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Mali Bee: J&K’s First Woman Padma Awardee Whom History Forgot

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Mali Bee: J&K’s First Woman Padma Awardee Whom History Forgot
By: Dr. Rajesh Bhat*

History often remembers kings, generals and politicians. Yet some of its greatest heroes emerge from humble homes, perform extraordinary deeds in moments of national crisis, receive the Nation’s highest honours, and then slowly disappear from public memory.

The story of Mali Bee of Jhangar, Rajouri, is one such tale.

Long before discussions on women empowerment became fashionable, before government campaigns celebrated women achievers, and before Jammu and Kashmir’s daughters began making national headlines, a simple village woman from a frontier became a symbol of courage and patriotism.

For her exceptional service to the Nation, Mali Bee was awarded the Padma Shri in 1966, becoming the first woman from Jammu and Kashmir to receive one of India’s highest civilian honours.

Yet today, her name is scarcely known outside a handful of historians, old soldiers and residents of Rajouri.

Even more remarkably, Jhanghar’s Maulvi Ghulam-ud-Din, was himself a national hero, decorated with the Ashok Chakra, India’s highest peacetime gallantry award.

Jammu Kashmir’s First Padma Shri woman recipient and the Ashok Chakra recipient , both from Jhanghar village: The Unsung Heroes.

A Frontier Village That Produced Heroes

The village of Jhangar occupies a special place in the military history of Jammu and Kashmir.

Situated in the Rajouri sector, it became one of the fiercest battlegrounds during the tribal invasion of 1947-48. The area later witnessed military activity during the wars of 1965 and 1971 as well.

For the people living there, patriotism was not a slogan. It was a matter of survival. Villagers routinely found themselves caught between infiltrators, military operations and enemy aggression. Every decision carried risks.It was in this atmosphere that Mali Bee and Ghulam-ud-Din emerged as extraordinary figures.

The Woman Who Chose the Nation Over Fear

Mali Bee was not educated in elite institutions. She held no public office. She possessed neither wealth nor influence. What she did possess was courage. At a time when infiltrators and hostile elements attempted to establish influence in border areas, Mali Bee stood firmly on the side of India. According to contemporary accounts, she rendered invaluable assistance that frustrated enemy designs and strengthened the hands of those defending the region.

Her patriotism came at a time when choosing the Nation often meant risking one’s life. The dangers were real. People suspected of helping Indian forces could face intimidation, violence or death. Yet Mali Bee never wavered. The Government of India eventually recognised her exceptional contribution by conferring upon her the Padma Shri in 1966.

The honour was more than an award. It was a national acknowledgement that extraordinary courage can emerge from the most ordinary circumstances. For Jammu and Kashmir, the recognition was historic.

A village woman from Rajouri had become one of the earliest and most distinguished female recipients of a national civilian honour from the erstwhile state.

An Extraordinary Ashok Chakra recipient

If Mali Bee’s story is inspiring, the story of her village-mate makes it even more remarkable. Maulvi Ghulam-ud-Din was not merely from Jhanghar. He too was a hero in his own right. A respected religious figure, he rendered exceptional service during critical periods of conflict and earned the admiration of both civilians and military personnel.

For his courage and dedication, he received the Ashok Chakra, India’s highest peacetime gallantry decoration.

The image of the elderly Maulvi proudly displaying his Ashok Chakra in a 1986 newspaper feature ( Kashmir Times) is a powerful reminder of a generation that viewed service to the Nation as a sacred duty.

Together, Mali Bee and Ghulam-ud-Din formed a remarkable partnership.One received the Padma Shri. The other received the Ashok Chakra. Both served India in their own ways. Both became symbols of loyalty, sacrifice and courage. And both came from the same humble village.

Kashmir Times newspaper clipping (January 16, 1986)

Recognition Without Remembrance

The tragedy of their story lies not in what happened during their lifetimes but in what happened afterward.

Despite receiving some of the country’s highest honours, neither Mali Bee nor Ghulam-ud-Din occupies the place they deserve in Jammu and Kashmir’s public memory. There are no widely known biographies. Few educational institutions teach their story. Most young people in Jammu and Kashmir have never heard their names. Even official commemorations rarely mention them.

The passage of time has reduced their achievements to scattered references in archives, fading photographs and ageing newspaper reports.

Forgotten Face of Women’s Empowerment

The neglect of Mali Bee’s legacy is particularly unfortunate. Modern discourse rightly celebrates women achievers from Jammu and Kashmir in administration, sports, science and politics. Yet the story of a rural woman who displayed exceptional courage during one of the most turbulent periods in the region’s history receives little attention. Mali Bee embodied women’s empowerment long before the phrase entered public vocabulary.

She demonstrated that patriotism has no gender. She proved that courage does not depend on social status. And she showed that ordinary women can shape extraordinary history. Her life challenges the assumption that women were merely silent witnesses to the conflicts that shaped Jammu and Kashmir.

A Legacy Worth Reclaiming

The story of Mali Bee and Ghulam-ud-Din is not merely about two individuals.It is about a generation that placed national interest above personal safety.It is about ordinary citizens who became extraordinary patriots.And it is about the responsibility of society to remember those who helped build the Nation.As India continues to celebrate its heroes, the names of Mali Bee and Maulvi Ghulam-ud-Din deserve renewed recognition.Their contributions should find a place in school textbooks, public memorials, academic research and popular discourse.

Perhaps the most tragic aspect of their story is not what they endured during their lives, but what happened after. As decades passed, the names of Mali Bee and Ghulam-ud-Din slowly disappeared from public conversations. New generations grew up without hearing about them. Official commemorations became rare. Academic attention remained limited.

Today, when Jammu and Kashmir seeks to preserve its rich and diverse history, the story of Mali Bee and Maulvi Ghulam-ud-Din deserves renewed attention. Their lives challenge us to reconsider who we choose to remember.

*Dr. Rajesh Bhat is a veteran media professional, researcher and author with a Ph.D in Journalism and Mass Communication. He is deeply engaged in documenting the neglected socio-cultural and historical narratives of Jammu & Kashmir. As one of the founders of Kashmir Rechords Foundation, he works towards preserving archival heritage, recovering forgotten stories and bringing unsung personalities of the region into the public domain.

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Do you know of other unsung heroes from the region whose stories deserve to be told? Let us know in the comments below.

When US Congman backed a ‘Secured Distt’ for Kashmiri Pandits!

Kashmir Rechords
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When US Congman backed a ‘Secured Distt’ for Kashmiri Pandits!

— Kashmir Rechords Special Research Feature

A faded newspaper clipping from May 1997 has resurfaced at a time when the debate surrounding the return, rehabilitation and political future of Kashmiri Pandits is once again gaining attention. The clipping records an extraordinary intervention report with Washington dateline, May 28 wherein U.S. Congressman Sherrod Brown urging the then Prime Minister I.K. Gujral to consider the creation of a “secured district” in Jammu and Kashmir for displaced Kashmiri Pandits.

Nearly three decades later, the proposal remains relevant because it touches upon the central dilemma confronting the community since the 1990 exodus: Can Kashmiri Pandits return merely as individuals, or can they return as a secure and politically protected community? The question has remained unresolved despite the passage of 35 years.

A Forgotten International endorsement

The 1997 report written by veteran journalist T V Parasuram and the newspaper clipping preserved by  Kashmir Rechords  stated that US Congressman Sherrod Brown had suggested the establishment of a protected district for displaced Pandits and describing the continued inability of the community to return to their homes due to terrorism and insecurity. The proposal was presented as a humanitarian and security-oriented measure rather than a separatist political project.

The timing is significant.

By 1997, the exodus had entered its seventh year. Thousands of families continued to live in migrant camps in Jammu and elsewhere while targeted attacks on the remaining Pandits continued. The Sangrampora massacre would occur the same year, followed by Wandhama in 1998 and Nadimarg in 2003, reinforcing fears regarding the security of minorities in the Valley.

