Kashmir, my refuge, my friend..

I wanted to escape. I wanted to go as far away as possible. As familiar things around me got shrouded with unfamiliarity, as certainties in life dissolved into uncertainties, as sensibilities got mired by things that made little sense, I wanted to run away to the unknown, embrace the ephemeral, and forget the past, even if fleetingly. Kashmir, paradise on earth, will you be the refuge to my fugitive soul?


As I looked out from the window pane of the lumbering Rajdhani trekking across the endless plains of middle India, at places brown, rocky and scorched, at places green, lush and verdant, on my journey from Hyderabad to Delhi, I wondered that in all its ageless history with all the countless number of lives lived in it from time immemorial, is not there one kindred soul in some distant past who went through the same feelings that raged in my heart, who would understand my deepest anguish, who would know exactly what it feels to be betrayed and wronged? In that silence of longing and loneliness, this ancient and formidable land of mine, which has witnessed perhaps like no other, the evolution of the human spirit, from the most savage to the lofty sublime, silently whispered- look at me, it is the power of  resilience, tolerance and acceptance that ultimately endures. I am the friend you are looking for. 


My friend drove me through the narrow misty path that split the sprawling emerald fields spreading across the plains of Jammu. The night was not yet done, and the sweet smell of the early morning and the ceaseless chirruping of the carefree birds filled the air.As I looked groggily far into the blurred horizon, my friend told me perhaps it was Pakistan that I was gazing at. That this land in all its oneness and continuity is actually divided between two inimical forces would have struck me as utterly absurd and befuddling, only if I would have been innocent of the insidious emotions that lie hidden in the crevices of the human heart, influencing much of human endeavors. What should have been one, lied divided, and even in the soft glow of the shimmering morning sun, did I notice the long pale shadows of the past lurking in those vulnerable innocuous fields. The wind blowing wistfully murmured-These are shadows of time. My spirit remains indivisible, untouched, unsullied. Ask your soul, my friend.

It was the following morning that I was finally face to face with the expansive Dal lake, nestled between the protective blue mountains, her water still, inviting and lustrous. Like a blushing maiden, embarrassed by her own breath-taking beauty, she welcomed my weary careworn spirit with an irresistible coyness. As I let myself loose in the drifting shikara, wandering aimlessly in her soft undulating bosom, my heart spilled with gladness, perhaps gratitude too. As time stood still and I drank dreamily from the azure chalice of her unblemished beauty, she accepted me just as I am. Come, unburden your heart and drink from my beauty. I have been waiting only for you. Forget everything, just as I have forgotten.

What a contrast to the intoxicating beauty of Dal Lake was the playful slopy Gulmarg, its mischievousness belied by its smooth white meadows. Promptly I joined scores of gay tourists happily slithering away on the yielding soft white snow in skiis or in sledges. If Dal lake was inebriating, this was  invigorating, but both were uniquely rewarding. After being sporty for some time, we took the hanging Gondola and soared through the dizzying heights of the proud Himalayas. At those rarefied heights the snow-clad enormous mountains, stood frozen in time, showering benediction by the unfathomable depth of their imposing presence, as gusts of white smoky wind, spread around the fragrance of their timeless deep meditation. I opened my soul and soaked in the grandeur and the grace, and let it smother my mind into a silent stillness. Son, remember you are my child, grand and pure just like me. Stand tall, and let it be.


The Indus gurgled by, as I galloped on a pony on the meandering track by its side. When we reached Sonmarg, the golden meadow was quite crowded by a motley group of tourists. The snowy mountains rose steeply, it’s white beautifully contrasting the cerulean sky. Over a few smaller rocks, strewn listlessly over the foamy mutinous river, I helped myself to a big smooth-edged stone sitting ponderously, unmindful of all the cacophony .  I sat on it for a few moments absorbing the vivacious ebullient spirit of the river as the raucous sound bathed my mind, refreshing and rejuvenating it with a new lease of life. Come join me in my celebration, and dance away your impediments. Don’t you see how lustily I am doing it? 

But apart from the spell binding beauty and bounty that mother Nature has splashed on this strip of our country, I could not but feel distressed by the appalling human condition I saw in the valley. The scale of human deprivation, amply evident by rickety houses, listless attires of the people and disheveled broken faces, I have scarcely seen anywhere else. Sunk in those sharp chiseled faces were large bright eyes, and whenever I happened to look into them, and their stare met mine, did I see in them a look of resentment and discontent? But whatever it is I saw, I found it quite unsettling and averted my gaze soon enough . It was as if the lines on their lean faces, their furrowed brows, their unsmiling lips, and their malcontent eyes- all quietly conspired, perhaps without the knowledge of their owners, to tell the story of the ravaging effect of the state’s tumultuous political experience. Peaceful it was, but a discernible uneasiness hang in the air. Who is to blame, which side is responsible, what are the causes - the political contours have become too muddied to come to any conclusive understanding of the woes plaguing the state that would be acceptable to all sides. But whatever it is, it is the human spirit that has to endure all this. But that it has to endure such unimaginable encumbrance in the midst of  such stunning grandeur, is an irony that is deeply heart-wrenching. 


 My Dear friend, now that you have seen me, have I touched your soul with understanding and solace? You are not the only one who is wronged. The human spirit is a marvelous thing. It can tarnish even the most unblemished beauty and blacken it with its meanness. But it can also brighten up the darkest and the gloomiest corner with hope and goodness. Come take away a part of my glorious beauty. But also carry a slice of my melancholy in your heart. Won’t you, my friend?