So I went with the young man to a little place on the Main Bazaar Road. There are literally hundreds of tiny shops lining each side of the road. I was led inside and introduced to a fairly elderly man. I can't describe him now. It's not that I don't have time, I just don't remember. All I can remember is the way it all went. The first thing I was shown was a old black and white photograph of a group of men in white loincloths and I was asked to simply point to one. I have no idea why I was asked to do this. It had some bearing on the outcome of it all but I never quite understood what.
This was the first of two memorably enjoyable occasions when I was knowingly conned into parting with money that I had sworn I would not part with. The Guru asked all kinds of questions and I provided him with the correct answers. The questions were personal but not intrusive and the answers I gave were not secrets. All of this was a kind of softening up exercise to get my confidence and perhaps get me to give away some information of use later. I don't think I told him anything that made me particularly vulnerable.
It was obvious the performance was not going to be for free. It was a private audience with a supposedly wise old man. It also soon became clear that I wasn't going to learn anything about the two women in England who were supposedly thinking about me. I began not to co-operate very much.
The best bit about it was when the old man told me to think of the name of a colour but not to tell him what I was thinking. I thought hard about a colour. He then took a small piece of paper and wrote something on it and folded it up tightly and asked me to hold it in my right fist. I did as he said. He then proceeded to ask me a great deal more questions leading nowhere in particular and then came back to what colour I had been thinking of. I told him the colour I had thought of was the colour puce.
The old man looked genuinely surprised. He asked me what colour puce was. I think I was half right when I told him it was a very dark red that bordered on green. In fact it is a dark red that borders of greyish purple or browny red that borders on brownish purple. Whatever it is, it is a genuine colour and I felt pretty confident that I had foxed the old man. He even asked me to spell it.
He then asked me to open my hand and open up the piece of paper. I did. I swear that there was no way he could have interfered in the process. If he did distract me while I was opening my hand and unfolding the paper I don't know how. Written on the piece of paper was "PUCE". I often think about this trick and wonder how he did it. Surely he needed me to spell out the colour's name so that he, or perhaps his young apprentice, could write it down on another piece of paper and replace what I was holding but my fist was closed tight until he asked me to open it and reveal what was written on the paper I had been holding. I was impressed.
Shortly after that I was asked to choose between three numbers. I think they were 50, 100 and 150. After I had chosen he told me that number was going to be the number of rupees I was going to give him. I was less impressed. I had to disappoint the Guru. I assured him I was going to give him something because I had enjoyed the experience very much indeed; the sleight of hand involved in the piece of paper and colour trick had been completely and amazingly unnoticeable. I think I decided to give him 20 rupees. I think I actually did give him 20 rupees. To be honest I can't remember exactly what I did give him but whatever it was it was exceptionally good value for the entertainment I had had. However, I don't think I turned out to be as good a prospect as the young man, the Guru's disciple, had thought.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Posting My Parcel
When I got to the Post Office with my wicker basket stitched up in white muslin and sealed with sealing wax I presented it at the counter for weighing and the calculation of postal cost. A large friendly Sikh man did the honours and declared that the parcel would cost 625 Rupees to send to the UK. At official rates this was about £18. At least the contents were worth more. The stamps were purchased and affixed. The Post Office official then told me in a matter of fact way that the parcel was over sized and wobbled his head. I said I did not know that there was a regulation size. He assured me there was one and he told me that the maximum size for a parcel was the equivalent of two cases of Mr Pik drinking water and he wobbled his head again. I told him again that I had not known that. He assured me that it was the case and again I noticed the head wobble slightly. All the time the man had a very pleasant smile on his face. I told him that I was sure it wasn't very much larger than the regulation size and that it wouldn't be a problem. The Postal worker had the air of a man who had been trying to make a very subtle point and with a resigned sort of look he franked all the stamps and removed the parcel to a shelf for parcels that were to be posted. I left the Post Office and made my way back to Paharganj. As I walked it began to dawn on me that the official had been hinting that my parcel would miraculously become of regulation size if I were to give him a little incentive. His approach had been just a little too subtle. The head wobble was supposed to be the unspoken sign. I worried for a little while that my parcel might not actually be posted, but what could I do?
As I reached the junction where I had been accosted some while earlier there was the young man who had done the accosting waiting for me. He greeted me joyfully reminding me of the appointment I had made. There was no avoiding him and I really didn't have very much else to do so I agreed to go with him to see his Guru.