Brown’s proposal reflected a growing realization among observers that the return of Pandits could not be treated merely as a relief-and-rehabilitation issue.

The Shadow of Margdarshan 1991

The US Congressman’s proposal did not emerge in a vacuum.

Six years earlier, in December 1991, Panun Kashmir  had adopted `Margdarshan Resolution‘, demanding a separate homeland for Kashmiri Hindus within the Valley under Indian sovereignty, similarly as Brown had pressed for “secured district’’ under Central Government.

The resolution represented the first organized political articulation of the collective trauma experienced by the displaced community.

What Sherrod Brown proposed as a “secured district” bore a striking resemblance to some of the practical objectives underlying the homeland demand, even if the terminology differed.

For homeland advocates, the issue was never simply about houses or compensation. It was about political survival.

Why US Congman take up the issue?

Several factors likely contributed to Brown’s intervention.

The 1990s witnessed global discussions on ethnic cleansing, minority rights and protected communities following conflicts in Bosnia, Rwanda and elsewhere. The disappearance of an entire indigenous minority from Kashmir naturally attracted attention among human rights circles.

Further, the early Kashmiri Pandit diaspora in North America had begun lobbying lawmakers, academics and policy institutions. Although small in number, these groups were highly educated and politically engaged. Their efforts ensured that the plight of displaced Pandits was occasionally raised in congressional circles.

By 1997 it had become obvious that the expectation of an early return had failed. The displaced population had already spent seven years in exile. A secured district was therefore viewed as a mechanism to create conditions for return rather than wait indefinitely for conditions to improve.

Why demand failed to gain momentum?

This is perhaps the most important historical question.

If the Margdarshan Resolution existed in 1991 and a U.S. Congressman publicly advocated a secured district in 1997, why did the proposal fail to translate into political reality? Why did Kashmiri Pandit organisations within India and abroad not pursue the idea more aggressively?

Part of the answer lies in the circumstances of the time. The first generation of displaced Kashmiri Pandits was struggling for survival. Families were rebuilding shattered lives in Jammu, Delhi and elsewhere, grappling with economic hardship, displacement, loss of property and uncertain futures. Political mobilization often took a back seat to immediate concerns of livelihood and education.

The diaspora itself was still in its formative stage. Unlike several other exile communities that enjoyed institutional backing and substantial international networks, Kashmiri Pandit organizations remained fragmented and resource-constrained. While the Margdarshan Resolution articulated a clear political vision, it did not receive sustained support from either the Indian state or influential international actors.

Moreover, successive governments preferred to frame the issue in terms of relief, rehabilitation and eventual return, rather than political restructuring or territorial safeguards. The larger Kashmir conflict—dominated by militancy, counter-insurgency and India-Pakistan tensions—often overshadowed the distinct concerns of the displaced Pandit community.

As a result, proposals such as a homeland, secured district or protected zone remained part of public discourse but never evolved into actionable policy.

Global Kashmiri Pandit Diaspora returns to Kashmir

Against this historical backdrop, the recent visit of the Global Kashmiri Pandit Diaspora (GKPD) to Kashmir assumes considerable significance.

Unlike the exile generation of the 1990s, the contemporary diaspora includes successful professionals, entrepreneurs, academics and second-generation Pandits from across the world. Their visit reflected a new phase in the Kashmiri Pandit discourse, though not without criticism and debate within sections of the community.

Reports emerging from the conclave, interactions and press conferences highlighted the need for a secure and dignified return, while also stressing cultural revival, heritage preservation and institutional support for the community’s future in the Valley. The emphasis appeared to be on creating sustainable mechanisms of return rather than limiting engagement to symbolic visits.

For many participants, the focus was on reconnecting with Kashmir and exploring practical pathways for the community’s reintegration. For critics, however, any discussion of return without addressing the unresolved questions of security, political representation and constitutional safeguards risked repeating the mistakes of the past.

A New debate emerges

The recent diaspora engagement has also exposed a continuing ideological divide within the community.

One section believes:

  • The time has come for practical engagement.
  • Return must begin through confidence-building measures.
  • Economic and cultural reintegration should be prioritized.

Another section argues:

  • Security guarantees remain inadequate.
  • Political safeguards must precede return.
  • The original homeland demand remains relevant.

This debate is not new. It mirrors the discussions that have existed since the early 1990s. What has changed is that a new generation—many of whom were born outside Kashmir or grew up in exile—is now participating in shaping the future discourse.

Looking back at 1997

The Sherrod Brown proposal deserves renewed attention because it demonstrates that international observers recognised a fundamental reality long ago.

The issue facing Kashmiri Pandits was never merely one of displacement. It was the challenge of ensuring the collective security and continuity of an indigenous minority that had been virtually uprooted from its historic homeland.

The Congressman called it a secured district.Panun Kashmir called it a homeland. Successive governments called it rehabilitation.The diaspora today speaks of dignified return.

Different expressions have been used over the decades, but the underlying concern has remained remarkably consistent as thirty-six years after the exodus, the Kashmiri Pandit question continues to revolve around four interconnected themes: justice, security, return and political safeguards.

History suggests that no lasting solution can emerge by addressing only one of these dimensions. A sustainable future for Kashmiri Pandits will require not merely physical return, but a framework that addresses the community’s long-standing concerns regarding identity, security, representation and permanence.

The faded newspaper clipping from May 1997 is, therefore, more than a historical curiosity. It is a reminder that a question raised before the world nearly three decades ago remains unanswered:

How can Kashmiri Pandits return not merely to their homes, but to a future in which they feel secure, represented and rooted once again in the land of their ancestors?

Makhan Lal Saraf: The Man Who Became Kashmir’s Stage, Screen, Soul

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Makhan Lal Saraf: The Man Who Became Kashmir’s Stage, Screen, Soul
(Kashmir Rechords Exclusive)

There are artists who perform on stage, and then there are artists who become the stage itself.

For generations of Kashmiris, Makhan Lal Saraf was not just an actor, director, playwright or broadcaster. He was a cultural institution—a familiar face, a trusted voice and a creative force whose journey mirrors the evolution of modern Kashmiri theatre and television. Today, as the veteran artiste receives the prestigious Sangeet Natak Akademi Award, the Nation finally acknowledges a lifetime devoted to preserving, enriching and reinventing Kashmiri dramatic arts.

Born in Srinagar and largely self-taught, Saraf entered the world of theatre in 1957, when he joined the stage through Habba Khatoon, written by Amin Kamil and directed by Radhey Krishen Braroo. It was a modest beginning, but one that would grow into one of the longest and most distinguished careers in the performing arts of Jammu and Kashmir.

The Boy Who Fell in Love with Theatre

Theatre in Kashmir during the 1950s and 1960s was more than entertainment; it was a social movement. Young Makhan Lal Saraf came under the influence of stalwarts like Ved Lal Vakil, Kashi Nath Bhan, and later the legendary Pran Kishore, whose mentorship helped shape his artistic vision. He quickly became a leading figure in Kashmir’s vibrant community theatre movement.

Audiences were captivated by his performances in productions such as Krishen Sudama, Tapasya, Aaram Haraam Hai, Mangoo, Hero Machama, Badshah, Vitasta, Tipu Sultan and many others. His acting combined humour, sarcasm, pathos and realism in equal measure, making him instantly relatable to ordinary Kashmiris.

Professor Arvind Gigoo aptly observed that Saraf blended humour, wisdom and social commentary so naturally that audiences embraced him as one of their own. His performances transformed community theatre into a powerful medium of social reflection.

A scene from play `Budshah’, written by A K Rehbar and directed by Makhan Lal Saraf, who also performed Budshah’s role.

The Voice that Entered Every Kashmiri Home

While theatre made him famous, radio made him immortal.

