BY NIRATI AGARWAL

The vast expanse of the unsympathetic yet romantic Thar Desert embodies a sense of the timeless, the feeling that the past is always present. And with good reason. As part of the Silk Road—a 2,000-year-old trading route that connected China to Turkey and Italy via India and central Asia—the Thar was once witness to a mirage more improbable than water: Colourful caravans travelling across the desert expanse laden with spices, silk, tapestries, precious stones and bronze ornaments, led by wealthy merchants from China, the Middle East and even Egypt, who had bet their lives and fortunes on surviving the desert.

Battling not only the risk of being robbed on the way, but also facing treacherous terrain, the merchants and their retinue required frequent rest stops in between. These places of rest, which carried the promise of safe haven, were called caravanserais, and provided water and food, animals for trade, and respite from the harsh trail for a night or two.

About 400 years ago, Jaisalmer in Rajasthan became one such frequent pit stop for the travelers who preferred to cut across 320,000 sq km of the Thar rather than traverse the Pamir Mountains of Central Asia. Centuries later, their history and stories have faded from memory, but the desert remembers. The remnants of abandoned villages, fortresses and havelis can be found on a 50-km trail—organized by the fort-hotel Suryagarh—across the settlements of Khaba, Kuldhara, Kanoi and Lakhmana in and around Jaisalmer.

The genesis of the trail began in 2010, when Manvendra Singh, managing director of the Jaipur-headquartered MRS Group (which has businesses in hospitality, infrastructure and mining), was building Suryagarh, a boutique property about 12 km outside Jaisalmer city. Every evening, the 27-year-old would explore the surrounding desert to learn more about the area that would house his hotel. “The countryside has always fascinated me, and Jaisalmer’s scrub desert didn’t seem to hold anyone’s interest but mine. I found it quite beautiful and very revealing,” says Singh.

What he discovered in unnamed settlements were not just ruins, but vestiges of a surprisingly well-preserved legacy. In order to delve deeper and discover the stories behind these structures, he engaged with geologists, archaeologists, historians and locals. Compelled to know more, Singh travelled to remote parts of Rajasthan “to talk to old folk”, the unofficial repository of oral history. As his SUV made tracks and grooves in the desert, the idea of offering tourists some of these extraordinary stories he’d accumulated began to take root. Today, Suryagarh’s Desert Trail allows guests the opportunity to immerse themselves in this chapter of Jaisalmer’s history.

Suryagarh prompts you to take a step back in time: The stunning 40-acre property has been built using architectural cues from old forts and Paliwal temples in and around Jaisalmer. Its ramparts, moat, carved pillars and even the lattice work are emblematic of the region. With its quiet luxury, the boutique hotel offers guests a respite from Jaipur’s rather aggressive brand of tourism. After exploring the property, I spent my first day doing what most visitors to the city do. I visited the Jaisalmer Fort (Sonar Quila), Gadsisar Lake and Patwon Ki Haveli and experienced dune bashing (a form of off-roading).

The next morning, after a halwai breakfast (the hotel’s specialty) of kachori, samosa, chaat and perfectly sticky gulab jamun, I clambered into an SUV, and embarked on the Desert Trail. With Singh as my guide, myths and legends got a new lease of life; old tales became plausible; cemeteries seemed to hold great treasure and temples in the middle of nowhere became landmarks of culture. Above all, I was afforded a lens through which the Silk Route with its hefty history became visible.

At first glance, the stark desert landscape seems to hold little beauty, just endless land and sky. Going off road, however, we begin to see old structures, markers, water basins, dilapidated rest-houses and crumbling wells. The first stop on the trail is Khaba Fort, which stands at the intersection between Sindh and Jaisalmer along the Silk Route. It is believed to be 700 years old, and I can imagine merchants gathering at the fort for the night, protected by the ruling Rajputs, eager to trade with the neighboring community. Khaba Fort overlooks one of the 84 abandoned settlements where the Paliwal community once thrived. “So far, only 81 settlements have been found. The Paliwals abandoned their homes around 250 to 300 years ago,” says Singh. A flight of stairs from the fort leads to the settlement.

