PARADISE ON EARTH

"Gar firdaus, ruhe zamin ast, 

hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast."

If there is ever a heaven on earth, it's here, it's here, its here. 

You just cannot miss Kashmir-   a crown as well as a thorn for India.  Despite the bloodiest communal carnage in history, the Indo-Pak partition occasioned no major dispute between the two countries except Kashmir - Pakistan felt that the reason for which Hyderabad was integrated with India should have been good enough for Kashmir to go with them. The Kashmir problem has accounted for huge armies and defence expenditure on both sides, and the angst of losing out Kashmir probably drove Pakistan into the hands of its army.  Kashmir gave us two full fledged wars and much cause for celebration and chest thumping which sustained us even during the first decade of resumption of cricketing ties from 1977 when we lost more than we won on the cricketing grounds. 

Kalhan's Rajtarangini has chronicled the region's history. The climate of Kashmir has drawn pilgrims, tourists, emperors and Prime Ministers over the years. Its fruits are famous- apples, peaches, plums, apricots and many varieties of berries and nuts which you probably read only in Enid Blyton books.  Its saffron is  prized, its gardens the most beautiful. Kashmir's natural beauty has been celebrated in the many films shot there and a beautiful woman in often called Kashmir ki Kali in this country obsessed with white complexion. In every household whose members  had visited Kashmir, a photo of the lady of the house in her younger years, decked in a phiran, a head cover, and imitation jewellery is a prized frame displayed in the drawing room. 

But somehow, the place would give me a miss. As a probationer at NPA, Hyderabad, I had two chances to visit the state -  during the Bharat Darshan in 1989 and Army Attachment in 1990. But the state , sucked into militancy after the "rigged elections" of 1986,  had become too hot for probationers to be taken on an excursion while the draw of lots sent me to Tenga Valley in Arunachal rather than Ahknoor where a few of my luckier colleagues were sent for the Olive Green attachment. My luck with Kashmir remained kind of mixed.

When I visited it for the first time in July this year, covering Srinagar, Traal and Pulwama  in a straddle across two days, the beginning was  a let down. The roads were about the worst I have seen on highways ( and I am sure this has nothing to do with paucity of funds)   in recent years. The apples in the miles of orchards I passed by hadn't ripened as yet. My CRPF colleagues were abuzz with the tales of unprecedented damage in the floods the previous September , a spurt in militant activities and intensification of organised protests. The Indian government was not particularly popular, and the Kashmiris routinely indulged in pro- Pakistan posturing,  though my gut feeling is that it was being done more to extract concessions than to secede to Pakistan.   People in general were warm and polite towards the tourists .

The following day when I alighted from the gondola  at Gulmarg, I was clearly disappointed. Gulmarg in July is an absolutely over- rated destination, slush accompanies for over eighty yards after you alight  and for the next eighty the dark and dirty material looks more like sludge than snow.  I am sure, however, it would be a fantastic destination from November to May and I do intend to send my daughter for a skiing course there.

After the disappointment of Gulmarg, the sun shone on my luck even as it set across the Dal Lake which I hit just before 5.30 pm.  It sank,  a perfect ball of crimson without breaking,  leaving a glow of red above, lovely to behold through silhouetted paddle boats, shikharas and houseboats. As darkness fell, the waters of the lake, over and under which the Zabarwan hills had been clearly visible a few moments ago, shimmered with the lights of the hotels on the Boulevard which clasps the Dal as well as that of the houseboats. A few Single Malts and a dinner of Rista and Goshtaba in the stimulating company of my Everesteer batchmate Atul Karwal completed a perfect day. A round of golf at Royal Springs the following morning provided the icing on the cake. 

But luck once again did a flip flop when I took my family for our first ever family trip this month. Probably it was the wrath of Goddess for running away from her in Kolkata. The sky on 18th instant in Srinagar was overcast, we were denied the sun  throughout  the  250 odd  steps climb to the Shankaracharya temple or the  visit to  Chashmashahi where my wife and daughter did the customary Kashmiri Ki Kali photo shoot. The Dal Lake appeared to be filled up with weeds, sad looking and empty houseboats, the  shikara rides were fewer in a leaner tourist season, and there was much less hustle and bustle . The chinar, the state tree, whose leaves after the autumnal shedding are also used as a fuel in the kangris during winters, had yet to turn yellow and orange to rival the American or European Fall.

In the long series of disturbances that have come to punctuate life in Kashmir, one more was added during our stay. A boy, Zahid, conductor of a truck, succumbed to burn injuries sustained in a

"politics of hate" attack at Udhampur by a gang led by an ex-constable. This triggered prolonged protests marred with severe stone pelting and were denied the pleasure of visiting Pahalgam where we had been booked for two nights in Pine and Peak, a resort by the Lidder and reputed to be as fine as any out there. I was especially  looking forward to visiting Aru Valley, recommended by my friend Zulfiquar, and a round of golf at the Pahalgam Golf Club. 

During such flare-ups, the time after ten in the night to about seven in the morning is normally considered safer for travel since stone pelters rule the roost for the rest of the day  but we were just unlucky.  Contrast this with Bengal, whose poorer work culture rubs off on the  bandh enforcers as well - they don't start their business before ten in the morning and are spent by six in the evening. A saving grace here is that tourists are not harmed, contrary to popular notions prevailing amongst many Indians. 

Anyway, we were back in Srinagar and  tolerated a bad first half with rain and indoors on the 19th. I spiced up the proceedings with some Kingfisher Ultra, but was  still feeling low. Even the second ride on the Dal which included a visit to the CRPF guarded Kabootar Khana with an approach through a green carpet of water lilies did not cheer me up enough, though I did make a note of spending a night here during my next visit. 