Beginning in 1958, Saraf became associated with Radio Kashmir, where his rich voice and remarkable versatility earned him the coveted status of an A-Grade Drama Artist. Over the decades, he performed in more than 500 radio plays, becoming one of the most recognizable voices in Kashmiri broadcasting.

The golden era of Radio Kashmir owes much to artists like him. In fact, broadcasting legend Padma Shri Pran Kishore described Saraf as an integral part of his creative journey in radio, theatre and films, calling him “a name to be reckoned with in theatre and television.”

Whether in serials such as Akh Oas Pohla, Vital Pacheesi, Vyth Rooz Pakan and Hero Machama, or in countless standalone dramas, Saraf’s voice carried stories into homes scattered across mountains, villages and towns.

A Pioneer of Kashmiri Television

When television arrived in Kashmir, Saraf was among its earliest architects.

Associated with Doordarshan Srinagar from the early years, he emerged as a top-category television artist, actor, producer, director and writer. His contribution to Kashmiri television is staggering. He wrote over 100 television serials and plays, acted in dozens more, and helped shape the language and grammar of television drama in the region.

Generations remember productions like Buniyaad, Pazar Yeli Mood, Shaher-i-Napursan, Manzil Nika, Reza Reza, Gulam Daag, Sindbad Machama, Nooristan, Samanbal and many others that bore his creative imprint.

Long before streaming platforms and digital content, Saraf had mastered the art of telling local stories with universal appeal.

A scene from Heemal Naigrai (1958) at at open air theatre at Hazoori Bagh, Srinagar.

Actor, Director, Playwright—All in One

Few artistes have worn as many creative hats as Makhan Lal Saraf.

He acted in more than forty major stage productions, directed numerous award-winning plays, and authored acclaimed scripts that explored social realities, moral dilemmas and human relationships.

His productions attracted some of Kashmir’s finest literary minds. Playwrights such as Ali Mohammad Lone, Pushkar Bhan, Moti Lal Kemmu, Bansi Nirdosh, Sajood Sailani, Hriday Kaul Bharti, and Avtar Krishen Rehbar wrote works that Saraf brought to life through his organisations and productions.

His play Rathwanday Maliniyo was staged at the National School of Drama International Festival in 2014, while his adaptation of Nove Gash drew inspiration from Rabindranath Tagore. His Kashmiri rendering of Dr. Faustus demonstrated his ability to connect world classics with local cultural sensibilities.

The Custodian of Kashmiri Theatre

Saraf’s contribution extended far beyond performance.

He founded Rungmunch Dramatic Club in 1967, Kashmir Theatres in 1973, and later the Bhoorang Foundation in Jammu, creating platforms that nurtured countless actors, writers and directors.

After the displacement of Kashmiri Pandits in 1990, Saraf carried the theatre movement with him to Jammu. Rather than surrender to despair, he rebuilt cultural institutions and kept the Kashmiri dramatic tradition alive in exile. His initiatives ensured that theatre remained a bridge between memory and identity for a displaced community.

In 1994, he launched the Sadbhavana Drama Festival in Jammu, further strengthening cultural dialogue during difficult times.

Scholar, Historian, Mentor

What distinguishes Saraf from many performers is his scholarly engagement with theatre.

His book “Theatre Movement in Kashmir” became so influential that it was prescribed in the Kashmiri Department of the University of Kashmir. He also authored “From Actor to Artist”, a guide for aspiring performers, and wrote extensively for journals published by cultural institutions including the Sangeet Natak Akademi.

Recognising his contribution to theatre studies, the Ministry of Culture, Government of India, awarded him a Senior Fellowship to research the history and folk traditions of Kashmiri theatre.

For decades, he also served as an adjudicator, mentor and workshop resource person, guiding younger generations of theatre practitioners.

(Makhan Lal Saraf performing in Vitasta, written by Dina Nath Nadim
Makhan Lal Saraf performing as Tipu Sultan
( Makhan Lal Saraf as Tipu Sultan)

The Long Road to Recognition

Awards followed him throughout his career—Best Actor honours, Best Director awards, script awards, lifetime achievement recognitions, and the J&K Government’s State Award for Performing Arts. Yet none perhaps carries the symbolic weight of the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award.

For Kashmir’s theatre fraternity, the honour is deeply emotional. It celebrates not only a remarkable individual but also a generation that built cultural institutions with passion rather than resources.

A Living Archive of Kashmir

Today, when many of the pioneers of Kashmiri theatre have faded into memory, Makhan Lal Saraf remains a living archive of that glorious tradition.

He has witnessed the journey from open-air performances at Srinagar’s parks to television studios, from analogue radio dramas to digital storytelling, from a thriving cultural landscape to displacement and reconstruction. Through every upheaval, he never abandoned theatre.

That perhaps is his greatest achievement.

The Sangeet Natak Akademi Award recognizes an artist. But for Kashmir, it honours something larger—the resilience of a culture, the endurance of memory, and the extraordinary journey of a man who spent nearly seventy years ensuring that the Kashmiri story continued to be told.

Makhan Lal Saraf did not merely act in Kashmir’s cultural history. He helped write it.

Source Note

The article draws upon details furnished by Shri Makhan Lal Saraf in discussions with the Kashmir Records Foundation at Jammu. The accompanying photographs have been procured through special arrangement and are published courtesy of Shri Makhan Lal Saraf.

The Forgotten Ordeal of Sarwanand Kaul Premi’s Family

Kashmir Rechords
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The Forgotten Ordeal of Sarwanand Kaul Premi’s Family
(Kashmir Rechords Research Desk)

The story of Sarwanand Kaul Premi is often told as one of the most tragic chapters in Kashmir’s modern history. A celebrated poet, Gandhian thinker, journalist, social reformer and one of the finest literary voices of Kashmir, Premi was abducted and brutally murdered by militants in April 1990 along with his young son Virender Kaul. His martyrdom has been remembered in books, seminars, literary tributes, documentaries and commemorative events. His name survives in the collective memory of Kashmir as a symbol of scholarship, humanity, and the syncretic spirit that once defined the Valley.

4. Sarwanand Kaul Premi's Legacy and the Untold Pain of Those He Left Behind

Yet, hidden behind the public remembrance of the man is a far less known story—the story of the family he had left behind.

It is a story not merely of bereavement, but of abandonment.

A Family Shattered Overnight

When militants took away Sarwanand Kaul Premi and his son Virender from their home in south Kashmir in April 1990, they did not merely kill two individuals. They shattered an entire family.

The elderly poet was gone. His young son, with his whole life ahead of him, was gone. Behind them remained grieving parents, widows, sisters, brothers, and children trying to comprehend an unimaginable loss.

For the family, the horror did not end with the recovery of the mutilated bodies. Like thousands of other Kashmiri Pandits, they soon found themselves uprooted from their ancestral homeland.

Within weeks, the surviving members of the family migrated to Jammu carrying little more than memories and grief.

1. After the Killing of Sarwanand Kaul Premi and His Son, a Family Was Left to Fend for Itself

From Reverence to Refugeehood

The irony was cruel. The man whose writings had enriched Kashmiri literature, whose translations had brought spiritual texts closer to ordinary people, and whose life had been devoted to social harmony, was now gone. His family, instead of finding solace and support, found themselves struggling for survival.

A revealing report published by Kashmir Times in June 1990, and preserved by Kashmir Rechords, noted that despite public announcements regarding relief and rehabilitation for victims of militancy, the assurances had not translated into meaningful assistance for Premi’s family. The surviving members of Premi had reached Jammu with what they described as a “heavy heart,” only to encounter official indifference.

Nowhere to Live, Nothing to Eat

The words attributed to the family in the report remain haunting even today. Having lost two members, the family spoke of having no source of income, no permanent shelter and no certainty about the future.

Their ancestral home had been left behind. Their books, manuscripts, newspapers, personal papers and literary valuables—an intellectual treasure accumulated over decades—remained in Kashmir.

