Like the magician of fable whose soul resided elsewhere, I feel my soul wanders the mystical mountains of Kashmir.

Zumurrud kih dawr murassa ba murvarid – the emerald set in pearls – is how one poet described the verdant Kashmir valley surrounded on all sides by snow-covered Himalayan peaks, and one would be hard pressed to find words more appropriate.

I feel a stab of longing every time I gaze at the peaks that ring the valley on all sides. As every visitor to Kashmir knows, that would mean pretty much every upward glance whenever I am outdoors. In younger days, I spent many a late summer wandering these lofty wildernesses and the desire to attain them again is like a physical ache.

With far more eloquence than I can ever hope to achieve, a traveller from a bygone age seems to have somehow divined my memories and put them to paper. Join me as he guides us on a magical journey that he calls the river-road:

the jehlum is a most elusive river, and it comes by a thousand roads – ten thousand, said the ancients. … the merry ripples dancing over the frequent shallows, the lapping of its wavelets against the side of your boat speak a most enchanting language, blotting out all the world you have left behind you and luring you on to follow further the road by which it has come … if you listen to their eager, swift beguiling, they will lead you very far, by ways of exquisite beauty and utter desolation….

….those who have followed up one of the mountain streams which lead you into the heart of this "abode of snow," will understand how like treachery it would seem to disclose an exact route, to measure and map and lay out marches through all that loveliness which was for you alone, and into which you wandered almost by accident. if your fate is good and you can face the difficulty, you will find for yourself the end of the river-road.

Its funny how you want your kids to experience memories from your own childhood.

As kids we would often stop at the Mattan temple to feed the catfish en route to Pahalgam. Nowadays Mattan is off the beaten track for revellers rushing to and from Pahalgam.

During a recent trip, we managed to avoid the mother of all traffic jams by travelling to Pahalgam early in the day. On the return trip however everyone seemed to have caught on to the early travel idea so we turned off towards Mattan to avoid the rush. After feeding the fish I decided to take my kids to see Martand – the most famous archaeological site in Kashmir. Martand is just a few kilometres up the plateau from Mattan.

Here is what Sir Walter Lawrence has to say about Martand:

Occupying, undoubtedly, the finest position in Kashmir, this noble ruin is the most striking in size and situation of all the existing remains of Kashmir grandeur….

The Valley Of Kashmir – Walter Lawrence

At the entrance of the perfectly manicured gardens surrounding the ruins was a sign that said 'Achabal 9 kms' so I thought 'why not ?' I am glad that we decided to take the detour to Achabal because the drive is simply superb.

The road passes up and down karewas (plateaus), through emerald fields and fruit-laden orchards to the foothills of the Pir Panjal. There is no sign of the soulless constructions that scar either side of the more touristy highways to Pahalgam or Gulmarg. Just uninterrupted vistas of south Kashmir as far as the eye can see.

Over to our commenter, Sir Walter Lawrence :
Perhaps the most beautiful of all the springs is Achabal, which gushes out of the Sosanwar hill, and was at once enlisted by the emperor Jehangir in the service of beauty and pleasure.

It is said that the Brang river which disappears at Dewalgam in the fissures of the limestone is the real source of the Achibal spring*.

Certainly Achabal has the most impressive fountains of all the Mughal gardens of Kashmir and the water itself is sweet and wholesome, though Kokernag is reputed to have the best tasting water in the valley. Sadly a trip to Kokernag could not materialise due to time constraints.

"Here is another spring called Kokarnag, whose water satisfies both hunger and thirst, and it is also a remedy for indigestion"
Ain Akbari – Abul Fazl

Inshallah our next trip will include Kokernag , Verinag and Daksum , all of which evoke pleasant childhood memories.

Watch this space.

*Scientific studies (Tracer testing) conducted in 2013 confirmed the source of Achabal to be underground currents from the Bringi stream at Dewalgam and Adigam.
(DOI:10.1007/978-3-319-39259-2_17)

A few years ago there was a concerted smear campaign against doctors of the valley. Newspapers, radio and television talk shows, even the public at large joined the chorus. Senior politicians also joined the 'hate doctors' campaign but no responses were forthcoming from the normally vociferous leaders of our associations and unions. I felt compelled to write a letter titled "In defence of doctors' to the newspaper spearheading the campaign and was somewhat surprised to see that the editor had chosen to print my response virtually unedited on the editorial page.

Some excerpts:

It seems to be a long time ago that medicine was regarded as a noble profession. Today it probably is one of the most reviled ones going by the unending media crusade carried out against doctors with your esteemed paper being at the forefront. Hardly a day goes by without a screaming front-page headline against doctors. Do we really deserve this treatment? I think not, but who am I to think? The news media fraternity, being the moral guardians of Kashmir, has decided that the common public needs to be warned against doctors….

… Just think, while you sleep in your warm bed, who has sacrificed his comfort and family life in the struggle to save lives? Do we not have the right to hope for a better life? Do we not have families to take care of, children to nurture? Do we not get tired, or fall sick? Do we not have the right to have a cup of tea after a hard duty shift? Are we not human beings? Doctors are just as vulnerable to the pressures of society as everyone else. The physical and mental stress on doctors any where in the world is enormous. In each patient 'life or death' decisions have to be made with the onus being upon the doctor. Even though they are the highest-earning professionals in the west, doctors have the highest stress, addiction, divorce and suicide rates in society. In Kashmir the additional pressures are so high that its a wonder that we are able to work at all.

Years later I am somewhat wiser and sadder because just as there are good and bad people in every society, so it is with doctors. I must admit that some of the apprehensions of the finger-pointers were justified. In recent years the focus of medicine seems to be shifting from nobility to profitability. Privatisation of health-care is both necessary and inevitable but serious introspection is needed on the part of doctors. The businessmen who are investing in medicine cannot be expected to have altruistic motives so the onus is upon health-care providers to maintain keep both Apollo and Bacchus in good humour.

At this point let me quote Dr. J.F Foster :

The profession of medicine is potent for good and evil. For good in the hands of him who makes it his lifelong study; for evil in his hands who adopts it merely as a respectable means of obtaining his livelihood.

I share my profession, my birthday and a love for Kashmir with Dr. Foster. A strange kinship it is indeed, for he died almost a century before I was born. His diary of his wanderings in Kashmir – Three Months of My Life, by J. F. Foster – is a fascinating record of Kashmir in the nineteenth century.

Oh! Kashmir, loveliest spot on earth, I owe thee a deep debt of
gratitude,
I came to thee weak in body; thou hast restored my strength,
I was poor in thought; thou hast filled my heart with good things,
I was proud in conceit; thou hast shown me nature's grandeur and my own
littleness.
With a voiceless tongue thou hast spoken and my spirit has
heard the unuttered words….

The good doctor died on the way back to England from Kashmir where he had come to recuperate. The last strokes of his pen in his journal are a fitting epitaph:

And now farewell.
May your shadow never grow less!
May you live for a thousand years.
HAZOR SALAAM