Gul Gulshan Gulfam: An excerpt from ‘A Long Dream of Home: The Persecution, Exodus and Exile of Kashmiri Pandits’

Gul Gulshan Gulfam

“During that very time, the well-known film director Muzzafar Ali was shooting his film Zooni there. It was based on the life of Habba Khatoon, the great poetess of Kashmir. Dimple Kapadia and Vinod Khanna were the lead actors. Prem Krishen would drop in at our houseboat in the evenings to have a chat. One evening when he came, he looked disturbed. He told us that he had received a letter from the Tehreek, ordering him to stop the shooting of the movie and leave Kashmir.”

On November 29 1989, Ved Rahi and I, along with Sunil Mehta and Prem Krishen, who were the producers of Cinevista Ads, Bombay were waiting for the camera crew at Hotel Asia Brown, Srinagar. Ved and I had been commissioned to direct the serial Gul Gulshan Gulfam, which was based on my then unpublished Kashmiri novel bearing the same title. We were identifying the locations around the Dal Lake to shoot the serial. We had already received permission from the state government for shooting. As required under the rules, we had submitted the complete script to the government, and were waiting for a written approval from them.

Keeping the beauty of the locale and the soft light of autumn in mind, we had decided to shoot the serial on Eastman Colour film. Steven Fernandez, one of the finest cinematographers of the film industry during those days, was the Director of Photography for the project. With the cast led by Parikshat Sahni and Radha Seth supported by Pankaj Berry, Reshma Singh, Ravi Kemmu, Vishal Singh, Upender Khashu, Bashir Dada, Tariq Sheikh, Hriday Nath Gurtoo, Jyoti Fotedar, Bharti Zaroo and Anjana Sood, we were all geared up and excited to commence the shooting. But before that the first alarm for caution was sounded, when one of the owners of the three houseboats that had been booked for the shooting came to me and called me aside. On enquiring, he told me that two men wanted to talk to me, and that they were waiting for me in the lobby of the hotel. I went with him to meet the strangers, thinking that they were officials of the Tourism Department.

When I approached the two men, they stood up and greeted me with rather undue respect, and said that they were from the Tehreek (the resistance movement). I knew what that meant. I asked them to come inside where the producers were sitting.

One of them addressed me directly, and said, ‘Pran Ji, they are strangers. We have come to talk to you, and not to them, as you are one of us.’

I said, ‘Then let us talk. What has brought you here?’

‘We have come to know that you are going to shoot a serial about the boatmen of Kashmir.’ I nodded. Without mincing words, they said that they wanted a copy of the script. ‘We’ve already sent it to the state government and they are fine with it. In fact, we are waiting for the written approval which may reach us soon.’

‘We are not concerned with that. We want a copy, and without our approval, you won’t be allowed to shoot.’ Their tone was aggressive. So I thought there was no point in beating around the bush in this matter.

I cut the matter short and said, ‘OK. As soon as we get the script back, we shall send it to you.’

‘That is all right. But don’t start shooting before we provide you our approval.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ I said with a forced smile.

‘We do. That is why we have come to you.’ After saying this, they instructed Ghulam Qadir, the houseboat owner, who had brought them there, to see to it that the script reached them. Shortly afterwards, the men left.

I did not want to create any unnecessary panic among the members of the crew as the situation was almost normal in Kashmir that time, and my old friend AM Watali, the Deputy Inspector General of Police in Kashmir, had assured us of protection and security cover. But still I discussed the matter with Sunil Mehta and Prem Krishen, the producers. After due consideration, we decided that there was no harm in giving the script to the men from the Tehreek. The next day, after consulting Watali, we handed the script to them.

After a few days, two other young men from the Tehreek came to the houseboats, where we were about to start the shooting and where we had arranged for the stay of the artistes from Bombay. They brought the copy of the script back and said, ‘We have been directed by our leaders to inform you that you can carry on with your shooting. But it must strictly be in accordance with the script that our leaders have gone through. There should be no deviations.’ We assured them that there would be no deviation. The two youngsters seemed to be very curious as they kept on peeping into the houseboat, probably to look at the actors from Bombay. One of the boys turned to me and said, ‘Now as everything is settled, can we come to see the shooting?’ We could not reject their request and said that they were welcome. And thus, after this first encounter with the grim ground reality, we began the shooting, first in the backwaters of the lake, and then in the marshes full of lotuses. These two young men accompanied the unit wherever it went. We sensed that they had been directed to keep a watch on us. But they gradually became a part of the unit, and even helped the spot boys in shifting the equipment from one location to another. Being young, they were enjoying the shoot, and even throwing hints that they too were keen to act. But after a few days they vanished, and after that nobody came to disturb us. So we relaxed and put all our energies into our work, trying to complete the shoot well in time and in accordance with the schedule.

As the shooting progressed, I came to know through a shikarawala (boatman) that one of the most respected houseboat owners, a former president of the Houseboat Owners’ Association, a member of the Citizen’s Council and an honorary Wildlife Warden, Haji Abdul Samad Kotroo had fallen ill. Haji Sahab was a very dear friend of mine. The character of the protagonist of Gul Gulshan Gulfam, Malla Khaliq, was based on Haji Sahab’s persona. Many of his houseboats were near Nehru Park and the three houseboats in which we were shooting were parked near the backwaters of the Dal Lake. Hearing about Kotroo Sahab’s illness, I asked the shikarawala to take me to his house, which was situated on a small island in the Dal Lake. I found him resting in his room. He was very weak, but on seeing me, he insisted on sitting up. He enquired how our shooting was going and kept on thanking me for writing about his neglected clan.

