Kashyap Bandhu: An Assessment
D. N. Kaul, New Delhi
The scene is a sunny afternoon in mid-thirties of
the last century. Venue: the compound in front and on the southern side of
the Raghunath Mandir, situated midway between the Hubba Kadal and Fateh Kadal
bridges on the left bank of the Jhelum. About a thousand Kashmiri Pandits
are assembled in the temple compound, men and women of all ages, in their
traditional dresses of 'Pherans'. On the stone platform, nearly ten feet
high, surrounding the temple sanctuary which has the effigies of Ram, Lakshman
and Sita, ornately clothed, are a small wooden table with a few chairs
surrounding it. The small door on the southern boundary wall of the temple
suddenly opens and all eyes are turned towards it. The tattle in the crowd
stops and a hush supervenes. Every one whispers-Bandhuji; as a tall,
rather swarthy, burly man steps in. He has a stout built, is bespectacled,
wearing a dhoti and a white kurta. On his left shoulder is a light
coloured shawl, flung with a deliberate insouciant air for special effect.
His hair is black, shiny and oiled, with an odd lock extending on to his high
marmoreal brow. For, Kashyap Bandhu knew the tricks of the trade - viz.
how to impress an innocent gathering with a Netaji look and aplomb which he had
acquired in a three decade association with the pre-independence Punjab Arya
Samaj and Congress leadership. When he got up to speak, the accompanying
camarilla raised slogans of Bandhuji to which the eager and expectant crowd
responded with 'Zindabad'.
Bandhuji began his speech by drawing a picture of a durbar in Emperor Shah
jehan's court in the early 17th century. Dr. Barton - the British doctor
who had treated the emperor's daughter - was described as in attendance.
The speaker then, in chaste Urdu, of which he had a mastery, spoke of how the
doctor solicited a foothold for the East India Company trading rather than a
reward for himself for the services he had rendered. The speaker
highlighted an average Britisher's patriotism as compared to the Indian's lack
of it. He soon diverted to the need of reform among the Kashmiri Pandits,
in dress, thinking, social mores and what have you.
The scene drawn above is from my memory for I was present in the gathering.
Bandhuji used to hold such meetings, more or less Mohalla-wise in all parts of
Srinagar, including the bowels of the midtown such as Babapora, Chinkral Mohalla,
Rainawari, Gankhan and so on. His dress, typical of an Indian Neta,
modelled after the great Deshbandhu C. R. Das and Subhash Bose, had an
electrifying effect on the then comparatively unsophisticated Kashmiri minds.
His new approach had a revolutionary effect in the thinking and the conduct of
Kashmiri Pandits, who lived, steeped in abject conservatism, backwardness and a
fetid social mileu which needed a breath of fresh air. Who else could
provide it except a Kashmiri Pandit who had sprung from the soil and had got
marinated in the revolutionary and reformist company of pre-partition Punjab
which boasted of figures like Lajpat Rai, Dr. Kitchlew, Dr. Satypal, Khusal
Chand Khursand and others. Punjab's atmosphere was surcharged with a new
life which conditioned and moulded young Tara Chand who hailed from a typical
peasant family from a sequestered and unknown village-Giroo-of the Awantipora
area. As per his own conversations with me during a radio discussion in
Srinagar, he said he served for a few years as a Shajra-Kash in the revenue
department, a lowly job. Even in those days he used to attempt short
doggerel rhymes in Kashmiri, satirising the revenue officeriat.
Subsequently, in Lahore he acquired mastery over the Urdu language and
especially its use in journalism which he practised in editing 'Martand'.
Kashyap Bandhu began his reforms of the Kashmiri Pandit life and thinking by
propagating vigorously for a change of dress among women. He used to
exhort crowds to abandon the Pheran which symbolised Muslim conservatism and had
originated in the long and cruel Muslim rule of Kashmir. The Pheran is
obviously a derivative from the Persian flowing garment called the 'Parahan'.