More painful was the fear that these possessions had either been destroyed, looted, or lost forever. For a literary family, this was not merely a material loss. It was the destruction of a lifetime’s intellectual inheritance.

The family lamented that despite the death of two members at the hands of militants, they had received no meaningful relief.

The Surviving Son’s Agony

Particularly moving were the words of Rajinder Kaul, Premi’s surviving son. Still reeling from the murder of his father and brother, he worried not about himself but about the future of his sisters. The emotional burden placed upon him was immense. Overnight, he had become the sole support of a traumatized family.

His grief was compounded by uncertainty.How was he to provide for the family? How was he to rebuild lives shattered by violence?

How was he to help his sisters overcome the trauma of losing a father and a brother in such horrific circumstances? These were questions for which there were no easy answers.

Contrast Between Public Mourning, Private Suffering

One striking detail in contemporary accounts is that the cremation of Sarwanand Kaul Premi and Virender was attended by thousands of people, many of them local Muslims from surrounding areas. The attendance reflected the respect Premi commanded across communities.

People came to mourn.People came to pay tribute.People came to acknowledge the loss.Yet once the funeral flames died down and the family crossed the Jawahar Tunnel into exile, the public spotlight faded.The family’s daily struggle for survival became largely invisible.

This contrast between collective mourning and institutional neglect remains one of the most poignant aspects of the story.

Recognition to Sarwanand Kaul Premi.

Recognition for the Martyr, Silence About the Family

Over the decades, Sarwanand Kaul Premi has rightly been remembered for his literary and moral stature.

Articles have been written about him.Seminars have recalled his contribution.His life and death have been cited as symbols of Kashmir’s lost pluralism.His name finds mention whenever discussions arise about intellectuals and cultural figures killed during the turbulent years of militancy.All of this recognition is deserved.

But far fewer people know what happened to the family after June 1990. Far fewer know of the hardships they faced as displaced persons in Jammu. Far fewer know that while Kashmir mourned a poet, his surviving family was struggling to secure the basics of life.

The tragedy of Premi is therefore not only the tragedy of a great son of the soil who was murdered for no crime other than his identity and convictions. It is also the tragedy of a family that, after losing its patriarch and a young son, found itself fighting another battle—against displacement, uncertainty, and neglect.

How Kashmir Was Marketed in 1935 and Revisited in 2026

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How Kashmir Was Marketed in 1935 and Revisited in 2026
(Kashmir Rechords Exclusive)

Long before social media campaigns, tourism conclaves and heritage tours, Kashmir was already being marketed as a destination of longing, beauty and belonging.

Archival material available with Kashmir Rechords from the mid-1930s reveals how the then North Western Railway launched a special campaign to attract travellers from across undivided India to the Valley. A Hindi pamphlet titled “Kashmir Ki Sair” and an accompanying Urdu advertisement urged people living in cities as far apart as Delhi, Karachi, Lahore, Peshawar, Lucknow, Kanpur, Hyderabad (Sindh), Patna, Calcutta to purchase railway tickets and embark on a summer pilgrimage to Kashmir.

Then and Now: Archival railway advertisements from the 1930s
Vintage 1935 Kashmir tourism advertisement issued by General Manager, North Western Railway, Lahore.

The railway brochure listed concessional fares from major cities and presented Kashmir not merely as a tourist destination but as a dream journey. The message was simple: leave the heat of the plains and discover the cool valleys, lakes and mountains of Kashmir.

One of the advertisements carried a striking appeal:

“Come, spend a month in Kashmir. It is the finest hill station.”

For thousands living across British India, many of whom had never seen the Valley, Kashmir represented a place of romance, spirituality and natural splendour. The Railways were not merely selling tickets; they were selling an emotional connection.

A forgotten 1935 railway campaign promoted Kashmir to travellers across undivided India.
Vintage 1935 Kashmir tour offer advertisement in Urdu issued by General Manager, North Western Railway, Lahore.

Ninety Years Later, Another Journey Begins

Nearly nine decades later, another appeal is being made.

This time, however, the audience is very different.

The Global Kashmiri Pandit Heritage Tour and Conclave 2026 seeks to bring members of the Kashmiri Pandit diaspora back to their ancestral homeland after almost 36 years of displacement following the mass migration of 1990.

The initiative, organised by the Global Kashmiri Pandit Diaspora and allied organisations, has invited Kashmiri Pandits from across India and the world to visit temples, heritage sites and ancestral locations in Kashmir. The stated objective is to reconnect younger generations with their roots, history, culture and civilizational heritage.

The symbolism is difficult to miss.

A promotional poster for the Global Kashmiri Pandit Heritage Tour and Conclave 2026.

In 1935, Railway authorities encouraged Indians to visit Kashmir because they had never experienced it.

In 2026, diaspora organisations are encouraging Kashmiri Pandits to visit Kashmir because an entire generation has grown up away from it.

The destination remains the same. The emotions, however, are profoundly different.

From Tourism to Homecoming

The Railway advertisements of the 1930s appealed to curiosity.

The heritage tour of 2026 appeals to Memory, Renaissance and Return.

For many participants, this is not merely another tourist excursion. It is a return to villages they have never seen, temples they have only heard about from grandparents and landscapes that survive more vividly in family stories than in personal memory.

The campaign reflects a desire to bridge the widening gap between a displaced community and its homeland.

Just as Railway posters once connected distant Indian cities with Kashmir through tracks and timetables, the heritage tour seeks to reconnect a scattered diaspora with Kashmir through culture, faith and shared history.

The Debate Within the Community

Yet the initiative has also sparked debate among Kashmiri Pandits themselves.

Social media discussions reveal a mixed response.

Many have welcomed the effort as a positive step toward cultural revival and reconnection with ancestral roots. They argue that a community cannot preserve its identity if younger generations lose touch with the land that shaped its history.

Others, however, remain deeply sceptical.

Several Kashmiri Pandit organisations, activists and community leaders have publicly questioned the timing and purpose of such visits. Their argument is rooted in the unresolved realities of displacement and security.

For them, heritage tours cannot substitute for what they regard as the larger issue of dignified rehabilitation and a secure environment for permanent return.

Some critics have reiterated a familiar sentiment: “Tourism and terrorism cannot go together.”

They contend that until anti-social and extremist elements responsible for decades of fear are decisively neutralised, symbolic visits and conclaves may amount to little more than emotional exercises. According to this view, occasional tours cannot be mistaken for genuine return.

Supporters of the initiative counter that reconnecting with one’s roots and pursuing justice are not mutually exclusive goals. They see heritage visits as a way of preserving identity while larger political and security questions continue to be debated.

A Tale of Two Eras

The archival advertisements from 1935 and the heritage tour of 2026 together tell a remarkable story.

Both seek to bring people to Kashmir. Both rely on the power of memory, aspiration and belonging. Yet they emerge from entirely different historical realities.

The first invited outsiders to discover paradise. The second invites exiles to rediscover home.

Between those two journeys lies almost a century of history—partition, wars, insurgency, migration and displacement.

As Kashmiri Pandits once again travel towards the Valley, the old Railway advertisements acquire an unexpected new meaning. What was once a leisure trip promoted by Railway officials has, for many, become a deeply personal voyage into memory, identity and loss.

And therein lies the enduring power of Kashmir: a land that has always attracted visitors, but whose greatest challenge today may be helping its own displaced children find their way back.

Readers’ Forum

What do you think? Should more such visits to Kashmir be encouraged to help reconnect displaced Kashmiri Pandits with their roots, or are they an exercise in futility until conditions for a meaningful return are created? We invite readers to share their views at kashmirrechords@gmail.com or support@kashmiri-rechords.com. You may also post your comments in the Comnments Section at the end of this article.

Mystery of Sheikh Abdullah’s Missing X-Ray Films!

