Historically, for the people of Kashmir, there is only one shahr or city, writes Sameer Hamdani in his new book City of Kashmir—Srinagar: A Popular History. Depending on which part of Kashmir you are in, you are either going up (khasun) or down (vasun) to Srinagar.
The common inclination is to look at Srinagar through the prism of militancy, violence and stone-pelting—like a fault line, there’s a clear demarcation between before and after 1990’s Srinagar. But this is a city older than Delhi and Lahore, shaped over two millennia by Buddhist, Hindu and Islamic cultures. Mongols, Turks, Persians, Dogras, Sikhs, British... all have been here.
It’s a city where the old and the new are perpetually colliding, writes Hamdani.
The imprints of the past are scattered through the city. The ruins of a Buddhist monastery in Harwan on the outskirts of Srinagar, discovered by archaeologist R.C. Kak in 1923, date from the 1st to the 6th century CE. It is believed that the 4th Mahayana Buddhist council was held here. The Persian influence is reflected in the crafts, language and architecture of Kashmir. (At a Kashmiri-Punjabi-Iranian wedding in Delhi a few years ago, a US-based Iranian guest remarked that I had a “Persian surname”; her cousin had the same second name. The bride’s Kashmiri side of the family found some rituals similar to the groom’s Persian ones—like the use of a mirror for the groom to see the bride’s face.) In Srinagar, the Mughals built their famed gardens: Shalimar Bagh by emperor Jehangir; Nishat Bagh by his brother-in-law Asif Khan, among others.
In the chapter Shahr-i-Kashmir, Hamdani writes that modern sensibilities tend to underestimate the role of religion in migration. In the 7th century, there was migration from the Gangetic plains to Srinagar as the Karkota dynasty rulers wanted to make Kashmir a “Hindu land”. Seven centuries later, there was migration to Srinagar from lands to the west of Kashmir. Famous Sufis from Iran and Central Asia, like Hazrat Bulbul Shah, Mir Sayyid Ali Hamadani, also known as Shah-i-Hamadan, and later his son, Mir Muhammad Hamdani, propagated their teachings here.
Through 24 short chapters, Hamdani, an architectural historian and conservationist, attempts to take the reader through the city’s storied past. Illustrated with sketches, photographs and maps, the book is divided into two parts: “City in Text”, and “City and Life”. The first section dwells largely on the medieval history of Srinagar, and in the latter, Hamdani gives a glimpse of the daily rituals of Kashmiri life.
In the chapter titled Nar (Fire), he writes that “Srinagar has lost far greater part of its built heritage to fire than to any incident of war or conflict”. Both Jamia Masjid, first built in 1402, and Khanqah-i-Maula, originally constructed by Sultan Sikander in 1395 in memory of Mir Syed Ali Hamdani, have borne the brunt of fire—the first one four times, the latter thrice. This is expected in a city where wood is predominantly used, and houses, especially in the downtown, are tightly packed. What’s interesting is how the author builds the narration around fire. Given the harsh winters, flammable substances play a pivotal role: from the use of coal in kangris (wicker-covered earthen pots) to wood-fired hamams or public bath houses and firewood chulhas or stoves at homes.
While Hamdani does not mention it, post 1990, fire was also wielded as a weapon. In 2016, dozens of schools in Kashmir were torched by arsonists following the killing of the militant Burhan Wani. In 2018, Kashmiri poet Madhosh Balhami lost a lifetime of his literary work to fire after a gunfight between security forces and militants who had taken refuge in his house. That, too, is the city’s past—while glorified for its beauty, it has seen much pain and vilification.
It’s in the chapters in “City and Life” that Hamdani, as a Kashmiri, brings alive small details, quirks, and rituals of everyday life. Like locals going on picnics in spring—called saer (from the Persian sair, to travel) or chakar (Hindustani, to move in a circle)—when fruit trees are in blossom. (Writer Krishan Chander’s Poore Chand ki Raat, set in Kashmir, evokes the romance of almond and apricot blossoms.) At the foothills of Hari Parbat is Badaamwari (almond garden), a popular picnic spot in spring. The hill is also the site of a fort (built by an Afghan governor in the 19th century), Makhdoom Sahib shrine, a temple, and in the vicinity is Gurudwara Chatti Patshahi. No friction there.
Till six-seven decades ago, affluent families would take outings, often for days, on dongas (boats), not surprising for a city sprawled on either side of the Jhelum and dotted with ghats, shrines and temples.
Similarly, there’s a chapter on chai, the use of samovar—a Russian invention—as a utilitarian object, not one of luxury, and how consumption of tea was prevalent in Srinagar well before the arrival of the British. But in the context of tea, Hamdani does not mention kandurwans, or traditional bakeries, found in every neighbourhood. These not only sell an assortment of breads for morning and evening teas but also act as social hubs where people meet and chat.
The chapter I found most telling is Raghunath Mandir. Hamdani, visiting the vandalised temple in Fateh Kadal a few decades after the forced exodus of Kashmiri Pandits in 1990, found a group of young men sitting around a makeshift fire in the corridor playing cards and smoking what he presumes to be charas. The walls were black from soot, indicating that it must be their regular hangout spot. Surprisingly, the sanctum sanctorum, where once the idols used to be, bore no traces of fire or soot. The men said they kept away from it as “Aati ass yim paran” or “They (Hindus) used to read (pray) there.”
Here’s a temple, built in 1875 by Maharaja Ranbhir Singh, the second Dogra king of Kashmir, still standing minus its worshippers, a place of refuge for a bunch of young men, who are showing reverence in their own way—perhaps a semblance of what we call Sufi culture.
Hamdani closes the book with A City in Revolt, dwelling on the winter of 1989 and later. “The idea of Srinagar as a cosmopolitan city fell apart (that year),” he writes. Like some other chapters in the book, he attempts to simplify a complex situation in a few pages. Sample this: “Armed militancy arrived, and with it, killings. The Hindus left; they would never return.” For a book which dwells on the Persian and Sufi influence on Kashmir, there’s not much mention of the rise of radical Islam, which targeted a certain community, persecuted artists, shut down cinema halls and beauty parlours, and imposed restrictions on women. But then, as he writes, “...the inherited memories of the year and the years that followed, have been compartmentalised into mutually competing and contradictory narratives.”
While Hamdani’s book is concise, it only offers a snapshot. He does not reflect on the present: how the city has changed in the last 35 years, in terms of its architecture, complexion, culture, ethos and outlook. He writes that this is the first part of a two-volume work, his first venture into popular history. Perhaps the second volume will offer some of those answers.