The Paliwals were excellent herdsmen and agriculturalists, and even better traders. I’m told that at one time, almost all trade in the country passed through Paliwal hands. They dealt with bulls, horses and precious incense which they produced from the Boswellia, or frankincense tree, locally called the Googel plant, which is grown in some parts of Jaisalmer even today.

Due to the dearth of any written history, there are plenty of legends about the Paliwals. Locals say nearly three centuries ago, the entire community disappeared in 24 hours, leaving behind everything but a few valuables. One story behind their sudden departure involves a debauched diwan called Salem Singh, who had a harem of young girls, married multiple women, and even killed those who refused his advances. But when he turned his attention to the Paliwal chief’s daughter, community members decided that they would rather abandon their settlements than let one more girl pay the price for their inability to stop the diwan. Historians, however, believe the settlements were abandoned as the result of a contamination or desecration of the water resources that the Paliwals held in reverence. This theory is the most plausible explanation, and is underscored by the complex system of three-tiered tanks near the village wells that have survived the ravages of time. Paliwals used the first tier to store drinking water for human consumption, the second was used for bathing and utilities, and the third tier was for cattle to drink from.

Walking among the ruins of these settlements, which the Paliwals ingeniously built to encourage community activities and discourage the harsh desert sun from hampering their daily lives, is an extraordinary experience. I return to the SUV and head back to the fort where I climb up a flight of stone stairs that leads to a temple dedicated to Devi Hinglai, an incarnation of Mahishasur Mardini (a version of goddess Durga). It’s believed to have been in existence even before Fort Khaba was built. A delightful old pujari with a long white beard tells me that when the Paliwal Brahmins decided to abandon their village, they wanted to take their patron goddess with them. But no matter how hard they tried, the statue could not be moved. I bow to the divine and take my leave.

Back in the vehicle, we go deeper into the desert. I see an acre-long patch of green. Though it looks like a mirage, Singh explains that it is farmland which uses irrigation techniques that had been developed by the Paliwals, who were skilled farmers and believed in working with nature. Growing pearl millet and cluster beans, they developed various techniques to harvest water in the arid land—these have been inherited by farmers today. By creating a sloping catchment area called aagor, a higher flatland composed of iron ore gravel and a high layer of gypsum that doesn’t allow seepage of rainwater, they guided water to a lower, fertile depression where farming was possible. Another technique included building khadeens, community farms around oases where lower lands behind the bund remain submerged during the rains. Though these processes are centuries old, they remain some of the cheapest and easiest techniques of desert farming to this day. Another irrigation method was the dhora system, where fields were irrigated by a network of small drains (or dhoras). One look and I begin to understand the respect the Paliwals had for water.

The next stop in the trail is Mundhari village, known for its spring wells that have the purest water in Jaisalmer. The source of water remains a mystery; locals insist that a river once flowed through the village. Under the beating sun, a villager lowers a bucket into the well. On tasting the sweet, pristine, deliciously cool water, I felt, for a brief moment, that I had grasped the hands of my ancestors.

This continuity of culture becomes all the more visible as we drive to one of the highest points in the deserts, the Nabh Dungar temple. A sentinel of time and culture, the temple’s peak has a Chinese motif of a lion, a reflection of the trade and exchange of religious ideas that India had with its neighbors, courtesy of the Silk Route. Hawks fly in gyres over the temple, while smaller birds hop on the rocky outcrops. The desert no longer feels that harsh.

We then move on to a Bhil village, characterized by small makeshift houses called dhanis. Natives of Jaisalmer, the nomadic Bhils follow the ways of their ancestors, and continue to rear cattle as a primary source of income, working on farms owned by others only to supplement their earnings. “The Bhils have taken an oath that they will not own farm land. The local legend is that the Bhils are the descendants of goddess Parvati’s brothers,” says Suryagarh hotel manager Nakul Hada, who is driving the SUV. Centuries ago, the goddess asked her husband Shiva to bless her brothers. The brothers not recognizing his first blessing—a silver pot that had been placed near their belongings—walked away. Parvati asked her husband to bless them again. Shiva agreed to give them his precious Nandi (bull); Parvati told her brothers that this gift would bring them prosperity and happiness. In their impatience, the brothers killed the animal, expecting to find wealth inside its body. For this disrespect, Parvati cursed her brothers, saying neither they nor their descendants would be able to own land.

