Faith & Frenzy by K. L. Chowdhury

Author:K. L. Chowdhury [Chowdhury, K L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literary
Publisher: Vitasta Publishing Pvt. Ltd.
Published: 2013-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

9

Gulla of Prang

(I)

An hour’s drive northeast of the city of Srinagar, the Sindh Valley unfolds its treasure trove of religious, archeological and scenic spots. There is Khirbhavani, the seat of the most exalted deity of Kashmiri Pandits, barely twenty five kilometers away. Manasbal, a little jewel of a limpid turquoise lake nesting quietly amid the mountains is six kilometers from there. Another twenty minutes’ drive into the hills, and you are at Naran Nag, an archeological gem with its ruins of an ancient Hindu temple-complex. This is also the base camp for pilgrimage to Gangabal, a high altitude lake, twelve thousand feet above the sea. Pandits trek there in the month of September to immerse the ashes of their dead and perform shraddha for their departed ancestors. Prang is a pretty village in the lap of the Sindh Valley on the bank of the river Sindh, midway between Khirbhavani and Naran Nag.

Prang has been a favorite retreat for my family for its sheer beauty and proximity to the city. The mountains are close, the woods deep, and the river a wide sheet of water running merrily on a clear stone-bed along the village. Whenever we planned a visit, we started with Khirbhavani and drove to Manasbal on the way to Prang.

Prang is dear to my heart for another reason. It gave us a family friend. It happened during a short holiday in the month of August in 1983. We were driving to Prang when my Ambassador suffered a puncture just as we reached the village. I pulled over to the side, cranked up the jack, and started easing the wheel out when a shy, slightly built young man with a sparse moustache climbed down from a shop that had been created from the front of a ramshackle hut. I had not noticed him approach the car until I saw him standing behind me. And then, gently taking the wheel away from me, he said in a soft voice, “Jenab, allow me,” and replaced it. I did not know what to say; he acted as if I was doing him a favor.

He lowered the jack, put it away in the trunk along with the punctured wheel, rushed to his shop to fetch a pot of water and helped me wash my hands. He went through the whole exercise as if he were performing a duty.

“Thank you; what is your name?” I asked, wiping my hands while my wife and children looked on with fascination.

“Ghulam Mohammad. You can call me Gulla.”

“Do you belong here, Gulla?”

“Yes, this is my home and work place as well.”

“What do you do?”

“I am a tailor.”

“You should be in school; you are too young to be working.”

“You are right, Jenab. But I did not have a choice. Circumstances forced me to fend for myself before I could complete my education.”

“Well, thank you again. How can we show our gratitude to you, Gulla?”

“Where are you heading, Jenab? Please come in and grace my humble home; that would please me,”

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