He pressed my hand tight, bent a little closer and asked me, ‘Pran Ji, is it ever possible that you will come with a gun and then kill me?’ I was stunned. I looked into his eyes. They were moist. He repeated the question.

‘What sort of question is this? How on earth can you ever imagine that such a situation will arise?’ I said.

He sighed and wailed, ‘These misled brats! How can one make them understand that Kashmir is the abode of rishis and saints?’ He looked away and said, ‘I see dark clouds hovering over us. I pray to Allah to give these people some sense.’ I comforted him, saying that he was unnecessarily being pessimistic. Kashmir had always come out unscathed in the worst of turmoils. Though I was consoling him, in my heart of hearts, I was shaken. I knew the political and social situation wasn’t stable. The unrest was very much visible. Fear lurked all around. I held Haji Sahab’s hand, kissed it and, after having a cup of tea, took leave of him.

While returning, I tactfully asked the shikarawala to give me some news of what was happening in those parts. He confided that an armed uprising was slowly brewing up in secrecy. The youth were getting trained in arms and ammunition. There was uncertainty all around. The boatman was worried that the tourist season would be spoiled and they would lose business. To add to his miseries, winter was just a month away. His assessment of the situation added to my apprehensions and anxiety. But in spite of all this, I put up a brave face, and our shooting went on according to the schedule.

During that very time, the well-known film director Muzzafar Ali was shooting his film Zooni there. It was based on the life of Habba Khatoon, the great poetess of Kashmir. Dimple Kapadia and Vinod Khanna were the lead actors. Prem Krishen would drop in at our houseboat in the evenings to have a chat. One evening when he came, he looked disturbed. He told us that he had received a letter from the Tehreek, ordering him to stop the shooting of the movie and leave Kashmir. He wanted to know about our schedule and progress. We told him that we should continue and not be intimidated. He said he was confused, and that the artistes, too, were reluctant to continue. That had made his situation more complicated. After saying this, he left. The next day we came to know that the entire unit had left for Bombay without finishing the shoot. It was alarming. The owners of the three houseboats in which we were shooting came with one of the two persons who had asked for the script. They assured us that nobody would disturb us or create any hurdles during our shooting. Once we got this assurance, we relaxed and continued with the shooting. But after some deliberation we decided to complete the work quickly in and around Dal Lake because the situation was changing rapidly.

By this time, protests, agitations and demonstrations had started to gain momentum in Srinagar. Curfew was imposed in the city. This started affecting the pace of our work. But we persisted. Luckily, we had already shot the wedding sequence, which needed big barges and motorboats. But the Mehndiraat scene was yet to be shot. For this sequence we had decorated the banquet hall of the Asia Brown hotel. That day the Tehreek had announced a hartal in the evening. We panicked, as we had choreographed the sequence with the help of Haseena Akhtar, the most popular folk dancer of those days. She had to be brought from Ganderbal, fifteen kilometers from Srinagar. Our gritty music director Krishen Langoo travelled in a wagon to her village and brought her safely to Hotel Asia Brown. It was a great relief and we started shooting, keen to wrap up before sundown. During the shoot, the receptionist of the hotel came to me and said there was a telephone call for me. I went to receive the call. A gruff voice spoke to me. The tone was harsh. ‘Didn’t you people know that there was a hartal today?’ I lied and said that we were not aware of it and offered my apologies. ‘It is all right,’ he said. ‘You must finish the shooting quickly. There is a hartal on the 14th. Don’t commit the mistake of shooting on that day. Otherwise you and your crew will be in big trouble. Do you understand?’ I assured him that such a mistake would not be committed again. I informed Prem Krishen about the telephone call and the diktat. And we did not shoot on the 14^th.

After a couple of days, one of the houseboat owners came with a letter written in Urdu. It was amateurishly written and contained a threat. He had been ordered to drive us away. Though the other houseboat owners tried to convince him that the letter was not from the Tehreek but was the mischief of one of the neighbouring houseboat owners, who was jealous of him for earning a living, even in a ‘failed’ tourist season. But reading the content of the letter shocked us. Even the artistes from Bombay were scared and keen to leave Srinagar. Two more horrifying incidents added to the scare.

The next day, when our production team members were returning after dropping the local women artistes to their homes in the city, a big stone hit their wagon, and they had to rush back, nervous and worried.

Another terrifying thing happened a couple of days later on the Boulevard, just a little distance away from where our generator van was parked. A tourist bus that had arrived from outside and was parked some distance away from our generator van was blasted by a grenade. Luckily, there was nobody in the bus at that time. Though we felt that our generator was not the target, yet it was an ominous sign, a warning, meant for us to pack up and leave.

With special arrangement by Bloomsbury India

A Long Dream of Home (The Persecution, Exodus and Exile of Kashmiri Pandits) has been edited by Siddhartha Gigoo, author of The Garden of Solitude and A Fistful of Earth and Other Stories, and columnist Varad Sharma whose writings have appeared in various newspapers and webzines.