As I reached the junction where I had been accosted some while earlier there was the young man who had done the accosting waiting for me. He greeted me joyfully reminding me of the appointment I had made. There was no avoiding him and I really didn't have very much else to do so I agreed to go with him to see his Guru.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Delhi Again
I didn't take any pictures on my second visit to Delhi. Delhi was my hub. I got up in the Metropolis Tourist Home and after breakfast I headed off to Connaught Place and went back to the travel Agency where I had originally booked my houseboat in Srinagar. Amazingly I was able to get myself a 50% refund on the cost of the houseboat I never stayed in. I told them that they really ought to have mentioned the fact that I never had a chance to actually find the houseboat I had booked. I remonstrated with them that the fact that there was a curfew meant I couldn't possibly have arrived in time to locate it. I couldn't believe that I did actually get some of my money back.
Flushed with that success I went a bank to exchange a 500 rupee note which had a tear in it. The fact is that any Indian bank note with a rip in it was unlikely to accepted as legal tender so the advice was never to accept one and if you got one to change it at a bank. So I did.
My next tasks were to visit both New Delhi and Old Delhi post offices for any mail that might have been waiting for me. There wasn't any.
I returned to Paharganj and gathered everything I wanted to post home and put it into the wicker basket I had bought in Srinagar. Before being able to post a parcel it had to be sewn up in white cloth and sealed with sealing wax. It was advised that one should affix a seal that could not be replicated easily to prevent anyone being tempted to open it up to steal anything valuable and then resealing it.
There were places where parcels could be made up and I sorted it out and headed off for the post office again. As I walked down Main Bazaar Road I noticed a man who was standing on something to raise himself above the throng. He was wearing a turban and was leaning out holding on to something to keep his balance. He looked right at me and said "Two women are thinking about you in England". That got my attention which was his aim. He asked me whether I would like to go with him to meet his Guru where everything would be explained. I thanked him for the invitation but, as he could plainly see, I was carrying a large parcel which I was taking the post office. The young man was most insistent and asked how long it would take me. I couldn't say having never posted a parcel in India before. He suggested that we have an appointment at say, 4.00pm? I said I couldn't really promise so he should just look out for me on my return.
So I went off to the Post Office with my enormous parcel.
Flushed with that success I went a bank to exchange a 500 rupee note which had a tear in it. The fact is that any Indian bank note with a rip in it was unlikely to accepted as legal tender so the advice was never to accept one and if you got one to change it at a bank. So I did.
My next tasks were to visit both New Delhi and Old Delhi post offices for any mail that might have been waiting for me. There wasn't any.
I returned to Paharganj and gathered everything I wanted to post home and put it into the wicker basket I had bought in Srinagar. Before being able to post a parcel it had to be sewn up in white cloth and sealed with sealing wax. It was advised that one should affix a seal that could not be replicated easily to prevent anyone being tempted to open it up to steal anything valuable and then resealing it.
There were places where parcels could be made up and I sorted it out and headed off for the post office again. As I walked down Main Bazaar Road I noticed a man who was standing on something to raise himself above the throng. He was wearing a turban and was leaning out holding on to something to keep his balance. He looked right at me and said "Two women are thinking about you in England". That got my attention which was his aim. He asked me whether I would like to go with him to meet his Guru where everything would be explained. I thanked him for the invitation but, as he could plainly see, I was carrying a large parcel which I was taking the post office. The young man was most insistent and asked how long it would take me. I couldn't say having never posted a parcel in India before. He suggested that we have an appointment at say, 4.00pm? I said I couldn't really promise so he should just look out for me on my return.
So I went off to the Post Office with my enormous parcel.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Jammu to Delhi again
I woke up in the First Class Waiting Room dormitory and made my way down to the station to make my reservation back to Delhi. One of the great features of the Indrail pass back then (it may be the case now too) was that possession of the Pass meant that there was no need to make a reservation in advance. The Pass guaranteed a seat on any train. There were always a handful of seats kept ready for holders who might turn up on the day. So it was no problem getting a ticket.
I was feeling a little better than I had been on the bus coming down from Srinagar. Obviously being on my way back to Delhi nobody was interested in hijacking me. I had my backpack and a large wicker basket full of stuff. It was very much warmer down in Jammu and one other item I didn't need was the pullover I had borrowed from Bashir. I got talking to some guy at the station and he seemed to be familiar with Srinagar and I asked him if he knew Bashir. He said he did so I asked him if he would return the pullover to him. A lot later on I got a postcard from Bashir asking for the pullover. It just goes to show you can't trust anyone! I suppose what goes around comes around. It's karma. That's what I think. I was still feeling a little bit ripped off.
