DAL - NEVER DULL

 

DAL - NEVER DULL

BY WARVET

It’s the time of year when mornings get that faint bit of chill. The tourists have taken a break and the valley is so calm and welcoming. We decided to make the best of Sunday morning by cycling on the Srinagar Boulevard that runs along the Dal. In Kashmiri ‘Dal’ itself means ‘lake’ and thus ‘Dal lake’ means ‘lake – lake’ and that’s funny isn’t it? The lake is the Go – To place in Srinagar at any point of time and it never lets you down. This beautiful water body comprising of lake, marshes, canals, rivers and holding innumerable springs in her bosom is the jewel of the valley.

We pedalled past Amar Singh Club, TRC and the iconic Krishna Dhaba to hit Dal Gate that controls water level of the Dal. Once on Boulevard I noticed my favourite houseboats – San Souci, Little pinafore, Beusite at their respective place. People were enjoying their morning walks, cycling - kids were skating. Many old ladies were also in force, in their hijabs and Burqas. Opposite 'Maharaja Farms' that houses 'Karan Mahal' the house of the scholar king, I noticed 4 senior citizens who had brought out small camping chairs and placed along the parapet. In typical Kashmiri style they had poured steaming hot tea from a thermos in their cups. Two of them were seated on the parapet and two on the chairs. Their car was parked alongside on the road that looked wide with little traffic. Over biscuits they were chatting amicably. I and Subhash, my accomplice, a Kashmiri, stopped under the only Chinar on the banks just opposite Barista Coffee. This place not long back was part of Reserve Forest that gave way to ‘Royal Spring Golf Course’ in 80s. An old sign board of Wildlife Department exhorted the passer by – ‘ Set Your Soul on Fire In Pursuit of Wilderness’. I found the quote amusing!

After catching our breath we proceeded further. We were headed to Nishat Garden from where there’s a narrow track that goes across the lake. I had seen the track a number of times – It divides the lake into two parts – I never liked it. There are two bridges on this track underneath which the boats pass. The road was built first by Jalaludin Akbar, the Great Moghul for his Army to reach him  in the Garden from the Hari Parbat fort across in case of any emergency. Jalal had usurped the valley by unfair means by jailing the last local Sultan – Yusuf Shah Chak who was invited to Agra for negotiation. The sultans beautiful and wise wife – one of the most famous Kashmiri women of all times – Joon or ‘Habba Khatoon’ kept roaming the valley lamenting her lost love – composing soulful songs and poems and became immortalised in history.

We went past Sher e Kashmir International Convention Centre that had hosted G 20 summit and more recently, Chinar Book Festival. The book festival besides books, had brought a number of artists of National repute to the local populace. Many local bands also had regaled the audience. Vishal Bhardwaj and his wife Rekha were the star attraction. They have an old connect with Kashmiris by their movies like Haider, Roja etc and we along with Kashmiri fans had enjoyed their music to the fullest in August. ‘No Weapons and Security Staff beyond the Gate’ said a board alongside the Gate. I remembered elaborate frisking we had undergone. We went past ‘Makai Point’ the road side area popular for kebab joints. Some of the shacks have great reviews on You Tube though I didn’t find the most famous one very good. On our left was the ‘Char Chinar’ island Garden laid by Jehangir. Out of his 4 Chinars, 3 had perished which have been replaced professionally by J&K Horticulture Department with fully grown Chinars transplanted in a herculean effort.

Finally, reaching Nishat, we took the left turn and were on the track. Some of the morning walkers had taken this road less travelled. We were now surrounded by waters on both sides. We crossed some anglers trying their luck with sophisticated rods. Sun had started appearing from behind the mighty Zabarvan Range as we stopped to look around. A couple had collected tall grass fodder. Two big bundles was loaded on the bike. The husband helped his wife to lift another bundle on her head. He took off on the bike followed by wife. It reminded me of the saying –‘Kashmiri women – Doing what men can’t Do since Ages’! 

