This is the maiden voyage for Majid's new shikara, which he built, christened the "Kashmiri Queen" by me. It's a flat bottom, 28 feet long,4 foot wide, and as yet unpainted. It has a frame over the middle, made of small poplar branches, to hang fabric to protect its riders from the sun. Majid and I sit on cushions in the middle, the 2 guys doing the paddling sit at the end. Sometimes one sits in the front, and one in the back.
We start in Wulan Lake, the largest lake in Asia, and make our way to the river. I am with Majid and his brother and a neighbor guy who will be doing the paddling. The lake is really low at this time of the year, so this is the time to harvest the water chestnuts, and bring up sand from the bottom. Of course, this is all done by hand. The sand is loaded onto a shikara, into two piles, then taken to a receiving point, where it is loaded unto the ground, by hand, then loaded into the trucks, by hand, one shovel at a time.It is used to make cement, and the diggers earn fairly well, about $50 for a truck load of sand. No wonder the men have not an ounce of fat on them.
I see abundance everywhere--never ending sand, water chestnuts, kingfisher birds (3 kinds), fish, cow dung for fuel, water plants, eagles, crows, vultures, water birds, it is unending.
As we go up-river, paddling gets difficult, so one guy goes on the bank and pulls us along with a long rope. We stay out towards the middle, so as to avoid all the debris, and shallow water by the bank. This goes on for a full day and a half. Majid is always trying to buy fish from the fishermen, and we get about 2 kilos for 100 ruppees, about $2.50.
THese are some activities along the river: women washing clothes on the cement steps leading to the water, kids bathing naked, fishing from the banks, crossing the river by means of a wire--a shikara full of people with one person pulling the wire that is stretched to the other side. Sometimes these wires hang low, and catch the top of our boat.They prefer the wires to a bridge, because they say it is too easy for thieves to get away with their things. (What things?)
You can also see men shampooing their sheep, getting them ready to shear. Now, that's fun to watch. There's also lots of hair washing going on. This river is not clean, but villagers drink from it, wash their dishes and clothes in it, and bath in it. Oh, my, god. How can they do these things with this water, and still walk upright? I'm afraid my finger will get infected by just sticking it in the water. It's times like this when I really work to leave my western values behind, and to focus on the good things, not the bad. The biggest thing that bothers me is the dirt, on the people, their clothes, their homes, their yards, their animals. I can't imagine a life without running hot and cold water, steady electricity, washing machines, TV and radio. I guess I would not be doing laundry all the time either, if I had to do it all by hand in the river. This is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live here!
This first night we spend on the shore, beside a village. All the people come down to watch us. Majid is cooking chicken, and the girls chatter with the boys, saying they would exchange a little meat for a little meat--something to that effect. The boys sleep in each end of the boat, in a blanket, and Majid and I sleep in the middle section, in our clothes. There is a pad on the floor but it's hard. I've become emotionally attached to my memory foam neck pillow. I sleep on it at night, and sit on it during the day. It's easier on my butt. Each morning, Majid scrambles some eggs for me, and I have this delicious sweet bread, along with Kashmiri tea--back tea with cinnamon, cardoman,sugar,and ginger...Delicious.
Our plan is to go upriver to Mansol Lake, but when we arrive at the entrance to the lake, it is closed. The water level is low, and the Army has blocked the entrance, as they need to divert what water there is to their other facilities; therefore, nobody can be on the lake now. So our best option is to go back downriver to our home. We could hire some guys to carry all our possessions and the boat across some land, and get in that way, but ...why? It's a lot of work and will take lots of time to repair the boat and clean all the stuff. It's better to go home. Our ride downriver is much easier, no pulling the boat with a rope. We ride into the night. The stars are spectacular--I see shooting stars, and an extra-terrestial explosion. We pull up in a small village where his mother is from. We visit with his mother's sister and her family for a few minutes. Her oldest son was killed 11 years ago. He, along with 5 other kids from that village, went to Pakistan to train as terrorists--freedom fighters, they say. Five of them were killed upon return to Kashmir, and the other one stayed in Pakistan, started a family there, and won't be coming home anytime soon. He does send money. His aunt lives with her 2nd son and his wife and 2 kids. He teaches English at the local school, but hardly understands anything I say. The memory of this dead son seems to dominate the house.
copyright 2008 Christine Martin All Rights Reserved