I boarded the Super Fast train and as it trundled back to Delhi I wrote my series of postcards home read, dozed and relaxed. My notes say that I had lunch, chai and dinner on the train and the food was excellent. First of all I should say that "Super Fast" may have been something of a misnomer. When you think of super fast trains today you might think about the TGV in France or the Bullet Train in Japan both of which achieve speeds of over 125mph. I doubt the super fast train I was on went faster that 40mph. Second, the system for ordering food was terrific. The orders were taken shortly after you boarded, probably (but I can't remember) before the train pulled off. The order was communicated to another station up the line where it was prepared and when the train pulled into that station the meal was loaded on and served. The dishes were collected later and they were taken off the train at its next stop.
I don't recall what time I arrived in Delhi but it was in the evening. I had plenty to carry and a "coolie" stepped in to help. The note says "rip off coolie". I think he demanded something silly for helping me get my backpack and basket of goodies onto a rickshaw. His justification was that he was a "First Class coolie".
I booked back into the Metropolis Tourist Home and this time booked a room of my own.
I was feeling a little better than I had been on the bus coming down from Srinagar. Obviously being on my way back to Delhi nobody was interested in hijacking me. I had my backpack and a large wicker basket full of stuff. It was very much warmer down in Jammu and one other item I didn't need was the pullover I had borrowed from Bashir. I got talking to some guy at the station and he seemed to be familiar with Srinagar and I asked him if he knew Bashir. He said he did so I asked him if he would return the pullover to him. A lot later on I got a postcard from Bashir asking for the pullover. It just goes to show you can't trust anyone! I suppose what goes around comes around. It's karma. That's what I think. I was still feeling a little bit ripped off.
I boarded the Super Fast train and as it trundled back to Delhi I wrote my series of postcards home read, dozed and relaxed. My notes say that I had lunch, chai and dinner on the train and the food was excellent. First of all I should say that "Super Fast" may have been something of a misnomer. When you think of super fast trains today you might think about the TGV in France or the Bullet Train in Japan both of which achieve speeds of over 125mph. I doubt the super fast train I was on went faster that 40mph. Second, the system for ordering food was terrific. The orders were taken shortly after you boarded, probably (but I can't remember) before the train pulled off. The order was communicated to another station up the line where it was prepared and when the train pulled into that station the meal was loaded on and served. The dishes were collected later and they were taken off the train at its next stop.
I don't recall what time I arrived in Delhi but it was in the evening. I had plenty to carry and a "coolie" stepped in to help. The note says "rip off coolie". I think he demanded something silly for helping me get my backpack and basket of goodies onto a rickshaw. His justification was that he was a "First Class coolie".
I booked back into the Metropolis Tourist Home and this time booked a room of my own.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Not Shalimar Bagh, Nishat Bagh
Saturday 3 November 1990 was my last complete day in Kashmir and I went to have a look at the Mughal Gardens. As usual I couldn't be sure that I was being taken to where I wanted to go. I am pretty sure that the place I visited was Nishat Bagh. A very beautiful place it was too. The autumnal shades of the maple trees were spectacular. Sadly (this being the closed season the watercourse seemed to have been drained. Research done in the course of writing this tells me that the gardens were built by Asif Khan in 1633 AD.
Below is one of the postcards i sent home. I've included it only because of the autumnal theme.
The picture below is a view of Dal lake from the gardens. Until I scanned it the other night I had overlooked this slide. The more I look at it the more I like it. Look across the lake and you can see the Hazratbal Mosque. I love this picture.
Finally I am including one of the postcards again. This time because it is of a similar subject but closer up.
The remainder of my last day in Srinagar was spent doing some shopping. I went to a tailor's shop where I had had a couple of shirts made up. I had a look round and then retired to the houseboat to pack my backpack and the goodies that I had accumulated.
Rudiger in Turkey had been right. I was accumulating stuff at a pretty amazing rate. I had a largish wicker basket full of stuff including my rug, wooden boxes and papier maché napkin rings.
My last meal aboard the Arizona was (according to the note in my filofax) an excellent vegetable curry.