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Mystery of Sheikh Abdullah’s Missing X-Ray Films!
(Kashmir Rechords Exclusive Report)

Few episodes in Kashmir’s political history have generated as much intrigue as the controversy surrounding the alleged exchange of X-ray films belonging to Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah during the final days of his life. Long before the insurgency engulfed the Valley, a Judicial Commission appointed by the government of Ghulam Mohammad Shah reportedly examined startling allegations that the medical records of the “Sher-e-Kashmir” had been tampered with at Srinagar’s Soura Medical Institute.

A newspaper report published in Kashmir Times on January 15, 1986, under the headline “Sheikh’s X-ray films were ‘exchanged'”, brought the controversy into the public domain and revealed details that raised serious questions about one of Kashmir’s most sensitive episodes.

The Final Illness of the Lion of Kashmir

When Sheikh Abdullah passed away on September 8, 1982, Kashmir lost its most influential political figure of the twentieth century. His prolonged illness during the last phase of his life had been closely monitored not only by doctors but also by political associates and family members.

As the years passed, whispers began circulating that something unusual had occurred during his treatment at the Sher-i-Kashmir Institute of Medical Sciences (SKIMS), Soura. The allegations centered on X-ray films that doctors had reportedly relied upon while treating the veteran leader.

The matter gained enough significance that it eventually attracted the attention of a judicial commission.

The forgotten judicial probe into Sheikh Abdullah's treatment—and the historic Soura residence that would later be reduced to ashes.
Newspaper clipping from Kashmir Times,January 16, 1986.

Shah Govt’s Judicial Commission

According to the newspaper report, preserved by Kashmir Rechords, the one-man Judicial Commission established by the G.M. Shah government in July 1984 investigated claims that Sheikh Abdullah’s X-ray films had been “exchanged” at the Soura medical institute.

The Commission, headed by Sessions Judge, Mr M.A. Riaz, reportedly examined evidence suggesting that the films available to doctors during Sheikh Abdullah’s treatment may not have been the correct ones.

The report stated that doctors who had treated Sheikh Abdullah suspected that the X-rays shown to them were not genuine and that the wrong films had been supplied during a critical stage of treatment.

More significantly, the report stated that doctors treating Sheikh Abdullah believed that the wrong films prevented them from obtaining the desired diagnostic results and that his medical condition deteriorated irreversibly thereafter

If true, such an error would have been far more than a routine administrative lapse. In an era when diagnostic imaging was among the most important tools available to physicians, incorrect X-ray films could potentially affect medical assessment and treatment decisions.

Commission’s Findings

The newspaper account claimed that the Commission’s report was expected to indict a Lady Radiologist and a Technician for what was described as a lapse involving the X-ray films.

More significantly, the report stated that doctors treating Sheikh Abdullah believed that the wrong films prevented them from obtaining the desired diagnostic results and that his medical condition deteriorated irreversibly thereafter.

The allegations were explosive.

The implication was not necessarily that anyone had deliberately sought to harm Sheikh Abdullah, but that a serious breakdown had occurred within the medical system entrusted with the care of Kashmir’s most prominent political leader.Even decades later, the full details of the Commission’s findings remain largely absent from public discourse, leaving historians and political observers with more questions than answers.

The Mysterious Fire at Soura

The controversy did not end with the X-ray films.

The same Judicial Commission also investigated another incident that added further mystery to the affair—a fire at Sheikh Abdullah’s residential house in Soura in June 1984.

According to the report, the Commission, however, concluded that the fire was accidental and that there was no evidence of sabotage or arson. The fire reportedly caused partial damage to the house.

Yet the coincidence of a fire occurring amid growing controversy over Sheikh Abdullah’s medical records inevitably fuelled speculation in political circles.

The Flames of 1990

As the insurgency erupted across Kashmir in 1989–90, violence engulfed institutions, government buildings, private properties and symbols associated with different political traditions.

In that turbulent period, Sheikh Abdullah’s Soura residence itself was burnt by militants on March 14, 1990. Jammu and Kashmir’s another leading newspaper, Daily Excelsior had carried the story. The same has been preserved by Kashmir Rechords and is reproduced here:

How a 1984 judicial inquiry into alleged medical lapses raised troubling questions about the final days of Kashmir's most influential leader—and the historic Soura residence later lost to the fires of insurgency.
Newspaper clipping, Daily Excelsior , dated March 15, 1990

An Unanswered Historical Question

Nearly four decades after the Judicial Commission’s findings were reported, the controversy surrounding Sheikh Abdullah’s X-ray films remains one of the lesser-known mysteries of Kashmir’s political history.

Were the films genuinely exchanged? Was it merely medical negligence? Did the episode materially affect Sheikh Abdullah’s treatment?

Why did the issue fade from public discussion despite the seriousness of the allegations?

The available records leave historians with fragments rather than definitive answers.

What remains undeniable is that the episode reflected the intense political atmosphere of the mid-1980s, when even the medical treatment of Kashmir’s most iconic leader became the subject of judicial scrutiny.

Today, the story survives as a forgotten footnote in the larger narrative of Kashmir—a tale involving medicine, politics, judicial inquiry and a historic house that would later be consumed by the flames of insurgency.

Disclaimer:
This article is based on information published at the time by two prominent newspapers of Jammu and Kashmir and on archival newspaper clippings preserved by Kashmir Rechords. While preparing this historical feature, Kashmir Rechords has relied upon these contemporaneous reports and archival materials in good faith. The article is intended solely for historical documentation, research and public interest purposes. Kashmir Rechords does not independently verify or endorse the findings, conclusions, allegations or opinions contained in the original reports and reproduces them for their archival and historical value.

From Pakistan to Srinagar: The Doctor Who Joined SKIMS in 1986

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From Pakistan to Srinagar: The Doctor Who Joined SKIMS in 1986
(Kashmir Rechords Exclusive)

In February 1986, official appointments and professional credentials were expected to undergo rigorous scrutiny. Yet, a report published by the Kashmir Times that month exposed a case that appeared to defy all standard administrative procedures.

The story revolved around one Manzoor Ahmed, a doctor whose journey from Pakistan to a government medical institution in Srinagar raised serious questions about influence, verification of qualifications and administrative standards.

The report centered on a single, controversial appointment. The newspaper questioned how a  doctor, holding a Pakistani Passport, had managed to secure a position at the Sher-i-Kashmir Institute of Medical Sciences (SKIMS), Soura, Srinagar despite concerns surrounding the recognition of his qualifications and the circumstances of his return to Kashmir

Kashmir Times newspaper clipping from February 19, 1986 regarding SKIMS Soura doctor appointment controversy.
Kashmir Times Newspaper Clipping; February 19, 1986

According to the archival report, preserved by Kashmir Rechords, Manzoor Ahmed belonged to an influential Srinagar family, had migrated to Pakistan in 1967, and Manzoor himself pursued medical education there. After obtaining an MBBS degree from a medical college in Pakistan, he reportedly returned to Srinagar on a Pakistani Passport!

Ordinarily, such circumstances would have invited close scrutiny from authorities. Yet, the report claimed that not only was he allowed to settle in Srinagar, but he also managed to secure employment at the prestigious Sher-i-Kashmir Institute of Medical Sciences (SKIMS), Soura.

Role of Family Influence

The newspaper report attributed this remarkable transition largely to family connections. It noted that Manzoor Ahmed was related to influential figures within the political and administrative establishment. His father’s brother, Sheikh Ghulam Ahmed, was serving as Principal Secretary to the Chief Minister, a position carrying considerable influence within the government.

The report further stated that after completing his medical studies at Nishtar Medical College, Multan, and working  as doctor for some years  in Pakistan and  later in Saudi Arabia ( on Pakistani Passport), Manzoor returned to India on a visa. Soon thereafter, he was appointed at SKIMS, Soura, Srinagar despite concerns reportedly being raised regarding the recognition status of the Pakistani medical qualification he possessed.

The 1986 Kashmir Times report appears less like an isolated controversy and more like an early warning about the dangers of influence overriding institutional vigilance

A Different Standard?

