thirst for
flows quietly inside you
Happiness is not a guest who arrives at your door
it is the host who waits within
patient eternal
a flame that asks only
for your turning inward.
(Sanjay Pandita)
The valley itself seems to testify to this truth. The Dal Lake in early dawn, when the mist floats above still waters, reminds one of the quiet mind reflecting the eternal. The saffron fields in Pampore, bursting into bloom after a long wait, become metaphors for the flowering of the heart after a life of longing. The Chinar tree, that symbol of Kashmir, standing unshaken through centuries of autumns and winters, reminds us of the permanence of inner bliss against the storms of outer change. Kashmiri mystics drew heavily from this natural imagery. For them, nature was not just landscape but scripture. The Sufi saw the beloved’s face in the river; the Shaivite saw Shiva’s presence in the mountain silence. Both read the valley itself as a book of the Divine, teaching that the happiness we long for outside is mirrored in the beauty within.
Yet today, amidst the noise of modern life, this wisdom seems forgotten. We have mastered the art of multiplying earnings but not the art of multiplying awareness. We have filled our homes with devices that save time, yet we complain of having no time. We have silken clothes but restless nights. The irony is striking: the more comforts we gather, the more elusive happiness becomes. This is why the voices of Lal Ded and Nund Rishi, Abhinavagupta and Shams Faqir, remain urgent. They call us back to simplicity, to remembrance, to self-awareness. They ask us to step off the treadmill of endless desire and listen to the stillness within. For in that stillness lies the treasure greater than gold—the happiness that is unshaken by fortune or misfortune, untouched by gain or loss.
Real happiness, as the Kashmiri mystics insist, is not a luxury but a birthright. It does not come from outside but reveals itself when we turn within. It is the river flowing silently in our hearts, the flame waiting patiently to be recognized. The external world offers pleasures, but not peace; possessions, but not presence. The saints of Kashmir whisper across centuries: if you wish to be happy, look not at what you own, but at who you are. The houses we build, the wealth we gather, the comforts we cherish—all will fade like autumn leaves. But the flame of inner joy, once lit, will burn eternal. In the end, the question resolves itself: happiness is not in the silks we wear or the gold we hoard, but in the recognition of the self, in the remembrance of the Divine, in the silence where the soul meets its source.
This was the path of Lal Ded, of Nund Rishi, of countless unnamed seekers who walked the valleys and mountains of Kashmir. Their teachings remain a timeless mirror to our restless age. The message is simple, yet it carries the weight of eternity: turn inward, for there you will find the happiness that never fades.
The writer can be reached at: sanjaypanditasp@gmail.com