The next day I was on the bus at 7.00am heading back down to Jammu. I really wasn't well. I was wearing Bashir's pullover because without it I'm sure I would have frozen to death. It was very very cold at that time of the morning. The journey back down was excruciatingly painful. The bus had a puncture at some point and I remember that I nearly fainted while the wheel was being changed. The bus arrived in Jammu very late and I checked into the First Class Railway Waiting Room dormitory for 12 rupees.
Chillin' Shoppin' 'n' Boatin'
The next day was November 1st 1990 and it seems to come and gone without me achieving very much at all. I had breakfast as usual and got a ride to the shore shared with this guy smoking a water pipe. I got the exposure wrong. I ought to have over exposed it even more because the light was from behind. It would have better to get the whole pipe in to the frame too. Oh well.
The best times while I was in Srinagar were when I was on the Shikara. It was very peaceful and calm. The scenery around Srinagar is so beautiful that if it wasn't for the gunfire and distant thunder of bomb blasts during the night it was quite easy to forget that there was an insurgency going on and major repression in response.
I spent a couple of hours window shopping on my own. I don't think I bought anything. It is hard to buy stuff because of the rules. You can't look remotely interested in anything because if you do the shopkeeper is going to be all over you and whether you like it or not you'll end up with something you never knew you wanted. The golden rule is never to ask the price of anything. That is somehow more than what lawyers here call "an invitation to treat". Here simply enquiring as to the cost of an item creates no binding contractual relationship between customer and shopkeeper. There asking how much something costs means "I am really interested in this item and I am certainly going to buy it when we have agreed a price". You simply cannot ask the price because it concludes the contract and all that is left is to haggle about how much money you eventually part with. It's a bit off putting because you have to shop out of the corner of your eye and appear completely uninterested in, or even disgusted by, what you are looking at.
I'm sure I must have been going down with something because my notes on 1st November and 2nd November include the short phrases "Bloody Factory" and "Bloody Shawl salesman". I was getting grumpy. I think somehow or other someone had persuaded me to go to a handicraft showroom. I just don't like those places. The products are well presented but the prices are inflated. You can't get a proper discount starting from a marked price that is already geared towards holiday makers on larger budgets. I just didn't like the shawls at all and I wished that I didn't have to look at them - full stop. There was no escape from the salesmen. The houseboat was blockaded by a flotilla of shikaras laden with souvenirs most days and late in the afternoon of Friday 2nd November we were actually boarded. That's the reference to them "barging" into my living room was about in my postcards home. On the other hand the tactic paid off because that was when I relented and bought the napkin rings just to get the pirates off the houseboat.
Earlier that day I had been into Srinagar and had bought some wooden boxes in Polo View. and spent the whole afternoon with Rashid aboard the shikara taking a trip through the canals.
It was a bit tricky trying to snap photos while the shikara was in motion. I don't think the light was particularly great and taking a picture at 125th of a second shutter speed of a moving object is likely to result in blurred images especially if using a telephoto lens. The shot above of the waterside shop is an example of the less than satisfactory result. I put it in for what it is worth. Likewise the picture below of the women doing their washing. The pictures do have some some atmosphere at least.
Somehow or other being with Rashid and probably being disguised by the poncho-thing let me take pictures that otherwise I might not have been able to. These young children standing on the bank didn't mind being photographed and the looks on their faces are open and friendly. The little girl looks a little unkempt. I wonder what has become of them all. The boys ought to be approaching their thirties now if they survived the hardships of the last 18 years and if they haven't been involved in any fighting.
There was certainly plenty of life on the water. The above shot of a gentleman navigating his cargo of reeds is one of my favourites. I supposed the reeds were to be used for thatching rooves and it seems that I was probably right. I have just been to a website called OPF (Overseas Pakistani Foundation) where in describing the dwellings in Kashmir it says: "A reed called tshai is used for roofing. Roofs of this description may be noticed on the houses in Srinagar, Sopur, and the adjacent villages, because they are near to the Dal, Vilullar, and Anchar lakes, where the reed grows abundantly." So there you go.
There was indeed an abundance of the reeds. They are also used for mat making and fodder for cattle. In my surfing I came across a learned article on the fact that the wetlands of Kashmir are under threat. See http://www.greaterkashmir.com/full_story.asp?Date=2_2_2008&ItemID=9&cat=12.
I wasn't entirely sure where Rashid was taking me but I was enjoying the trip. It was great to see ordinary life going on. This society seemed to as much at home on the water as on the land. Everywhere you looked there was someone paddling a shikara somewhere and at times there was quite a bit of traffic to contend with.