What made the episode controversial was the comparison drawn by the newspaper itself. The report questioned why different standards appeared to have been applied in the case of Manzoor Ahmed while, according to the newspaper, another youth from Jammu, Pervez Ahmed Khan, allegedly faced difficulties despite coming from a modest background and lacking political influence.

The article suggested that access, connections and family standing may have played a decisive role in enabling Manzoor Ahmed’s absorption into a premier government medical institution.

Questions Left Behind

The Kashmir Times report did not merely narrate the story of one doctor’s appointment. It raised broader concerns about transparency in public recruitment, recognition of foreign medical qualifications and the extent to which influence could shape official decisions.

The report remains a revealing snapshot of the concerns that surrounded governance and institutional accountability in Jammu and Kashmir during the mid-1980s. Within a few years, Kashmir entered the vortex of militancy. As the insurgency expanded after 1989, investigators, journalists and security agencies increasingly examined how various institutions had become vulnerable to ideological, political and militant influence. Hospitals and medical networks did not remain untouched by this transformation.

Over the decades, numerous reports, investigations, and arrests revealed that sections of Kashmir’s medical fraternity had, at different times, become entangled in the wider conflict. Some doctors were accused of aiding militants, some were investigated for ideological links, while others faced allegations relating to recruitment networks, logistics, financing, or providing covert support. At the same time, many medical professionals remained dedicated to their duties, often working under extreme pressure and threat.

The larger concern was never about medicine itself. It was about institutions. The question repeatedly raised was whether political patronage, weak scrutiny and influential networks had gradually eroded safeguards that should have protected public institutions from infiltration of any kind.

Seen against that backdrop, the 1986 Kashmir Times report appears less like an isolated controversy and more like an early warning about the dangers of influence overriding institutional vigilance.

Today, the February 1986 report survives not merely as an account of one doctor’s appointment, but as a historical document reflecting deeper anxieties about governance, accountability and institutional integrity in Kashmir during the years immediately preceding the insurgency

The Tragic Loss of Pushkar Bhan’s Archives

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The Tragic Loss of Pushkar Bhan’s Archives
(Kashmir Rechords Exclusive)

As Kashmir prepares to celebrate the centenary birth anniversary of Pushkar Bhan in 2026, memories of the legendary broadcaster, playwright, humorist and actor once again echo across the Valley. For generations of Kashmiris, his voice was not merely entertainment — it was an emotion, a social mirror and a living expression of Kashmiri culture itself.

Pushkar Bhan was among the towering cultural figures of modern Kashmir. His satire, wit and unforgettable characters became inseparable from Kashmiri collective memory. Yet amid the tributes, nostalgia and celebratory speeches lies a painful and inconvenient truth — the institution to which he devoted his life has almost nothing preserved from the golden era he created.

The tragedy is not that Kashmir forgot Pushkar Bhan.

“Voices like Pushkar Bhan’s are not manufactured. Once lost, they rarely return.”

The tragedy is that his recordings were allowed to disappear.

Whether it was the legendary Zoon Dab or the immortal Machama, Radio Kashmir Srinagar — now rechristened as All India Radio Srinagar — today possesses little to showcase as an archival treasure from the period when Pushkar Bhan was at the peak of his creative brilliance. Not even the signature tune of Zoon Dab, the serial that once united Kashmiri households for nearly two decades, is available in any accessible institutional archive.

Some scattered recordings may survive in private hands, but most are in shabby condition, damaged by time and neglect, desperately needing restoration and digitisation.

Pushkar Bhan demonstrating analogue sound-effect artistry long before the age of AI and digital editing.
In an era before digital technology, Pushkar Bhan manually created sound effects using everyday objects — a cup and plate in hand, imagination at work inside the studios of Radio Kashmir Srinagar.

During its efforts to trace remnants of this lost era, Kashmir Rechords managed to access some rare sound bytes and  photographs through private individuals. These photographs reveal another fascinating dimension of Pushkar Bhan’s genius. He was not confined merely to drama and satire. He actively participated in children’s programming and possessed an extraordinary creative ability to produce sound effects manually — long before artificial intelligence and digital editing entered broadcasting. What technology now creates through software, Pushkar Bhan produced naturally through analogue ingenuity, imagination and sheer artistic instinct.

Pushkar Bhan engaging with children during a Radio Kashmir programme in Srinagar.]
Pushkar Bhan during a children’s programme at Radio Kashmir Srinagar — revealing a lesser-known side of the legendary broadcaster whose creativity extended far beyond satire and drama.

Born in Srinagar on 15 February 1926, Pushkar Bhan grew up during a period of immense political and social transformation in Kashmir. From an early age, he displayed a remarkable inclination toward theatre and storytelling. After completing his graduation in 1947, he became associated with progressive cultural movements under the influence of noted poet and cultural icon Dina Nath Nadim. That association shaped his understanding of socially conscious theatre and people-centric storytelling.

In 1952, Pushkar Bhan joined Radio Kashmir Srinagar on a modest daily wage. What followed became one of the most remarkable journeys in Kashmiri broadcasting history. Through sheer talent, dedication and innovation, he rose to the position of Producer Emeritus — a recognition reserved for extraordinary contribution to Kashmiri radio drama.

Pushkar Bhan at Zoona Dab set
Pushkar Bhan with Raj kapoor

His serial Zoon Dab created broadcasting history in Kashmir. Running continuously for nearly two decades, it became part of everyday life in Kashmiri homes. Equally iconic was Machama, perhaps the most celebrated satirical character in Kashmiri literature and radio drama. Through humour layered with social criticism, Pushkar Bhan exposed hypocrisy, bureaucracy, greed and the changing moral fabric of society.

His contribution earned him the Padma Shri in 1974, followed by the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1976.

Yet awards alone cannot define Pushkar Bhan’s stature.

He belonged to a generation when Kashmiri broadcasting carried intellectual depth, linguistic elegance and social purpose. Had his works been properly preserved, they would today stand as priceless documentation of authentic Kashmiri speech, humour, idiom and cultural texture during a period when oral traditions were rapidly changing.

Instead, what survives is mostly nostalgia.

Occasionally, one comes across artificial recreations, imitation videos, or digitally assembled tributes attempting to revive his memory. But such efforts only underline a larger institutional failure. The organisations entrusted with preserving this cultural legacy failed to do so.

Particularly after the onset of militancy in 1990, many within the system quietly allowed invaluable archival material to decay. What survived the earlier neglect reportedly perished during the devastating 2014 floods that submerged the Radio Kashmir Srinagar complex. Ironically, while priceless cultural recordings were allegedly destroyed, official service books and administrative records of employees somehow survived intact.

The loss remains immeasurable

Pushkar Bhan’s own life, too, suffered personal tragedy. A fatal accident dealt a severe blow to his artistic energies. Though he survived, those close to him often felt he never regained the same enthusiasm and creative intensity afterward. Following prolonged illness, he finally passed away in New Delhi on 5 October 2008.

His legacy, however, continues to inspire writers, broadcasters and theatre lovers.

Noted broadcaster Pran Kishore devoted some pages to Pushkar Bhan in his writings. Equally significant is the detailed reference to Zoon Dab in the book Radio Kashmir in Times of Peace and War, which documents how later attempts to recreate the magic of Zoon Dab after the 1990 migration failed completely. The institution discovered that talent of Pushkar Bhan’s stature could not simply be reproduced.

And perhaps that is the final truth about Pushkar Bhan.

Voices like his are not manufactured.They belong to a civilisation, a language and a moment in history.

Once lost, they rarely return.

I Am Samay. And I Have to Rehna

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I Am Samay. And I Have to Rehna

People say my generation has no patience.

Maybe they do not know what it means to inherit memory.

I am Gen Z.

I belong to a world of reels, trends, short attention spans and fast opinions. I know memes before they become old, use the language of today, and understand the rhythm of a changing world.