As Hada finishes narrating the tale, we arrive at a small dhani. Made of thatch and scrub, clay and cow dung, the single-family settlement has a separate area for cattle and an outhouse. As I play with the goats, I see a cellphone in the straw. Though they cling to traditional ways, change is coming to one of the oldest communities that calls Thar Desert home.

After all that bumpy off-road driving, Singh has planned a late afternoon treat, Silk Route style. We drive to the largest and oldest functional reservoir in the area, Joshida Talao, for a wine and tea picnic. Orange parasols, white gaddas (mattresses) and golden bolsters are invitingly laid out around an old rest house. As I sink into a gadda, a Manganiyar musician takes his place under a babool tree to sing old folk songs. Manganiyars are Muslim folk artistes from Rajasthan whose ancestors survived on the patronage of Rajputs. They have a distinct gravelly way of singing, and use traditional instruments such as ravanhattas (a type of bowed violin). Orange-turbaned waiters serve us wine along with grilled meat and sandwiches and after having our fill, we listen more closely to the musician’s lyrics.

The songs tell stories of Bhati heroes, the Rajput warriors credited with having established Jaisalmer in the 12th century. Excellent horse riders and marksmen, they are believed to have gained prominence in the 14th and 15th centuries. As Jaisalmer was located on the Silk Route between Afghanistan and Delhi, the Bhati Rajputs not only built numerous guest houses, but also presented stamped passports to merchants. In exchange for taxes, they offered them protection against theft. The area around the talao, in fact, has several engraved pillars called Govardhans, markers to inform thirsty traders that water was close by.

The day ends with a visit to the cemeteries near Nabh Dungar and Khaba village, memorial and burial grounds for travelers from the Far East and even Egypt who died while on the road. There are headstones with sculptures of the departed—some with styles of headgear and dress that look Phoenician—bearing dates and epitaphs that aren’t quite clear. A hot wind blows past me, and in my mind’s eye I see a caravan in the same spot I am standing at. It’s time to head back to Suryagarh.

After dinner, made all the more delectable by the horror stories that Singh and Hada had narrated with great gusto, I left the hotel at midnight for a chudail trail to experience some of the most haunted places in Jaisalmer. Our departure is characterized by a blood moon, menacing yet, given the desert landscape, common. In the car, the driver recounts stories of the villainous Salem Singh and the witches who were pushed into wells by superstitious villagers. The car’s headlamps cast shadows in its wake, setting the tone for the night. The neem and babool trees near the wells, which looked welcoming in the day, appear ominous. It’s time to put aside reason and logic and embrace the ghosts of the past.

The car stops at Kuldhara village, one of the abandoned Paliwal sites, and my guide takes me to a centuries-old house, which once belonged to a wealthy family. A flight of stairs opens into a tiny basement where I’m told a woman was buried alive. With cellphones illuminating our way and nothing but the guide’s voice echoing through the empty rooms, it is difficult to remain aloof. I step out of the haunted house into the night sky lit by the red moon and what appear to be a million shining stars overhead. We pass a temple where people built small Shiv lingams on the portico to save themselves from evil spirits, and stop by Kuldhara cemetery to see the headstones under the moonlit sky.

Chilled to the bone—by the sights, stories and weather—I was, to be honest, relieved when, two hours later, it was time to head back. Our last dinner on the grounds of Suryagarh is dedicated to the Rajput hunting feast. The hotel’s chefs use dhuan and dhundar (techniques of smoking meat to tenderize and infuse flavor and aroma) to grill quail, rabbit, lamb and chicken with hardy local spices. Across the moat at the edge of our table, Kalbeliya dancers flash their skirts in unison to the beat of folk music performed by a troupe of artiste It is an amalgamation of the past and present, with music and the oral retelling of stories, of reimagining and visions, that makes us one with the Thar in that moment of time.

