Thursday, October 6, 2011

Introduction

Sham S. Misri
Born, brought up, educated and lived and married in Kashmir, one of the beautiful places in the world. In my mind this best place in the world is Mother Kashmir, which is what I call home. Everyone knows everyone because we have the same mother.
 I did my Masters degree in Science (Zoology) from Kashmir University. Initially worked in a college   as a lecturer where I was familiar with the children and the staff. I later on switched over my job to Central services where I joined as a scientist, and retired from the same organization as Deputy Director, a senior level officer. Over the years of my active career a lot has been contributed to the cause of Education and science in my own field. There have been many publications in various scientific journals and magazines.
Circumstances forced me and my family to flee from my native place because of barbaric acts of the militants over there in the valley, thus, leaving us as migrants. My mother conquered a great deal in her life, but she can do nothing about her heartbreak and her longing for her home in Kashmir, her routine, her vendors, and her neighbors. She is gone now, having died peacefully in Jammu, surrounded by her children, all sons and daughters, sons-in law and daughter –in laws. She was reassured at the sight of her children who had collected at her bedside; yet her face betrayed the homesickness that was eating away at her. She would have given anything to go home just once. She, always house proud, used to say that she would like to go home at least once to have the furniture dusted the house cleaned, and to have everything sorted out. We could not let her go, as old and delicate as she was. We did not want her to find out what we had hidden from her all these years that her house had been robbed bare by militant crowds out on a rampage against the homes of Kashmiri Pandits. The neighborhood she wanted to go back is now a battlefield. We lived at Baghat, Barzulla, Srinagar, with a big chunk of land and a huge building, now raised to ground. The city is familiar with firearms and weapons. Foreigners have cropped up everywhere, like unfamiliar trees and no one asks who sent them or why they came.
 I have my wife Sarla with me. She is M.A. B Ed. and has worked in the Education Department. She has cooperated with me through thick and thin, and she bore me three beautiful children Sandeep, Sanjla and Sumeet. All of them have been given superior higher education at a time when the conditions in Kashmir were extremely bad. I along with my wife had to prove in harder times how to keep the crucial education of our children going. We Kashmiris have a belief, that, our wealth is to give education to our children. In difficult times our children co-operated with us. They perhaps put in extra hours of labor and got admissions in various professional colleges on their own steam. They became engineers and are doing very well in their jobs. They have a strong educational background. They are all married; their wives are also engineers and are happy.
 A proud and highly civilized race has been beaten, defeated, and driven out of our birth place- “Kashmir valley.” The cruel militants have evicted us, and made us homeless. They humbled and disgraced and finally ejected us systematically. The Muslim neighbors cannot help me even if they want to do so. For the first time in Kashmir the veils (burqas) and the bindi became weapons of communal division in the hands of the militants. 

Many of my community, the Kashmiri Pandits, a “Kashur Batta” leave Kashmir. Reluctantly, I, along with my wife and small children leave the Kashmir valley, the valley of my ancestors, looking for safety wherever I can find it. I am a migrant in my own country. Not one, not hundreds, not thousands, but in lakhs, Kashmiri Pandits flee from Kashmir.  We Kashmiri’s call ourselves the children of Rishis; we learnt from them how to live with harmony and in tranquil. Now our pride is lost, our houses razed to ground, and the people of my community live in refugee camps, some under tents and some near the graveyards. The wheel of the world moves on and the Kashmiri Pandit community has got dispersed-now globally. 

Those left alive, have, over the years drawn themselves inwards into a protective shell.  It was here in this shell that this folktale was born, and nursed.  But Alas!  We have been drugged, and the drug has caused dullness and sleep. This folktale of ours will remain a picture to this fact. My father, Pandit Janki Nath Misri, was an eminent Educationist, a perfect nobleman, and highly disciplined. He taught many, I repeat many; some became Chief Ministers, some Deputy Commissioners, some famous doctors and some lawyers. With affection people would call him Gautam Buddha, what a name, status and stature? In my childhood I would take it otherwise, but no, he was a man of principle, and he retired as a principal of a reputed high school. A celebrity, an author and a gentleman, with a series of publications to his credit. I wonder about the books of my father, the books that he wrote with all care and attention. The books that gave him fame. I remember how publishers used to come with the typed manuscripts, and how much pains he used to take in making the corrections with his green ink pen which he used all along his life. Many of the manuscripts were typed by none other than my wife Sarla, newly married to me. My father’s this daughter in law, an M.A. B Ed., he loved, because he had value for education. He had two more graduate daughters in laws. My father’s modest library had more than thousand books. He would call these books priceless and his treasure. The Book of Knowledge, Several Encyclopedias, books on science, Mathematics, religion and what not. All the books were in hard bound. He would always keep a track of all the books the people would borrow from him. He had catalogued all the books in his library and pasted oval printed bookplates inside the covers.  The labels bore catalogue numbers and a famous quote
“My library was dukedom large enough”-The Tempest.
I along with my wife and children have widely travelled to various countries like United States of America, the United Kingdom, India, and Canada. Now we belong to all world, and all men are our brothern.
I am here at Seattle, Washington as of now. This I had never thought. For me as most of the Kashmiris it is a dream. Had we been here under normal circumstances things would have been different, anyway, a dream is a dream which has come true. We meet here often, Hindus Kashmiri Battas, the children of Rishi Var, the valley of our common sages, and there are many of us in the United States now. We have get-togethers; we have Kashmiris food and talk to each other in Kashmiri, something we cannot share with anyone else. A single sentence in Kashmiri can reduce us to tears or laughter as no other language can. Even if we live in the calm of Washington, USA, all of us are thrashing about internally, for different reasons, redoing our inner maps. We do not talk much about the current situation in Kashmir, what we talk is about our past culture, we carry on as if nothing had happened.

I am nick named as Bairaj. I love to teach and narrate stories to children, young and old. I love to read. In Kashmir we had a 14th Centaury poet, Lal Ded. A saint, some say a god. Her over four hundred Vaakhs are words of wisdom.  I read them and have memorized them. Apparently I feel I don’t remember, but when I start reciting there is the flow. In exile I have tried to put them in ‘Antakshri ‘form where either the last alphabet or any significant alphabet of the last word may be used to start new vakh.           
            Omei Akooie Achur Paroom 
              Sui Ha Maali Ratoom Vondas Manz
              Sui Ha Maali Kani Peth Garoom Ta Charoom
              Aasas saas Ta Sapdas Sone.
Sone Drav Vohion Mal Gose Wathit
Yeli Mei Aneel Ditus Taao
Kater Zan Gayas Lole Weglith
Ithpath Kathkosh Goul Ta Nish Rav Draov.
Vadane Seetai Gaash Ho Mari
Vadane Vadane Meli Na Zanh
Mun Kar Saaf Tai Zeri Eka Meli
Emav Shala Tungav Nerey Kaya
Aami Pana Sadras Naavi Chas Lamaan
Kati Bozi Dyii Meone Meti Deyee Taar
Aamen Takyan Poien Zan Shaman
Zu Chum Bramaan Ghar Gach Ha