Some of it was quite large too. Check out the shikaras with whole shed like structures on them. They've got tiled rooves and the rooves can be propped open for ventilation.
Wherever it was were were going it was a popular destination and as we got nearer there were more people about. The bridge over the canal pictured below has plenty of people crossing it.
Eventually we neared a major port. It's a shame the picture is blurred because the scene was something to behold. Mountains in the background, the autumnal colours of the trees in the middle distance, the activity on the quayside and the sky filled with large birds of prey.
We disembarked and it soon became clear where we had been headed. we had arrived in the village of Hazratbal. Rashid was on his way to Friday prayers.
Hazratbal's special significance is derived from the fact that it houses a hair of the prophet Mohammed - The Moi-e-Muqqadas (the sacred hair). Wikipedia says that "according to legend" but it seems to be historic fact that the relic of the Prophet was brought to India in 1635 by a decendant of Mohammed called Syed Abdullah. His son inherited it but was unable to care for it and sold it to a wealthy Kashmiri businessman called Khwaja Nur-ud-Din Ishbari. The Mughal Emperor Araungzeb found out about it and seized the relic throwing Khwaja Nur-ud-Din Ishbari in jail for possessing it. Later, too late because the businessman had died in prison, he changed his mind and decided to restore it to its owner. The relic and the body of Khwaja Nur-ud-Din Ishbari were taken to Kashmir in 1700 and Khwaja Nur-ud-Din Ishbari's daughter, Inayat Begum established the shrine. Her family members have been the custodians of the relic ever since and are known as known as Nishaandehs (literally: givers of the sign).
In the early seventeenth century the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan's Subedar, Sadiq Khan, had laid out a garden here and constructed a palatial building, Ishrat Mahal or pleasure house in 1623. However, the Emperor, during his visit in 1634, ordered the building to be converted into a prayer house with some additions and alterations.
During the time of Aurangzeb, when the Moi-e-Muqqadas arrived in Kashmir in 1699, it was first kept in the shrine of Naqshband Sahib in the heart of the city. Since the place was found to be insufficient in view of the unprecedented rush of people who thronged the place to see the relic, it was decided that it would be shifted to Hazratbal, then known as Sadiqabad. The Hazratbal Mosque of Kashmir is a beautiful structure of immaculate white marble. The Muslim Auqaf Trust headed by Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah started the construction work on this marble structure in 1968. The construction took about eleven years and the mosque was completed in 1979.It is a blend of Mughal and Kashmiri architectural styles, with a three-tiered roof topping walls and porticos of brick masonry on a base of dressed stone
The relic is displayed to the public on religious occasions, usually accompanied by fairs. Apart from these occasions, Friday prayers are offered at Hazratbal (also known as Assar-e-Sharief, Madinat-us-Sani, or simply Dargah Sharif) and attended by throngs of people. Hazratbal is remarkable for being the only domed mosque in Srinagar; the others having distinct pagoda like roofs. The shrine – mosque complex is situated on the western shore of the Dal Lake opposite Nishat Bagh and commands a grand view of the lake and the mountain beyond. See the next posting for a distant view of Hazratbal Mosque from the other side of the lake.
www.spirituality.indiatimes.com concludes its piece with the words:
"The Hazratbal mosque, standing like a glowing dream with its pristine grace reflected in the waters, is an abiding symbol of the potential for warmth and amity among different people."
I think I can confirm that. Rashid had quietly paddled me in his shikara to a great place. A place where I can verify that everyone I encountered was full of the warmth of human kindness.
Having googled Hazratbal to pad out the scant information I had about the Mosque I came across Nasir Jeelani's blogspot. He says (and I apologise for having corrected a couple of typographical errors):
"It was on December 27 , 1963 when a mass upsurge empted (sic) in Srinagar following the disclosure, a day earlier, that The Moe-i-Muqaddas - The Hair of Prophet Mohammad (S.A.W)- had been stolen from the Hazratbal shrine. The Moe-i-Muqaddas, kept in a tube of glass and ritually exhibited few times a year, remaining locked in 2 wooden cupboard otherwise. Its theft resulted in a public outcry in Srinagar.
It was restored on January 3,1964 as mysteriously as it was stolen a week before. But during the intervening period, wailing throngs of about a lakh of people swirled through the snow-clad roads of Srinagar.
