Snow, snow, snow

Once it started snowing, for three days we didn't have much to do. So I am clubbing the three days here...

On the first morning of 2006 I was woken up by a loud shout. Quyum saab had entered our room shouting, “Fools get up, it’s snowing!” We jumped out of the bed and straight on to the window. Boy, frankly speaking, I had never witnessed something like that in my entire life. White earth, white trees, white mountains, white river, white huts (yes all of this was visible from our window), white everything; the whole Valley was as if covered with pristine white satin. Vast tracts of snow till the horizon (in fact there was no horizon as a white earth would meet a white sky). Just too much of white. I wonder why the washing powder ad guys haven’t got an idea yet. The whole of Kashmir looked like a greeting card, as if divinity had descended on earth to wish Happy New Year. I must be blessed to have been there.
The next few hours we went mad clicking pictures propping ourselves up on every stupid thing we found — the idea was to have as many snaps as possible before the snow stopped. We were in a hurry for no reason, we found out. It kept snowing relentlessly through the day. We were all locked up inside, munching on kebabs and sipping on alcohol.
This was the time every Kashmiri loved — for farmers it meant good crops in summers and for others it meant a long sabbatical, for snow in January wouldn’t melt till Feb. But for one Kashmiri, it was special. Shafi saab (Quyum saab’s cousin) could now sit for days and play cards. He has a local record to his name: played cards continuously for three days. Certainly, it was shared by some equally enthusiastic friends. An example of this we saw in the afternoon. Shafi saab has constructed a new residence a few yards away from his ancestral home. The greatest feature of the new residence is its living room equipped with a hammam. (For those who don’t know, hammam is a kind of fireplace beneath the floor. In winters Kashmiris use it to keep their room warm.) Shafi saab’s children are fighting the snow to ignite the hammam. For them it’s a picnic of sorts. But in their enthusiasm they have put a little too much of wood and the floor has turned into a hot tin roof. The sitting postures in the room shift gradually, from bums-on-the-floor to squatting, to standing, to jumping… But the game continues. Talk about sporting passion.
It’s all great fun, but by evening it has got to too much of a good thing. The whole Kashmir has come to a standstill. Srinagar is shut. All roads blocked, no flight take offs. I know I am stuck. I had plans of returning by road. But that’s out of question. I am informed that in this kind of weather, even after the snow is cleared, there are chances I could be stuck up on my way to Jammu for upto 20 days. Everyone is now having fun at the expense of my distress. “Beta tum to fans gaye… ek kaam karo, Feb tak ruko aur is bar garmiya dekh kar hi jana…” Yeah, rrrright…
With a sinking heart I go to the bed only to wake up to more snow next morning. This time it’s even heavier. All the guests who had come visiting on the New Year’s eve are stuck at our place. Lot of discussions, lot of gossip and loads of stories. One among the guests, known as Tehsildar saab (he is the tehsildar for Kangan Tehsil), is narrating his travails in his a-year-and-half (1990-91) posting in Talel, a high altitude region in Kashmir, also a high infiltration zone. ‘Working in Talel-Gurej areas is not easy, but if government sends you there you have no option. More than 10 feet of snow and wind whistling past you through night and day, it can’t get tougher. In winters it gets terribly worse. There are blizzards that stop all activity, there is very little anyways. All you do is sit inside and eat meat. Yes that is the only thing available to eat. It’s freezing (for want of a better word) cold at –30 degrees. No one stays on the ground floor; it’s covered in snow. And if someone dies, he remains buried for the next six months in snow. Only when the summers arrive anyone can hope to dig earth. There is no power, there is nothing. You just have to sit and wait for the winters to get over. But here, in the middle of it we have got marching orders (transferred). In so much of snow no vehicle can ferry us. And to avail of a vehicle we must reach Bandipore, 86 km from Talel. Some ten of us start our march on foot in more than 10 feet of snow. In such weather even the snow has frozen and walking on it is like walking on glass. We must be careful as we are going downhill. Everyday we are supposed to cover 20 km in order to reach the next BFS camp for the night stay. There is no scope of getting tired and relaxing in the middle. It could anytime start snowing and with no shelter one could be buried. It was an ultimate test of endurance. Amongst us there was also this elderly fellow who could not bear this ordeal and requested us, ‘You guys go ahead and leave me here. Let me die peacefully if I have to.’ But we somehow persuaded and gave him the courage to walk again. We walked for five continuous days before we reached Bandipore.”
There were many more stories but either not too interesting or too regular to deserve a mention here (I am cutting short on terrorism stories as advised by some discerning readers). It again snowed through the day. And now the panic that was once married to me was engaging one more — my colleague. “Yaar aise hi baraf girti rahi to lagta hai mai bhi nahi ja paunga… Kal dekhna boukhala ke suraj nikalega…” Talk about height of optimism. But he was right; the next morning sun was glaring on us. The Valley looked even more beautiful now. With fog disappearing, visibility increased; the snow-clad peaks with a diamond glint seemed to dazzle and overpower the mortals at its foot. Tree shadows cast on snow made for beautiful photo frames. We once again headed out with our cameras.
The afternoon was fixed with Shafi saab. We went to, once again, for the last time, enjoy his hammam. This time it was much controlled and nice. The lesson from the earlier experience was well taken. Bhabhi served us cake (in Kashmir they are always serving cake) and asked, “Kaun si chai piyenge? Kashmiri ya Lipton?” Another question that everybody asks. Wonder how Lipton has invaded the Valley. Anyways, another discussion on Kashmir ensues (I shall spare you the details) till it’s evening and time to go before it’s too dark. We must leave early and Shafi saab accompanies us. We ask him to stay with us for a while but he pleads: “Sher ka khatra hai.” In the nights, leopards from the jungle stray into villages to hunt cattle and dogs.
That reminds me of another interesting story that was narrated to us the other day. One of Quyum saab’s neighbours was once guarding his apple orchard in the night sitting atop a machaan (a platform high above the ground, with bamboo sticks pillaring the structure). Bears had been a menace for a while and being a hunter he thought he would kill one that day. With his gun all loaded, he waited till midnight for the beast. It finally arrived. There was some commotion in the bushes near his door and with the precision of an Olympic shooter he pierced the bullet right through its heart. Dead on the spot. With a pride-in-skill suffused smile when he went to check out the carcass, it turned out to be a dead body. The dead body of his father, who had come out to pee.