But Durga is a benevolent goddess. She cannot remain angry for long, and appeared before us in the form Bilal,  seconded to me from Atul. Bilal suggested a  visit to Sonamarg and make the best of a bad bargain. We brightened up and even the kids obliged by being ready to move by 8.30 in the morning.The Google will tell you that Sonamarg or Golden Meadow lies about 87 kms on the NH1D from Srinagar, is situated at  the head of Sind River and is also a gateway to Ladakh. It is the base for treks to Harmukh range via Nichnal, Vishensar Lake, Gangabal and on to Nara Nag , and the pilgrim route to Amarnath Cave as well. Besides, it is famous for trout fishing.

The trouble with Kashmir is that its beauty has been so hyped up about being heaven on earth and being even more beautiful than Switzerland that comparisons can never be avoided. The stretch of first 50 kilometres was disappointing-  the road was bad,  the sides were strewn with garbage and construction debris or boulders stacked for repair. In the small hamlets in Ganderbal district we went through, the air was kind of melancholic- sad men in their phirens, their empty sleeves flailing about them;  cheerless women covered in various types of headdress; the school children in smart uniforms but with solemn faces. The only saving grace was the Sind river that flowed to our right on its rocky bed through the ranges-  here terraced, there dotted with small tin shacks of the shepherds who would have probably left them by now, the slopes somewhere clawed a dirty white as the scree piled up in heaps at mid height levels. 

However, things brightened up after we crossed Manigam (which houses the Police  Subsidiary Training Centre at Manigam and doubles up as a the base camp for Amarnath pilgrims) and reached  Gund to have some much needed kahwa and the children to spend some time with furiously playful dogs of the local CRPF camp. The sun shone with its friendliest welcome brightness , and about twenty kilometres before Sonmarg, the mountains just burst out to leave you awestruck. The taller mastiffs and crags glistened with fresh snow from the previous day's fall while downward streaks of snow was visible  on most of the hills - in a couple of months, they  would claim the  slopes fully and even freeze the stream and block traffic to Leh.  A few resorts by the river which one marked to drop in during our return and soon we were in Sonamarg. Sonmarg town is a ribbon of about a couple of kilometres in length and not more than two hundred meters in depth, dotted with two-three storied hotels cum restaurants, none very upmarket but still bright and cheerful, and possibly welcoming. 

But first things first. We had to go its most famous been- there- done- that place, the Thajawas valley, glacier and range. Up above a circular road that went past a golf course and the Sonamarg Club we motored to reach a small bazar where the horses and their keepers awaited the tourists with much anticipation. We , too, hired horses, though I can tell you it is not really needed.  Hardly ten minutes on the horseback , negotiating two streams of freshly melted ice on a rough bed with a few driftwood strewn about , I was hit head - on with a site more beautiful than whatever I had seen previously  in  Lucerne or Mt.Titlis or at Interlaken  way back in the summer of 2005. 

The valley snaked for miles it seemed, the whiteness of its bed broken by moraines lying here and there hiding small rivulets, shrubs of itching plant and plenty of large boulders to rest and get clicked.  Much nearer on both sides, the steep hills were white and green , the deodars standing in their full majesty, quite like inverted water sprouts , the slopes clearly defined against an azure sky. The snow line was rather tame and gradual  in many stretches, much like the ones you could draw in your junior school drawing classes, but somewhere much afar, the gentleness was replaced by a craggy sharpness, as a series of thin peaks dotted the horizon- like  icicles, in different shades of white and grey, hanging from the sky.

You can trust Indians to pollute places with impunity. It was no different here. The shacks, built around deserted cloisters of shepherds, were topped with dirty blue plastic sheets and offered kahwa , soft drinks and somewhere a fire for a cosy huddle but there no trash bins and people merrily flung the plastic cups and tetra packs. Some locals offered a sledge ride  which I refused after my Gulmarg experience.  We walked in as far as we could, negotiating small cracks of water that came up every fifty feet or so, listening to the locals talk about the places's most famous moment - the locale for shooting of Bajrangi Bhaijaan. We spent an hour there and returned to the bazaar, settled the money for the rides after a bit of amiable haggling, and journeyed down through verdant meadows where horses grazed lazily, their only visible activity being the occasional swishing of tails. 

After placing  order for lunch at Sonasar, we travelled to try our luck at trout fishing but the facility was closed for the day, then suffered a bit of jam around trucks which carried boulders of the Sind nullah, sped past the base camp of RR for the Amarnath  pilgrims, along clear waters to spend time in the vast meadow and to take  more snaps. Sonamarg was not done as yet. At Sonasar, the mutton khuruma cooked in curd and ajwain and saunf was by far the most delicious of the dishes we had eaten in Kashmir,  spread across plates of rogan josh, rista, goshtaba, tabak maaz and many others. 

The following morning we spent at Dachigam ( ten villages) National Park at the foothills of the Zabarwan Range .  The highlights included a stroll in the garden whose walnut trees had  recently been plucked, a walk on a path cushioned with pine needles up to the View Point , breathing in the sharp smell of pine,  a visit to the  lovely Meditation Point by a fast flowing mountain stream where Indira Gandhi spent long hours in silent contemplation and relaxation and  a small stop at the trout breeding centre. We rounded our trip with some leisurely time at the impossibly beautiful Nishat gardens  and some shopping before returning to the heavily guarded Srinagar airport.

Bilal hugged and left us only after extracting a promise of visiting Pahalgam the following year - the "unfinished agenda of Kashmir " he seemed to say. He had already organised a crate of the best Shopian apples for Rs. 500/- from the local mandi and assured to send more. 

" Come during May, that is the best time ," he said before waving a final goodbye.