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| A harmonious village leads peaceful life in Turmoil | | | Hutmura (Anantnag) March 26
In the times of distress, even minute instances of courage feel refreshingly pleasing. And when the instance dates from the days when communal harmony is in question, the case sounds even more remarkable.
One such example is this village, Hatmura, two kilometers from the south Kashmir town of Mattan where Kashmiri Pandits, Muslims and Sikhs live in complete harmony. Not even a single Pandit has fled the village despite hundreds of families from neighbouring Mattan town migrating to Jammu and other parts at the start of decade of 1990s.
Unusual, yet true. The dozen families that lived in Hutmura at the start of the last decade have grown to 19 in number without a single instance of intimidation or harassment. In fact, they were protected by their Muslim brothers when ever time demanded and made to stay back despite an air of mistrust shattering faiths and uncertainty keeping neighbours at a distance.
“Muslims did not let us go. They said that they would die before letting anyone touch us,” recalls Rajdulari, now at the twilight of the journey of life. “They proposed to take us home in case we were scared to stay in our own. I still remember those anxious moments clearly,” adds the elderly Pandit woman.
Like decades and centuries before the migration, these Pandit families that have now having grown to nineteen in number, live with the majority Muslim brethren in complete harmony. But for a customary fold horizontally circling their Firan (traditional Kashmiri robe) in the middle, a first timer finds it difficult to make out a Pandit when he sits at a shop among the Muslims of his village. Judging by its cultural milieu, naming the village a Manomajra of Kashmir is no exaggeration.
At other places, Khudaa may be word in Muslim terminology only. At Hutmura, Pandits use it as frequently as Muslims do. No surprise, considering the frequency at which these Pandits interact with their Muslim neighbours; courtesy the location of their houses amidst those of Muslims and, more importantly, the social bonds that run deeper than the physical proximity.
“Who would intimidate us,” Avtar Krishen Sadhu, Rajdulari’s neighbour, waves off when asked if they have been forced to indoctrinate the terminology. “It has become a habit. Not just the word Khuda, we also say Asalamalikum and even Quranuk Kasam (I Swear by Quran). It becomes embarrassing though when we meet Pandits at Jammu and talk the same way there,” explains Avtar. But Avtar does not mind the embarrassment. “There is no harm in saying what you think are nice words. Muslims greet us with Adab Arz Mahra (the traditional way).”
Serving at the village’s Animal Husbandry Office, Avtar’s twenty four hour presence in the village makes him the soul mate of both the closely knit communities. As Avtar walks his way to the office through the main lane of the village, he is greeted at every doorstep. Near the village grocery store, as Avtar stops for a quick chat, it takes little for a group to assemble. While some have queries about their cattle, others join in just for fun. And humorous Avtar satisfies them all.
For these Pandits, this village is their world. Though most of the men go out to other areas for a job, there are no relatives to visit and no in laws to receive at home as all of them live in other parts of the country now and come here very rarely. Two of Rajdulari’s daughters too live in Jammu with their families as do the parents of her daughter-in-law, Nisha. But the very thought of parting with the village people, among whom she has spent a lifetime, shivers her.
“We share our grief with Muslims, sometimes quarrel as well and later reconcile. But no one has ever asked us to leave this village,” says Rajdulari. The occasional spats in this rural setting, in fact, reflect the freedom that Pandits enjoy to protest wherever their mind desires. “Who does not do that? Disagreements happen between all neighbours. We may disagree over matters of land, but the dispute has never been about religion,” the elderly woman puts candidly.
Was it that easy to stay on when caravan after caravan of men, women and children drove past this village in an attempt to save their lives? May be no. Neither for a Pandit daring the rough, nor for a Muslim encouraging him to do so. And both parties were aware of the risk they were taking. While Muslims recognized the Pandits’ right to live in Hutmura and stood by them, Pandits also preferred a low life in order to attract minimum attention – a necessity adaptation for survival.
“Panen chi boye. Yate rozan ne tai tele kot gachen? (Ours are they brethren. They do not live here! Where else shall they go?)” Asserts Rajdulari’s neighbour, Naseema. “Aren’t their children our own?” she asks with a different question on her face – why should someone be asking such silly things? In her innocence, she fails to understand why a Pandit should flee.
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