Srinagar,
My first day in Srinagar. Truly this was to be a day to remember, in every sense of the word! It began very well. Mustafa's father looked like a Turk, quite distinguished, with silvered hair sleek to his narrow head, brown skin and a thin mustache, clothed, like most Kashmiri men, in a loose grey woolen poncho with sleeves.
He spoke pretty good English, and had an authoritative manner. After breakfast, he inquired where I wished to go first, and took me by rickshaw to "my" tomb‚ the Rozabal, after paddling me across the water to the mainland in the family shikara. It was locked, so I could not really see very well inside, but I found it very moving. I would have liked to be there alone for awhile to meditate. Instead, I took pictures.
Wednesday, April 26.
In the morning the old man accompanied me to a taxi (not a rickshaw,) and we figured out where the Dastgir House of the New Housing Colony of the suburb of Srinagar called Chanatora, the home of Professor Fida M. Hassnain, was and drove there. I did not have his phone number, having written him at the University of Kashmir and received no reply, and my host was very doubtful of our ability to find it. It took close to half an hour to arrive, with many stops for directions. The house, a fairly large two-story building surrounded by a high metal fence and gate with a door in it, was very pleasant, with grass, gardens, trees and a veranda. A two-year-old boy was wailing for "Mama" within the garden as we walked toward the house, and a middle-aged woman came around the corner and picked him up. I introduced myself. She spoke only a little English, but invited us to come and sit on the porch, and called her daughter, a charming, evidently highly educated and very friendly woman, the mother of the child. The older woman was Mrs. Hassnain. We talked for half an hour or more. I told her of my wish to speak with her father, who she said was in Germany but would be in Delhi staying with his brother on his return, sometime after May 9th. She gave me the uncle's card with his phone number and urged me to call him. We also talked about my upcoming visit to Ladakh and contact with the Nipponzan Myohoji Buddhists, of which she had not heard, and was very interested. I gave her their names and addresses in Delhi and Leh.
She asked about my family and I asked what she did, which was struggling to promote the use of ground-up weed seeds before applying nitrate fertilizer, since this reduces the need for using so much. Her research is in cancer and its relationship to the nitrates level in the soil. They had done a lot of research on this weed seed process and hoped to get funding to begin to manufacture it, when the company was bought up by a Swedish company which was not interested in capitalizing their work. I mentioned what had happened to Ellen's work on developing potatoes from true seed. She invited me to return, telephoning first, which I will try to do. My "family" is not much on the telephone, but Yusuf did say they have one, so we will see.
On the way home, we stopped to visit the Kashmir Museum, which was very impressive! Many beautiful things, Hindu statues, textiles, paintings, papier-maché, weapons, books, coins, costumes and more.
Then we stopped again at the Rozabal, which had been closed the first time. This time a guide who was showing it to a group of Americans had the key so we got to go in and I even had a few minutes alone there before the guide came in (with only two men!). The women waited outside!
I was glad for the time alone there, and bowed down before the deep feeling of belonging I was experiencing, reaching out to the energy body of the being whose spirit still dwelt therein. I sensed, rather than smelled, a powerful aura of roses as I approached the tall iron cage - a kind of wide-mesh screen - which enclosed the draped catafalque within. Several ribbons were attached to wires of the mesh.
I didn't feel it would be appropriate to dowse the energy of that space, as I had done in so many other sacred places, but even without such an external confirmation, touching the wire of the cage, I experienced a vivid sense of presence in its interior. It felt almost like being welcomed home. I did not want to leave, but now the women were coming inside, and I needed to let go of the feelings.
I touched my crystal to the place on the screen where I imagined the heart of that energy body to be, knowing this act to be an act of my own creating, but still feeling it to be a fitting tribute to the timeless aspect of that Life.
From India Journal, Down-to-Earth Books, 1993.
See also my account of a past life in this time period.