Shah Faesal
As a child I do not remember my mother ever passing on a glass of water to me with her left hand, be that at the Dastarkhan or when I returned home after a tiring day at school. Even if she was in middle of something, she would either use both hands, or a bit of left while carefully balancing it on the back of her right-hand, or atleast a touch of the right index-finger till I got hold of the glass. It was not a question of dexterity for her. It was a question of Barkat.
Early mornings we were taken to feed leftover crumbs to Bulbuls (Bichur) ~ the only bird species Pandit by looks~ due to grey-dot of a ‘tika’ under its crown-feathers. A Bichur over the window foretold arrival of guests and feeding this Batta was an act of joy. It brought Barkat. A beehive in the wall or a nest of Swallows (Ababeel) in the attic, an Apricot in the backyard or a milch-cow in the barn brought Barkat. When all family members had Lavasa and Salt tea together at a fixed time in the morning with head of the family seated over a balding sheep-hide spread over a grass-mat, it brought Divath to the household; sister-blessing of Barkat.
In Kashmir, the concept of Barkat, possibly rooted in it’s Arabic variant Barakah, is as old as the Kashmiri tradition itself. It means sufficiency inspite of shortage, contentment in crisis, fulfilment in-midst of famine. Barkat, we believe is attainable through charity, self-control and living in harmony with nature. As a belief it may not be unique to Kashmir but as a practice, Kashmiris certainly do it in a unique way. Muslims and Pandits alike.
Survival in a landlocked place like Kashmir with harsh-winters, food-shortages, political instability required intense faith in God and respect for nature. More than that even, it required self-discipline, nurtured by a Buddhist way of life in the early-days and in later centuries by ‘Tawwakul and Tazkiya-nafs’ philosophy of Shiekh Nurudin and Lalla Ded. All good things enhanced Barkat, brought affluence to individual and the household and all evil things did otherwise. The greatest Barkat was to have a girl-child in the household and women of the household had the most important role in promoting this bliss.
When someone came asking for alms, elders of the household would give it through a child. It was to promote a sentiment of sharing. At our home, I remember mother used to keep an earthen-pot and everytime before preparing family-meal, one handful of dry rice, Mochi-Tumul, was poured in this pot for charity. When guests visited us, she would check the cups carefully, and since broken crockery was believed to reduce Barkat, bowl-like Kashmiri-cups with even hairline- fracture (Waal) would not stay in the kitchen.
Mother would scold us if even by chance we spilled and walked over grains of rice or wasted food. Sleeping around sunsets was considered a symbol of Shikas (failure) and took Barkat away from life. Over-turned footwear had to be set right and door of the washroom shut. Umr e Barkat, or to get a long life like that of Roma Reshi, a Kashmiris child was advised to pray, respect Rizq and follow the great tradition that was rooted in mother nature.
We have been brought up on the story of Sonzri-Daana, the single barley-grain that was shared by the whole family in olden times when there was Barkat in not eating binge and belly-full but in sharing and caring for the human beings and for the nature. Our women, our mothers and sisters, are the custodians of this great tradition and if we want Barkat in our worldly and spiritual affairs, we will have to take the new generation back to our tradition where living is “sawaab” in itself and survival is a virtue of it’s own. Am closing this with a short poem written last Spring at Bandipora.
Agreeing with a woman
I agree with you.
Love has to be a woman.
A woman who talks fast.
and likes a walk in the rain.
And betrayal a man.
A man with a mole on his cheek.
Or when you say that.
There is an hour of the night
Right before calves get up to suckle.
When a man turns extremely caring.
And there is an hour of the day.
Just after willows yawn.
When a woman gets awfully vengeful,
And that love is not my cup of tea.
But do you even remember,
The times when
My anger was only a response to loneliness,
And mythology an argument against religion,
Or when you said that
I am complicated because I confuse good character with pretty feet.
Or due to my obsession with strong-smelling perfumes.
Times when you didn’t know me so well.
Yes love is not my cup of tea.
I agree.
I agree with you.
Author is Director Education and 2010 IAS topper
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