In fact, even the English Apron belongs to the same family. The adoption
of this formless, loose garment was necessitated by the Muslim culture's
insistence on covering the curvaceous parts of a woman's anatomy. The head
dress consisted of a 'taranga', a long strip of white cloth folded to a two inch
width, which was tightly wound around a skull cap called the Kalposh - again a
Persian word meaning a head covering. This was again designed to ensure
that the locks of a woman - normally an object of beauty are completely hidden
from view. Even the plait of hair which hung at the back was hidden behind
a 'Pooch' - a piece of muslin starched and shaped like a snake - a concession to
the Naga culture which prevailed in pre-historic Kashmir. It is obvious
that this mediaeval dress suppressed a woman's physical personality and
consequently her thinking and fostered backwardness and conservatism. Very
appropriately Kashyap Bandhu lashed out against it and succeeded by dint of his
oratory, active propaganda and writings.
This approach led to reforms in the dowry system and foolish rituals which
characterised marriages and other social events. A system of holding
Sunday congregations at Hari Parbat in the sprawling lawns at the foothills of
the Chakreshwar shrine was started. I had occasion as a youngman to attend
some of these. A choral song had been composed for these gatherings and
its burden ran as under:
"Naw hai aye zindagi.
Dye hai diye taar,
Sharika war, Sharika war".
Translation :
"A new life is pulsating in us.
we are confident God will see us through".
Kashyap Bandhu's other great achievement was the founding and nurturing of the
Martand which became the official organ of the K. P. Sabha. Here again he
drew from his experience of having edited the Arya Gazette at Lahore. He
commanded wonderful journals in Urdu and wrote satires on the Government of the
day. This column bore the heading "Chalant" - meaning a
non-serious passing comment. He used to draw generously from old Kashmiri
parables and apply them to contemporary situations. One of these was 'Than
- than Gopal" which means an empty vessel making a false noise.
Kashyap Bandhu strayed into politics in association with Premnath Bazaz,
Jialal Kilam and others and even went to jail. He finally joined the
National Conference and became quite a favourite of Sheikh Abdullah who
appointed him as the Director of Panchayats in the emergency administration.
Bandhuji accepted no salary and toured the valley extensively. He used to
talk to the peasants in their own idiom - having risen from the same stock.
He propagated the cultivation of willows on all river and nullah bunds to solve
the firewood problem of the city.
After a hectic social, political and administrative life Bandhuji retired
into the shelter of the Warikoo house situated in Karannagar. Here he used
to meet some old friends and wrote Urdu poetry. He had adopted
"bulbul" as his "name-de-plume" or "takhalus".
We lived near the Warikoo house. So my late elder brother who was an
Urdu scholar and I used to visit Bandhuji on a Sunday morning and discuss
diverse topics with him. One of his poems was entitled "Vasiyat"
or the will. I still remember a verse from it:
"Bulbul na yeh Wasiyat Ahbab bhul jayen
Ganga ke badle meray Jehlum mein phool jayen"
"Bulbul, my friends should not brush
aside this wish of mine.
My ashes should be consigned,
not to the Ganga, but to the Jehlum".
This shows his passionate love of Kashmir which he had chosen to serve as is
evident even from the name he adopted.
His study was confined to Urdu books and those too not of the classic
variety. He had practical wisdom and horse sense and mastery over speech
and writing. Kashmiri Pandits as a community can never forget his services
at a crucial juncture in their history. He brought about a revolutionary
changes in their dress and thinking. He came as a whirl wind of change in
to a festering miasma and altered it. Few others, if at all, can boast of
such achievements.
Someone asked Bal Gangadhar Tilak what he would do if India attained freedom
in his lifetime. He said he would repair to his village and resume
teaching young boys. In like manner, after a full and crowded life
spanning more than a quarter of a century, Kashyap Bandhu went back to his old
place of birth, Giroo, where he lived his halcyon days of ripe old age. I
learn he used to talk to peasants who would foregather in his parlour in the
rural house. What dreams and thoughts assailed this restless, self-made
man in his solitary, sequestered life can be surmised only, for he never
attempted a personal memoir.
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