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Courtesy: Forbes India (Published on March 28, 2015)

The post Jaisalmer and the Silk Route: An intimate acquaintance in the desert first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Zulfiqar Ali Kalhoro

Both hunters and shepherds were highly respected in the tribal societies of Darel and Tangir in the district of Diamer in Gilgit-Baltistan. The communities were dependent for their sustenance on these men in the past. When a hunter (Darus) returned to his village with his quarry, he was always welcomed with certain customs by the community. After the customary celebrations, the meat was distributed among the close relatives. If it was communal hunting (Ban Daru), the hunt was celebrated and followed by meat distribution among the community members. In Ban Daru, a shaman (Daheli in the Tangiri Shina language) was sometimes involved to cast certain spells to trap the game animal if it was uncontrollable by the hunters. Communal or trapping-based hunting was once prevalent among the Dardic communities in the Hindu Kush and the Dravidians in Sindh. One can see the evidence of these hunts in the rock art of Sindh. Rock art along the Silk Route also represents scenes of hunters and the process of hunting itself.

Game birds and animals were found in the forests and pastures in nullahs in the Darel and Tangir valleys. There were pastures (Ayar) and places and routes (Bekh) in each nullah (Gah) where the hunters went in search of game birds and animals. There were fewer chances of finding game birds and animals at the tail of the nullah (called Chuno or Durore Bekh in Tangiri Shina). Mostly hunters went for the hunt in the Majeno Bekh (route in the middle of a nullah) or Shashe Bekh (at the head of a nullah). In general, the hunter found better game in the Shashe Bekh.

During my research in the valleys of Darel and Tangir which spans two decades, I met and interviewed many hunters about their techniques, toolkits, customs and other practices – especially through my conversations with many of the celebrated hunters. I interviewed the celebrated hunters, called Baro Darus in the local language. At the completion of a century – 100 successful kills – of game animal hunting, the hunter was required to wash his hands with the blood of the last hunted animal which was locally called ‘Lel Thee Hath Dijron’. A hunter who scored a double century was also required to wash his hands with the blood of an animal which was locally called ‘Duwar Hath Dijron’. After the completion of a century and double-century of animal hunts, their popular identity in the Darel and Tangir valleys became that of celebrated or big hunters.

Some of the celebrated hunters in both the valleys include Goru of Dodoshal village, Darelo of Phuguch village, Zardul Shah of Birkot village, Essa Khan of Samigal Pain, Hazrat Dar of Gayal village in Darel valley and Rustam of Lorakh village, Khan Doran of Baguot village, Yohar and Timor of Darqali Bala village and Salam Khan of Sobo Kot village in Tangir Valley. Amongst these, Hazrat Dar of Gayal village in Darel, Rustam of Lorakh village, Khan Doran of Darqali Bala and Salam Khan of Sobo Kot washed their hands twice with the blood of the hunted animal – which meant that they hunted 200 hundred game animals particularly the Markhor and Ibex.

Hunting in both valleys of Darel and Tangir was not only a means of sustenance but also a source of entertainment for the males until two decades ago. But it has declined now as the animals have become extinct in these valleys.

They hunted the animals to get meat and hides, which were then sold in the market. One of the hunters, Salam Khan of Sobho Kot in Tangir valley who I interviewed, said that he had over two hundred Markhors to his credit. He is a very famous and experienced hunter in Tangir. He is a celebrated or big hunter (baro darus) who washed his hands twice with the blood of game animals. He completed his double century at the age of 60. I share below some excerpts from the interview with him:

“I was sixteen years old when I first killed a Markhor. When I came back home, everybody was delighted and my father celebrated on my first hunt. ‘Hunting was the job of the brave person and it showed his masculinity’, remarked my father. He was very contented and told me that now I have become an adult male and could take care of the family and relatives. The hunters were highly regarded in the society and were a symbol of status and people liked to have discussions with them because they were considered experienced – and with experience came the intellect. I washed my hands in the blood of the Markhor for the first time at the age of 45, when I made a century of Markhor and Ibex hunting. Second time, I washed my hands with blood of the Markhor when I made a double-century at the age of 60. Now I am 97 years old and I do not do hunt anymore.”