But there is something I refuse to update.

My roots.

Because I am a Kashmiri Pandit.

Discover a moving story of a Gen Z Kashmiri Pandit exploring migration, resilience, heritage and cultural continuity.

And I have learnt something quietly powerful—

you can uproot a tree many times, but if its memory survives, its roots still know the way home.

My story did not begin with me.

Long before my generation learnt to archive moments on cloud drives, my ancestors learnt to archive civilisation inside memory.

We were rooted to a land.

Then rooted out.

And then we returned.

Again.

And again.

Generations after generations.

History remembers kings and battles.

But communities survive because ordinary people continue doing extraordinary things quietly.

Lighting lamps.

Teaching children.

Carrying books.

Remembering prayers.

Refusing to forget.

People have called us many things over centuries.

Weak.

Silent.

Defeated.

Cowards.

But perhaps those words came from people who never understood what survival demands.

Because leaving and surviving are not the same thing.

And survival is not surrender.

It takes a different kind of courage to lose place without losing self.

My community learnt that courage.

Not once.

Many times.

Our inheritance was never only land.

It was thought.

Learning.

Discipline.

Language.

A civilisational confidence that did not require shouting.

I carry something in my blood that my generation rarely talks about but still lives by—

the quiet inheritance of a Shaivaite worldview.

To see consciousness before labels.

To believe that every person is first a soul.

Not caste.

Not hierarchy.

Not status.

That philosophy travelled farther than our bodies ever did.

And perhaps that is why we survived.

There were times when history says only a handful of homes remained.

Yet the story did not end.

Then came another chapter.

  1.  
  2. For many families—the seventh migration.

Fathers left.

Grandfathers left.

Homes closed.

Doors remained locked.

Keys remained in pockets.

But memory refused to leave.

What moved out physically did not move out spiritually.

People rebuilt.

Destroyed shrines were remembered.

Temples rose again.

Replicas were created.

Faith crossed geography.

Identity crossed generations.

And something remarkable happened—

distance did not become disappearance.

That is what people misunderstand.

Staying is not always physical.

Sometimes staying means carrying forward.

Today I live in modern time.

I study.

I work.

I adapt.

I create.

I scroll.

I archive.

I make playlists.

I know algorithms.

But I also know stories older than the internet.

I can speak the language of now without becoming disconnected from yesterday.

I do not confuse adaptation with amnesia.

My community did not survive because it mastered noise.

It survived because it mastered memory.

Some carried books.

Some carried gods wrapped in cloth.

Some carried silence.

And all carried return.

People compare survival to strength.

I think survival is stranger than strength.

It is rarely dramatic.

Mostly it is stubborn.

Mostly it is ordinary.

Mostly it is waking up one more day and deciding not to disappear.

My grandparents survived one age.

My parents survived another.

My generation inherited something unusual—

not certainty.

Not permanence.

But continuity.

And continuity is powerful.

So yes—

I am Samay.

Time.

And I have to Rehna.

Not in one house.

Not in one city.

Not trapped in one century.

But in values.

In memory.

In continuity.

I will evolve.

I will speak new languages.

I will build new futures.

I will live in new cities.

But I will remain.

Because my story did not begin with me.

And it cannot end with me.

Because some communities do not survive by standing still.

They survive by carrying themselves forward.

And that—

that is what being a Kashmiri Pandit means to me.

Kashmir Rechords Readers’ Note

Do you carry a story that history never fully heard?

Did your grandparents preserve a memory, a migration, a ritual, an object, a photograph, a shrine, a return—or simply a moment that deserves to live?

Kashmir Rechords invites readers to come forward with personal stories, family histories, memories, archival material and human-interest narratives from Kashmir and beyond.

Write to us and help preserve what memory alone should not be forced to carry.

Email: kashmirrechords@gmail.com or support@kashmir-rechords.com

Because stories survive when they are told.

Kashmir’s 1984 Drug Warning: From Brown Sugar to Today’s Crisis

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Kashmir’s 1984 Drug Warning: From Brown Sugar to Today’s Crisis
(Kashmir Rechords Exclusive)

The archival newspaper clipping from 1984 reads today with an uncomfortable familiarity. Long before heroin, synthetic narcotics and cross-border drug networks became regular headlines, the report, published in a leading newspaper of Jammu and Kashmir had already sounded an alarm: brown sugar had entered Kashmir’s social fabric, affecting students, unemployed youth and urban pockets of Srinagar.

At the time, the concern appeared local and limited. Drug abuse was not yet viewed as a strategic challenge, nor was addiction understood as a public health and security issue. The warning remained largely confined to reportage and public concern.

More than four decades later, Jammu and Kashmir has launched one of its most visible anti-drug campaigns in recent memory.Lieutenant Governor Manoj Sinha’s Nasha Mukt Jammu Kashmir Abhiyaan, including public marches in Srinagar, Pulwama and elsewhere, has framed the issue not merely as addiction but as a wider social and security challenge.

Archival 1984 newspaper clipping titled Brown Sugar Curse of Kashmir

But the uncomfortable question remains:

If the signs were visible in 1984, did the region underestimate the scale of what was coming?

Historically, parts of Kashmir’s rural economy had episodic and limited familiarity with cannabis and charas cultivation, often treated as local law-and-order issue rather than a gateway to organised narcotics networks. What appears to have changed in recent decades is not merely consumption—but the nature of supply, trafficking and dependency.

Today’s concern is qualitatively different.

Reports and official statements increasingly speak of heroin abuse, injectable drug use, rising treatment demand and growing concern over organised trafficking networks. Estimates discussed in public policy circles and parliamentary discourse have described substance abuse as a serious social challenge in Jammu and Kashmir.

That evolution is where the term narco-terrorism enters the conversation.

In recent years, security agencies in Jammu and Kashmir have publicly reported operations describing alleged links between narcotics smuggling and terror financing, including seizures and arrests under what authorities termed narco-terror investigations.

That does not mean every case of addiction or every drug user is connected to terrorism. Most addiction cases are public-health and social crises. But the concern expressed by authorities is that trafficking channels can sometimes overlap with criminal and security networks.

Read through that lens, the 1984 clipping becomes more than an archival curiosity.

An archival report from 1984 warned of drug use in Kashmir. Decades later, the issue has returned to the centre of public debate.
A 1984 newspaper report warning of drug abuse in Kashmir gains renewed relevance amid present-day anti-drug campaigns in Jammu and Kashmir.

It begins to look like an early warning.

Back then, the fear was that youth would lose direction.

Today, the fear is broader: that addiction destroys families, drains communities, creates illicit economies and, in the worst cases alleged by investigators, feeds networks far removed from the individual user.

The anti-drug movement underway in Jammu and Kashmir therefore carries a message beyond enforcement:

History’s ignored warnings become tomorrow’s emergencies.

And perhaps that is what makes the old headline feel so contemporary: “Brown Sugar, Curse of Kashmir.”

The Man-Eater of Kargil? A Forgotten 1964 Story

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The Man-Eater of Kargil? A Forgotten 1964 Story
(Kashmir Rechords Exclusive)

There are some stories that belong to history.

And then there are stories that survive only because somebody saved a yellowing newspaper clipping before time erased it.

This is one of them.

In the archives preserved by Kashmir Rechords lies an unusual account published in Daily Excelsior in 2000—a recollection written by D. P. Sharma, who served as Circle Inspector, Kargil in 1964.

What he narrated was not folklore. Not a campfire legend. Not something he had merely heard.

He presented it as an episode from his years in uniform.

And even today, more than six decades later, it raises a question that refuses to settle:

Did Kargil once witness a case so strange that people still hesitate to speak of it openly?

The Dark Story of Kargil’s Forgotten Man-Eater and the Policeman Who Remembered It

Kargil in 1964 was not the Kargil people know today.

Roads vanished in winter. Villages lived in silence for weeks. News travelled by people, not by networks.