On left side, a fisherman was rowing his tiny boat with Kashmiri heart shaped oars towards deep waters. On other side, in distance shone the marble dome of Hazratbal shrine rebuilt by ‘Sher e Kashmir’ Sheikh Abdullah in Arab style – distinct from the Kashmiri design wooden shrines. Two Hanji women in their separate boats were harvesting weed from the lake for cow fodder.Three school girls clad in track suit lowers and hijab approached us. 'What are those women collecting'? Suresh asked them. We found that like all middle class girls in India they had scant idea  I took out my newly acquired canon camera with zoom and started taking pictures.

I got carried away and made the fatal mistake of clicking the Hanji women who made a beautiful picture, labouring in their boat. I personally respect the privacy of people but today as they were looking the other side, I took the liberty of shooting them. As one of them turned and saw me, she in true Hanji style let out a torrent of rebuke ‘Tuveh chaew ghare maje baniye’? ‘ Gashew lagwaek goil timen’ Not understanding her Kashmiri, I had no option but to wave at them smiling sheepishly and hope for forgiveness. Later Subhash told me she had said ‘ Don’t you have mother and sister at home? Go shoot them’.

 As we saw the rising bridge in front we pedalled forcefully and reached the summit. On the bridge there was a platform occupied by a local who was around 60 years old. He was listening to song ‘Sun sahiba sun’ on his mobile speaker and enjoying the dawn away from home and homely responsibilities. We exchanged pleasantries. Beyond the bridge there was a Ladakhi muslim couple with a teenage son. The family was fishing for Sunday lunch. ‘Kashmiri is a scheduled language and the soul of our culture. However, its not taught in schools or in any institutions. The politicians have neglected this treasure. I hope something is done before its lost for ever’ lamented Subhash. Kashmiri is widely spoken by people here. It’s hard to understand. Men speak it in a strange high pitch. Its derived from Sanskrit and Persian I think. Like all other places, kids speak hindi or Hindustani. Craze of English is of course there. In schools they teach Urdu. Many signboards are in urdu.

In the distance we could see Akbar’s ‘Unt Kadal’ or ‘Camel Bridge’ as it resembled hump of camel due to its height for letting boats pass underneath. I brought out tea thermos and biscuits and we enjoyed our tea in Kashmiri style. A boatman passed under our bridge. He had a rich catch of fish lying on the floor of the boat.

As we moved ahead, the lake gave way to marshes. Famous floating gardens were now in view. A kingfisher dived and emerged with a small fish. Men were moving around in boats carrying vegetable produce – some were taking diesel pumps to irrigate. An age old contraption of bucket leveraged with weight at end of a bamboo was being used by a man to water his patch. Red flags of NC were posted in fields in view of assembly elections in progress.

Now we were in Rainawari 'Village of Rainas', which is like Venice.Its a network of channels between islands and every house has a boat. Earlier there were no roads and all transport was through inland waterways. The water is infested with weeds and has an unbroken green layer of algae. It sure looks unhealthy. As we progressed further inland, people had woken up. They were at the bakeries to fetch Kashmiri breads for breakfast. Butcher shops too were active with fresh carcases being hung. Kashmiris are voracious consumers of meat. And so there have always been armies of feral dogs on street. Near a mosque we found banners of Ayatollah with the Iranian General killed by Israel couple of years back. 'Its a Shia neighbourhood' Subhash said. Shias are a minority in Kashmir and are less than 10 percent of muslims.

As we passed few men congregated near a bakery a man called out to his friend ‘Yem kem Naev Janwar Che’? or ‘Who are these new animals here today’ He was not used to our helmets, sunglasses and cycling kits. We passed the ‘Akbar Bridge’ on the canal in Naidyar that means ' abode of Nai or barbers'. The canal is now full of sewage. Once it was a major waterway connecting Dal to Nageen. Houseboats used to move to Nageen throught this canal which was lifeline of the area. In no time we hit Khayam Chowk that comes alive in evenings as the best place to have non veg snacks. Soon we were on MA Road and back home.

                                                               Akbar Bridge - 1867