There were several customs which were associated with hunting. Salam Khan told me that in the past when he was a young boy and his father was a celebrated hunter, there was a custom known as Ban Daru (communal hunting). Some people were directed to shout so as to scare the animal and then trap it. Others were holed up and ready when the animal approached, to shoot at it. The person who first spotted the animal and shot it received the most important piece of the hunted animal. These days this custom is not practiced any more.

There were many customs associated with hunting that are not practiced nowadays. When I asked him as to how many pheasants (lesh) he had killed, he told me that the number was close to 400. Their meat is consumed while the plumes of the pheasants are sold in the market. He shared with me the numbers of animals and birds that he has killed: over 200 Markhors, 12 ibex, 32 musk deer, 10 bears, chakor (partridge) and Ram chakor and countless wild pigeons, countless foxes, and several other birds found in the valley. He was such an experienced hunter that he spotted and knew the age of a Markhor from a distance. He shared with me the terms which are used according to the age of Markhor and Ibex: 1) Chhatelo for a one-year-old Makhor, 2) Kato for a two-year-old Markhor, 3) Ka Kato for a three-year-old Markhor, 4) Det Kato for a four-year-old Markhor, 5) Hateen for a five-year-old Markhor, 6) Tarey Dish To for a six-year-old Markhor, Char Dish To for a seven- or eight-year-old Markhor and Panch Dish To for a nine- or ten-year-old Markhor etc.

The Markhor has become extinct in the Darel and Tangir valleys now; people killed it for meat, hide and horns. The hunter and his family as well as relatives consumed the meat. The horns of the Markhor were either sold in the market or put on display at the hujra (Kutgai). Its hide was either used as a pelt and placed at the doorstep, or sold and gifted to some relative or friend. Like Markhors. the musk deer has also become extinct in both the valleys of Darel and Tangir. It was killed particularly for its musk that was sold for a very high price. Many people went to the villages of Darel and Tangir to buy the musk. It was then taken to Swat and sold for a higher price there.

“The Ibex was also hunted for meat, hide and horns. The meat of the Ibex was very delicious and was considered a panacea for back pain. The hide was either sold or placed at the doorstep,” remarked Salam Khan, the hunter. Its horns are used as decorations in both homes and hotels.

“Now, I have left hunting. Instead, my elder son hunts, but now it is hard to find any game animal. Instead, he kills birds. I taught him hunting. Whenever I went hunting, I always took him along to teach him the techniques. He is now a well-trained hunter, but game animals are nowhere to be seen in the valleys of Tangir and Darel.”

This excerpt from an interview conducted with a celebrated hunter of Tangir, Salam Khan, reflects that hunting was both individual and communal activity. At present, the individual hunter still goes hunting in the neighboring valleys of Kohistan but they hardly find any animal there too. Sometimes, they kill the birds which are still found in the valleys but these are also on the verge of extinction. The custom of communal hunting has died out in the valleys.

The Darel valley also produced celebrated hunters who were seen to be men of wisdom, experience and intellect in the valley. Today, all the hunters of both the valleys still recall the earlier days which they spent chasing the game animals.

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Dr. Zulfiqar Ali Kalhoro, an anthropologist, has authored 12 books: ‘Symbols in Stone: The Rock Art of Sindh’, ‘Perspectives on the art and architecture of Sindh’, ‘Memorial Stones: Tharparkar’ and ‘Archaeology, Religion and Art in Sindh’. He may be contacted at: zulfi04@hotmail.com

Courtesy: The Friday Times Naya Daur Lahore

The post Hunters of the Hindu Kush first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Zulfiqar Ali Kalhoro

Ganish, a beautiful village in the Hunza valley in Gilgit-Baltistan, is known for its rich history, splendid wooden mosques, impressive village guest house and the imposing towers that mark the landscape. It is situated on the right bank of the Hunza River and is one of the oldest settlements of the valley.

Ganish has been home to many tribes and caravans traveling through the ancient Silk Route that stayed back – captivated by the beautiful setting of the village.