For a Police Officer posted there, the work was difficult enough.But then came something harder to explain.

People disappeared.

At first, perhaps it seemed ordinary—someone gone away, someone lost in terrain, someone delayed. Then another. And another.

Files were opened. Questions asked. Answers did not come.

Yet among villagers, a different explanation had already begun to circulate.

They spoke cautiously. Not because they feared the police. Because they feared sounding unbelievable.

Some said the missing had not merely disappeared. Some said someone was taking them.

And what followed those whispers was even more unsettling.

Years later, D. P. Sharma would write that among all the crimes and incidents he had encountered during decades in service, one particular case disturbed him more than any other.

That line alone makes one pause. Police officers see tragedy. They see violence.

But what kind of case remains with a man long after retirement?

What happened in Kharbu that stayed in memory for decades? What caused old missing files to gain new meaning? And what discovery inside an ordinary household reportedly changed everything?

The newspaper account eventually offers answers.

But perhaps not all stories should be read only for their ending.

Sometimes the real story lies elsewhere— in the silence of villages, in the difficulty of investigating in another era and in the uncomfortable possibility that extraordinary events do not always happen in extraordinary places.

Sometimes they happen quietly. In places where mountains keep secrets.

Today, because Kashmir Rechords preserved that old newspaper page, readers can return to it and decide for themselves:

Was this one of Kashmir’s strangest forgotten criminal cases? Or a story that history itself has never fully explained?

The clipping still exists. The questions still remain.

AIR’s Forgotten Martyrs: The Broadcasters India Stopped Remembering

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AIR’s Forgotten Martyrs: The Broadcasters India Stopped Remembering
(By: Kanwal Krishan Lidhoo*)

As All India Radio marks what it describes as “90 years of broadcasting,” an uncomfortable question lingers beneath the commemorative logos, ceremonial speeches and institutional nostalgia: can a broadcaster truly celebrate its history while forgetting those who died protecting it?

The institution that once prided itself on memory, documentation and voice now appears increasingly detached from some of the darkest and bravest chapters of its own past. In the rush to celebrate anniversaries — many themselves debated in chronology and historical context — an entire generation of broadcaster-martyrs has quietly faded from institutional memory.

There is little serious reflection on those who died in service. Few documentaries revisit their sacrifices. Hardly any structured effort exists to educate younger recruits about the men who kept the microphone alive during years of insurgency, terror, intimidation and war.

Today, many among the younger staff of AIR — and even within the upper echelons of Prasar Bharati — may scarcely recognise the names of M. L. Manchanda, Lassa Kaul or R. K. Talib.

Yet these men belonged to a generation for whom broadcasting was not merely a government assignment. It was a frontline responsibility.

The Murder of M. L. Manchanda

Among the most painful examples is that of M. L. Manchanda, who was abducted and killed in May 1992 during the height of Khalistani militancy in Punjab.

Associated with AIR Patiala, Manchanda was reportedly kidnapped by militants belonging to the Babbar Khalsa group. According to documented accounts, the militants demanded greater prioritisation of Punjabi broadcasts over Hindi programming. When Manchanda did not concede within the deadline allegedly imposed upon him, he was murdered.

While All India Radio celebrates “90 years of broadcasting,” the institution’s forgotten martyrs remain absent from official memory. From M. L. Manchanda’s brutal killing during Punjab militancy to the assassination of Lassa Kaul in Kashmir, this article revisits the sacrifices made by broadcasters who kept India’s airwaves alive during some of the nation’s darkest decades.

His killing shocked India’s broadcasting and journalistic community. He was beheaded — one of the most horrifying attacks ever carried out against an employee of India’s public broadcasting system.

Kashmir Rechords possesses some of the graphic archival photographs linked to the case, including images of Manchanda after the killing, but has consciously refrained from circulating them out of respect for a man who, ironically, now stands largely forgotten by the very institution he served.

The episode remains among the darkest assaults on India’s public broadcasting fraternity during the insurgency years in Punjab. Yet during the ongoing celebrations surrounding AIR’s “90 years,” Manchanda’s sacrifice has scarcely found mention.

Lassa Kaul and the Cost of Defiance

The story of Lassa Kaul is no less tragic.

The former Station Director of AIR Srinagar/DDK Srinagar was assassinated in 1990 because he refused to bend before terrorist diktats during one of Kashmir’s most volatile periods. Kaul symbolised a generation of broadcasters who believed radio was not merely an instrument of information, but a civilisational and cultural lifeline.

For years, his memory survived through institutional recognition, including awards instituted in his honour. But even those markers gradually disappeared. Ironically, the Lassa Kaul Award for National Integration was itself withdrawn in the very era when AIR has intensified its anniversary celebrations.

It is almost as though remembrance itself became inconvenient.

Forgetting R. K. Talib

Then there were quieter figures like R. K. Talib — professionals whose contribution belonged not to glamour, but to endurance.

Broadcasters who nurtured language programming, literary culture and community trust in deeply uncertain times. It was companionship during curfews, reassurance during conflict, and continuity during social fragmentation.

Be it Lufur-ul Rehman, Kabir Ahmad or T. Angmo…the institutions often remember infrastructure more easily than individuals.Transmitters survive in files. Human courage fades in silence.

The tragedy is not that AIR celebrates its history. The tragedy is that it increasingly appears to celebrate a sanitised and selective version of it.

The history of Indian broadcasting cannot be reduced to anniversary branding exercises while excluding the blood, fear and courage that sustained the institution through some of independent India’s most turbulent decades.

The real story of AIR lies not merely in transmitters, buildings and timelines. It lies in the anonymous announcers who continued reading bulletins amid bomb scares. It lies in engineers who restored damaged transmitters in conflict zones. It lies in programme staff who preserved languages, folklore and cultural memory long before “content creation” became fashionable jargon.

And it lies in martyrs like Lassa Kaul and forgotten professionals like M. L. Manchanda, whose lives became collateral in the battle to keep public broadcasting alive.

*Kanwal Krishan Lidhoo is a veteran Kashmiri broadcaster, author, translator and media professional associated with All India Radio for over three decades. He served as Senior Producer and Programme Executive at Radio Kashmir Srinagar and Radio Kashmir Jammu.

An accredited translator with Sahitya Akademi, Lidhoo has translated several important Sanskrit, Hindi and Punjabi works into Kashmiri, including Samay Matrika, Samkaleen Hindi Kathayen, Outlines of Indian Philosophy and Nawen Yug De Waaris.

Kanwal Lidhoo is among the founding directors of Kashmir Rechords Foundation, dedicated to preserving Kashmir’s literary, cultural and broadcasting heritage.

How a Maharaja Helped Catholic Missions Flourish in Kashmir!

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How a Maharaja Helped Catholic Missions Flourish in Kashmir!
(Kashmir Rechords Exclusive)

An intriguing historical account in Catholic Churches in Jammu & Kashmir by noted Kashmiri author, educator and social worker Predhuman K. Joseph Dhar, and carried in the book The Great People of Jammu and Kashmir, sheds fascinating light on Christian History in Kashmir and how Catholic missions gradually became part of the social and educational landscape of the region.

The narrative begins not in Srinagar or Jammu, but in the harsh, wind-beaten mountains of Ladakh!

In 1866, the Mill Hill Fathers, inspired by Rev. Father Herbert Vaughan of London, turned their attention towards the Himalayan frontier of Jammu and Kashmir. Their dream was ambitious — to establish a Catholic mission in one of the world’s most inaccessible regions.

According to Joseph Dhar, Father Daniel Kutty had reached Leh in August 1880 and immediately immersed himself in the Ladakhi language and culture. But Ladakh’s unforgiving climate proved deadly. Before the mission could truly take shape, the mountains claimed his life.

Research adapted from Catholic Churches in Jammu & Kashmir by noted Kashmiri author and educator Predhuman K. Joseph Dhar.
Author, