TIO
Satish Warrier
The boar (Varaha) had once again triumphed over the demons. I realised the context of an old myth during my trip to Baramulla and Uri,which started off as a ritualistic trip to revisit my childhood but turned out to be a drive down the changing history of the „Paradise on Earth‟.
My father was part of the initial team of Indian Engineers hired by NHPC to assist in the Uri Hydel Project which was being constructed by European consortium called „Uri Civil‟. My father would bring us here during the summer vacations. It was a family ritual, which I continued despite my father‟s death two years back. The lockdown had delayed my travel plans, however after managing necessary permissions and e-Passes, I embarked on my journey. I owed it to my father. I owed it to myself.
I travelled along the same route which we took, back then in late 80s, only this time, I was alone in my car. My father‟s voice seemed to speak to me through the whispering winds passing through the swaying poplar trees. He appeared to be saying, “Hey, good to see you. Where have you been? What took you so much of time?” Last I visited this place was in 1993. To my innocent query on why I couldn’t come and visit my father, he would say, “Yahan ka paani kharab ho gaya hai” (Water of this place has been contaminated). The name, Baramulla he would say was derived from the Sanskrit word Varahamulameaning „Boar‟s Molar’. The name stems from the Indian Mythology wherein, Kashmir Valley was a lake known as Satisaras or the lake of Sati (Parvati), which was occupied by the demon Jalodbhava. Lord Vishnu, came in the form of a boar and opened the mountain range (at Varahamula) so that the water flowed out of the lake and thus destroying the demon.
As I passed through the town, I was acutely aware of the origin of the town and its gruesome history. The barbaric action by the tribal invaders assisted by Pakistani soldiers in civilian clothes was a wound that would forever remain in the psyche of the residents. The invaders had moved along the same road I was travelling. On 25 October 1947, they captured Baramulla and spent next two days looting, raping and killing the residents of the village. They vandalized shrines and temples. They raped and killed Christian Missionary Nuns and Nurses. Fortunately, the Indian Army landed in Srinagar to drive the invaders out on October 27 and were driven back till Uri in Baramulla district.
The town of Baramulla no longer was the wounded victim, traumatised by the barbaric act. The town had developed into a bustling town of trade and commerce. The life was limping back after months of lockdown. The Youth were reaching out and grabbing the possibilities that the prevailing peace was heralding. I was told that Govt of J&K and Tatas in a joint venture assisted by Indian Army were developing a Robotics Lab at Baramulla. „Robotics‟ at Baramulla!!! –„ How cool is that?!! It would be a giant leap for the youth of the Kashmir.
As I moved along the river Jhelum, I crossed the security forces standing vigil to safeguard the hard earned peace in the region. I stopped and interacted with the soldiers, like my father would have done. I had fond memories of the soldiers who would fling candies as they passed us in their large trucks. The soldiers were courteous, they even offered me some hand sanitisers.
After exchanging pleasantries, I moved on to my destination – Uri. It was where the line was drawn up in 1947 between India and the Pak Occupied Territory, after the invader were driven back by Indian Army and India declared ceasefire unilaterally. My car was momentarily stopped by a herd of mountain goats gently herded by the Bakarwals (Goatherders). This simple community was instrumental in thwarting the evil designs of Pakistani Army trying to invade into Indian territory masquerading as tribals later in 1965.
I reached my destination and witnessed the toils of the past doing its duty of harnessing the playful Jhelum. The water gushed and played around as it tumbled over the spillways of the dam, gleefully joining the river. The river water filled the paddy fields, heralding the prosperous harvest. I sat and watched the continuous flow of the river – the giver of life. The river was silent witness of the changing times. It could sense the changing fate of the generation. It was heralding a future full of possibilities. I silently prayed for the peace to linger a little longer, the sapling of normalcy which had just found roots, still had to grow strong into a glorious chinar tree. A tree which would give refuge to so many lives as they claimed their share of happiness and prosperity that they truly deserved. I looked up to the clear blue skies and said, “Baba, Pani ab saaf ho raha hai” (The murky waters are clearing out). Maybe the Varaha had destroyed the demons once again.