There are many interpretations of the name Ganish. Some local people believe that there are three meanings: one, it denotes a crossroads since it is located on the junction of Hunza and Nagar. Second, it means the gold that people in the past used to prospect from the waters of the Hunza River. Third, it means a place from where a road takes you somewhere. People who prospect gold from the River Hunza can still be found. They are locally called maruts. In fact, maruts are also found along the Ghizer, Gilgit and Indus rivers. They camp on the riverbank and look for the precious metal.

Ganish is believed to have been founded by Shish Kin, a Chinese visitor. After him many other people and tribes, namely the Shigri from Baltistan and the Hamachiting settled down in Ganish. Then a number of prominent persons whose names survive made Ganish their home. Their descendants bear their names.

The descendants of one Barcha are called Barchating. He had three sons: Sukh after whom the Sukhkutz is named, Barah from whom sprang Brahkutz and Bak, after whom Bakkutz was named. When they embraced Islam, some of the families of the Barchating, Raley Ramal and Shish Kin lineages built mosques which carried their names. Some also built towers to keep an eye on intruders from the outsiders.

There were a total of 14 of these sentry towers – of which three survive today. These include Tamurkutz tower, Shaikutz tower and Rupikutz tower. The others namely Dodasen tower and Lutoting tower are believed to have been swept away by the flood that inundated Ganish village in 1958. The towers indicated the power of the each lineage that erected it. The tradition of erecting towers still continues in the tribal valleys of Gilgit-Baltistan and Kohistan in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa. At present, in the valleys of Darel and Tangir in Diamer district, the height of the tower indicates the power that the builder wields in the village. The height of the tower even indicates the number of murders that the builder has committed – the more you have killed, the higher you build your tower. Once, there were also several watch towers dominating the village of Koranga Bala in Tangir valley, which were erected to control and give safe passage to caravans who took away the iron ore from Satil, a communal pasture of Tangir.

There are a total of eight mosques in Ganish Khun which carry the names of the lineages which include Budinkutz, built by Budin; Shaikutz, built by Shai; Kuyokutz, built by Kuyo I; Kuyokutz II; Yarikutz, built by Yari; Mamorokutz built by Mamoro; Rupikutz built by Rupi and Balkhankutz built by Balkhan.

Except for Balkhankutz, all other mosques are one-chambered. Of these, however, the Mamorokutz, Rupikutz, Harikutz and Shaikutz are noted for intricate carvings. The Mamorokutz, Rupikutz, Harikutz and Kuyokutz mosques are located at the jataq in Ganish Khun. The jataq is an open space used for communal gatherings. Ritual congregations, dancing and singing festivities also take place in the jataq.

The Rupikutz mosque which was restored by Aga Khan Cultural Service Pakistan (AKCSP) is noted for its floral and geometric designs. Motifs of the lotus flower and swastika are found on the Rupikutz mosque. The swastika has been the favorite design of the artists in the Hunza valley. One finds the most impressive swastika designs on the pillars of the Qirghiz Bhai house in Ghulkin, Gojal. The mosques at Altit and Baltit forts also bear swastika designs.

The mosques of Budinkutz, Kuyokutz II and Mamorokutz bear swastika designs. The door frame of the Budinkutz mosque also carries it, as do the door frame and bracket volutes of the Kuyokutz II mosque’s pillars.

Both Rupikutz and Mamorokutz have stupa-like niches. The decoration on these two mosques is remarkable as compared to other local mosques.

Apart from mosques, the other historical building that dots the landscape of Ganish Khun is the Sawab-Ha (village guest house) which is believed to have been built by the Oyumkutz family for the travelers. The travelers passing through the Silk Route were given food and accommodation free of cost in the village guest house. It is two-story building located near the Pharee (pond). The carvings on the guest house indicate the aesthetic and taste of the builders. This guest house was also restored by the AKSCP.

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Dr. Zulfiqar Ali Kalhoro is an anthropologist and has authored 12 books: ‘Symbols in Stone: The Rock Art of Sindh’, ‘Perspectives on the art and architecture of Sindh’, ‘Memorial Stones: Tharparkar’ and ‘Archaeology, Religion and Art in Sindh’. He may be contacted at: zulfi04@hotmail.com

Courtesy: The Friday Times Lahore

The post Along the Silk Route in Hunza first appeared on Sindh Courier.