Throughout January, tension continued to mount in Srinagar as the mere announcement of the return of the Moe-i- Muqaddas failed to pacify the sentiments of the populace. Calm was restored only after a special verification ceremony was held to establish that what had been recovered was really the hair of the Prophet and not a substitute."
I wonder how it was verified as being the real thing? Surely they didn't do DNA analysis then did they? It would surely be sacrilege to do that.
It's a faith thing, I suppose. In the first place you have to believe that when Syed Abdullah left Medina what he had really was a hair that belonged to his forbear. There's no reason to suppose it wasn't. Its location between then and the day in 1964 that it was stolen was always accounted for, so it is a shame that there should have been a break in the evidence chain when it was stolen and everyone simply has to trust in the fact that the true relic was restored.
While Rashid attended prayers I had a walk around and took a couple of photos of shops in the neighbourhood. I couldn't find a candlestick maker's but I did find the butcher and the baker.
I think my picture of the bakery is a little more cheerful than the one in the series of postcards I sent home.
I suppose that with so many people thronging to Prayers the guy in the fast food stall had a good chance to sell some of the mountains of snacks he was preparing.
On our way home to the houseboat we went through what was left of the floating vegetable market (most traders having gone to Prayers or home by then) and some provisions were collected for the evening's dinner which got a special mention in my notes as "Gd Fish Curry v.hot". The last picture below is one of the postcards I sent home. The floating market when that was taken was obviously a bit busier. It was probably taken in the morning.
The best times while I was in Srinagar were when I was on the Shikara. It was very peaceful and calm. The scenery around Srinagar is so beautiful that if it wasn't for the gunfire and distant thunder of bomb blasts during the night it was quite easy to forget that there was an insurgency going on and major repression in response.
I spent a couple of hours window shopping on my own. I don't think I bought anything. It is hard to buy stuff because of the rules. You can't look remotely interested in anything because if you do the shopkeeper is going to be all over you and whether you like it or not you'll end up with something you never knew you wanted. The golden rule is never to ask the price of anything. That is somehow more than what lawyers here call "an invitation to treat". Here simply enquiring as to the cost of an item creates no binding contractual relationship between customer and shopkeeper. There asking how much something costs means "I am really interested in this item and I am certainly going to buy it when we have agreed a price". You simply cannot ask the price because it concludes the contract and all that is left is to haggle about how much money you eventually part with. It's a bit off putting because you have to shop out of the corner of your eye and appear completely uninterested in, or even disgusted by, what you are looking at.
I'm sure I must have been going down with something because my notes on 1st November and 2nd November include the short phrases "Bloody Factory" and "Bloody Shawl salesman". I was getting grumpy. I think somehow or other someone had persuaded me to go to a handicraft showroom. I just don't like those places. The products are well presented but the prices are inflated. You can't get a proper discount starting from a marked price that is already geared towards holiday makers on larger budgets. I just didn't like the shawls at all and I wished that I didn't have to look at them - full stop. There was no escape from the salesmen. The houseboat was blockaded by a flotilla of shikaras laden with souvenirs most days and late in the afternoon of Friday 2nd November we were actually boarded. That's the reference to them "barging" into my living room was about in my postcards home. On the other hand the tactic paid off because that was when I relented and bought the napkin rings just to get the pirates off the houseboat.
Earlier that day I had been into Srinagar and had bought some wooden boxes in Polo View. and spent the whole afternoon with Rashid aboard the shikara taking a trip through the canals.
It was a bit tricky trying to snap photos while the shikara was in motion. I don't think the light was particularly great and taking a picture at 125th of a second shutter speed of a moving object is likely to result in blurred images especially if using a telephoto lens. The shot above of the waterside shop is an example of the less than satisfactory result. I put it in for what it is worth. Likewise the picture below of the women doing their washing. The pictures do have some some atmosphere at least.
Somehow or other being with Rashid and probably being disguised by the poncho-thing let me take pictures that otherwise I might not have been able to. These young children standing on the bank didn't mind being photographed and the looks on their faces are open and friendly. The little girl looks a little unkempt. I wonder what has become of them all. The boys ought to be approaching their thirties now if they survived the hardships of the last 18 years and if they haven't been involved in any fighting.
There was certainly plenty of life on the water. The above shot of a gentleman navigating his cargo of reeds is one of my favourites. I supposed the reeds were to be used for thatching rooves and it seems that I was probably right. I have just been to a website called OPF (Overseas Pakistani Foundation) where in describing the dwellings in Kashmir it says: "A reed called tshai is used for roofing. Roofs of this description may be noticed on the houses in Srinagar, Sopur, and the adjacent villages, because they are near to the Dal, Vilullar, and Anchar lakes, where the reed grows abundantly." So there you go.
There was indeed an abundance of the reeds. They are also used for mat making and fodder for cattle. In my surfing I came across a learned article on the fact that the wetlands of Kashmir are under threat. See http://www.greaterkashmir.com/full_story.asp?Date=2_2_2008&ItemID=9&cat=12.
I wasn't entirely sure where Rashid was taking me but I was enjoying the trip. It was great to see ordinary life going on. This society seemed to as much at home on the water as on the land. Everywhere you looked there was someone paddling a shikara somewhere and at times there was quite a bit of traffic to contend with.
Some of it was quite large too. Check out the shikaras with whole shed like structures on them. They've got tiled rooves and the rooves can be propped open for ventilation.
Wherever it was were were going it was a popular destination and as we got nearer there were more people about. The bridge over the canal pictured below has plenty of people crossing it.
Eventually we neared a major port. It's a shame the picture is blurred because the scene was something to behold. Mountains in the background, the autumnal colours of the trees in the middle distance, the activity on the quayside and the sky filled with large birds of prey.
We disembarked and it soon became clear where we had been headed. we had arrived in the village of Hazratbal. Rashid was on his way to Friday prayers.
Hazratbal's special significance is derived from the fact that it houses a hair of the prophet Mohammed - The Moi-e-Muqqadas (the sacred hair). Wikipedia says that "according to legend" but it seems to be historic fact that the relic of the Prophet was brought to India in 1635 by a decendant of Mohammed called Syed Abdullah. His son inherited it but was unable to care for it and sold it to a wealthy Kashmiri businessman called Khwaja Nur-ud-Din Ishbari. The Mughal Emperor Araungzeb found out about it and seized the relic throwing Khwaja Nur-ud-Din Ishbari in jail for possessing it. Later, too late because the businessman had died in prison, he changed his mind and decided to restore it to its owner. The relic and the body of Khwaja Nur-ud-Din Ishbari were taken to Kashmir in 1700 and Khwaja Nur-ud-Din Ishbari's daughter, Inayat Begum established the shrine. Her family members have been the custodians of the relic ever since and are known as known as Nishaandehs (literally: givers of the sign).
In the early seventeenth century the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan's Subedar, Sadiq Khan, had laid out a garden here and constructed a palatial building, Ishrat Mahal or pleasure house in 1623. However, the Emperor, during his visit in 1634, ordered the building to be converted into a prayer house with some additions and alterations.
During the time of Aurangzeb, when the Moi-e-Muqqadas arrived in Kashmir in 1699, it was first kept in the shrine of Naqshband Sahib in the heart of the city. Since the place was found to be insufficient in view of the unprecedented rush of people who thronged the place to see the relic, it was decided that it would be shifted to Hazratbal, then known as Sadiqabad. The Hazratbal Mosque of Kashmir is a beautiful structure of immaculate white marble. The Muslim Auqaf Trust headed by Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah started the construction work on this marble structure in 1968. The construction took about eleven years and the mosque was completed in 1979.It is a blend of Mughal and Kashmiri architectural styles, with a three-tiered roof topping walls and porticos of brick masonry on a base of dressed stone
The relic is displayed to the public on religious occasions, usually accompanied by fairs. Apart from these occasions, Friday prayers are offered at Hazratbal (also known as Assar-e-Sharief, Madinat-us-Sani, or simply Dargah Sharif) and attended by throngs of people. Hazratbal is remarkable for being the only domed mosque in Srinagar; the others having distinct pagoda like roofs. The shrine – mosque complex is situated on the western shore of the Dal Lake opposite Nishat Bagh and commands a grand view of the lake and the mountain beyond. See the next posting for a distant view of Hazratbal Mosque from the other side of the lake.
www.spirituality.indiatimes.com concludes its piece with the words:
"The Hazratbal mosque, standing like a glowing dream with its pristine grace reflected in the waters, is an abiding symbol of the potential for warmth and amity among different people."
I think I can confirm that. Rashid had quietly paddled me in his shikara to a great place. A place where I can verify that everyone I encountered was full of the warmth of human kindness.
