The original tombstones with fresh lettering
Our houseboat was called Al Zira, and the young man whose family owned it greeted us as we climbed aboard. The rooms inside were panelled entirely with walnut-carved wood. Our bedroom was modest in size compared to the honeymoon suite, where the walnut panelling had burst into a cornucopia of florid carvings. We had tea in the wooden verandah facing the lake, still overwhelmed with the events of the afternoon.
The next morning after breakfast, we leisurely made our way to the shore to meet Mohiyuddin who drove us to the Droogjen graveyard first. Mama Kulu and his brother Younas met us like old friends. The tombstones had been removed in order to make the plinth. After reciting prayers for them, I chatted with Mama Kulu.
“Why were the graves covered?” I asked him. He looked embarrassed. “For 70 years no one came. But you can rest assured no one will touch them now.” I looked at the towering Chinar tree besides the graves and thought that it must have been my great grandfather who would have buried his beloved son under the tree to provide him shade.
We went down to the houses again and, this time, there were signs of life. As I entered through the small wooden gate, I was met by a smiling woman. “Come and meet my husband,” she said excitedly, “He’s from Pakistan!” We were led into the boarded-up verandah towards the left side of the house and into a carpeted room with floor seating. Her husband, Shaikh Salim, had suffered a stroke and could barely move. However, his speech and hearing was not impeded. “We moved from Lahore in 1947 and Thanedar sahib offered us accommodation in this house. This house was full of furniture and precious items but the custodians moved it all two years later when Thanedar died.”
We gathered that his parents expected to own the house after Ghulam Muhammad died. Apparently, he and his numerous brothers rented two rooms each in the house. My great grandfather’s house, on the other end of the lawn, had been rented out as office space. Perhaps it was a blessing that my grandmother and her progeny never saw the desecration of their old homes.
We were due to leave for Pehelgam and Gulmarg the next morning and drove via Droogjan again. The new plinth had been made and the tombstones had been placed in their original places. On our return, I arranged with Mama Kulu to have pirs recite the Quran besides the graves. I also distributed halwa roti and toffees for the children as my great grandfather had done all those years ago, and I felt a great sense of peace.
Upon our return, my uncle Jahangir Khan drove down from Islamabad to visit us.
“What you had was a spiritual journey,” he said, “and it’s entirely appropriate that Nayyar’s daughter should have discovered the graves. Nayyar was the closest out of all of us to our father and grandparents.”
Later, Uncle Jahangir sent us a very moving letter reproduced in part below.
My Dear Aijaz and Nazu,
Sixty nine years is a life time for painful memories to suddenly come alive in a profoundly moving emotional and cathartic experience. Seeing the home where Abba ji, Mummy Dear, Nayyer, Raza, Lala Rukh and Gul lived and siblings grew up. In flashback, Droogjen appears to be nothing short of heaven with its pomegranate, cherry, almond and peach blossoms in springtime bloom drenching the air with their heady aroma in sync with the hum of honey bees. Jealously guarded lavender hedges, which Dadi jee used to store her and Dada Ji’s winter clothing and ‘razais’ in the loft atop the house!
One could go on and on with the nostalgia and become sadder and sadder.
Beneath the banter, I was much too overcome to thank you and Nazu for giving me the opportunity to relive a chapter of my adolescence which I shall forever cherish.
Fondest Love,
JAY KAY
There were floods the next year in Kashmir and the Dalgate area was inundated. The houses that were already in a fragile state must have taken a battering with floodwaters. The graves were much higher and would have been spared. Since then, Kashmir has been an even more troubled place than before. I am grateful that I was able to fulfill a wish of two lifetimes — my mother’s and mine — to reconnect with our common past.
Shahnaz Aijazuddin is an author and translator of Urdu classics, including the Tilism-i-Hoshruba (published in 2009)
Published in Dawn, EOS, March 10th, 2019