Having googled Hazratbal to pad out the scant information I had about the Mosque I came across Nasir Jeelani's blogspot. He says (and I apologise for having corrected a couple of typographical errors):
"It was on December 27 , 1963 when a mass upsurge empted (sic) in Srinagar following the disclosure, a day earlier, that The Moe-i-Muqaddas - The Hair of Prophet Mohammad (S.A.W)- had been stolen from the Hazratbal shrine. The Moe-i-Muqaddas, kept in a tube of glass and ritually exhibited few times a year, remaining locked in 2 wooden cupboard otherwise. Its theft resulted in a public outcry in Srinagar.
It was restored on January 3,1964 as mysteriously as it was stolen a week before. But during the intervening period, wailing throngs of about a lakh of people swirled through the snow-clad roads of Srinagar.
Throughout January, tension continued to mount in Srinagar as the mere announcement of the return of the Moe-i- Muqaddas failed to pacify the sentiments of the populace. Calm was restored only after a special verification ceremony was held to establish that what had been recovered was really the hair of the Prophet and not a substitute."
I wonder how it was verified as being the real thing? Surely they didn't do DNA analysis then did they? It would surely be sacrilege to do that.
It's a faith thing, I suppose. In the first place you have to believe that when Syed Abdullah left Medina what he had really was a hair that belonged to his forbear. There's no reason to suppose it wasn't. Its location between then and the day in 1964 that it was stolen was always accounted for, so it is a shame that there should have been a break in the evidence chain when it was stolen and everyone simply has to trust in the fact that the true relic was restored.
While Rashid attended prayers I had a walk around and took a couple of photos of shops in the neighbourhood. I couldn't find a candlestick maker's but I did find the butcher and the baker.
I think my picture of the bakery is a little more cheerful than the one in the series of postcards I sent home.
I suppose that with so many people thronging to Prayers the guy in the fast food stall had a good chance to sell some of the mountains of snacks he was preparing.
On our way home to the houseboat we went through what was left of the floating vegetable market (most traders having gone to Prayers or home by then) and some provisions were collected for the evening's dinner which got a special mention in my notes as "Gd Fish Curry v.hot". The last picture below is one of the postcards I sent home. The floating market when that was taken was obviously a bit busier. It was probably taken in the morning.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Freewheelin' Descent
I woke up the next morning in the hovel. I can't remember but I think that the "facilities" were almost non existent. If I recall it correctly there was a latrine affair a short walk away from the hovel which involved going up some wooden steps into an elevated wooden cubicle with a hole in the floor through which you did your business. This simply fell the few feet you had climbed and must have been in a heap underneath the platform. I don't mind roughing it, I don't, honest. I do mind paying 850 rupees to rough it. I am not a masochist.
There was no sign of the driver. I don't recall having much by way of breakfast and I decided to set off down towards Pahalgam on foot. It was quite a pleasant walk along the road despite the light rain and the fact it was quite chilly. When I got to Pahalgam it was pretty much closed. The jktourism.org website says that it is Kashmir's premier resort but, like I said, everything seemed to be closed. Perhaps there was another strike or perhaps at this end of the "season" there was no point in being open.
Somehow or other the driver found me and I hopped back into the car and we headed back to Srinagar. I noticed the car had only a quarter of a tank of petrol. Not much of it was used as the driver coasted and freewheeled most of the way down. I don't know what time I got back to the houseboat but it must have been quite close to curfew. Shortly after my arrival Bashir turned up with two Australian's that he had somehow managed to capture. I was no longer the sole occupant of the houseboat.
That trip up to Aru and back was pointless and expensive (in relative terms). It didn't do much to help me warm to my host and I was going down with a cold too.
There was no sign of the driver. I don't recall having much by way of breakfast and I decided to set off down towards Pahalgam on foot. It was quite a pleasant walk along the road despite the light rain and the fact it was quite chilly. When I got to Pahalgam it was pretty much closed. The jktourism.org website says that it is Kashmir's premier resort but, like I said, everything seemed to be closed. Perhaps there was another strike or perhaps at this end of the "season" there was no point in being open.
Somehow or other the driver found me and I hopped back into the car and we headed back to Srinagar. I noticed the car had only a quarter of a tank of petrol. Not much of it was used as the driver coasted and freewheeled most of the way down. I don't know what time I got back to the houseboat but it must have been quite close to curfew. Shortly after my arrival Bashir turned up with two Australian's that he had somehow managed to capture. I was no longer the sole occupant of the houseboat.
That trip up to Aru and back was pointless and expensive (in relative terms). It didn't do much to help me warm to my host and I was going down with a cold too.
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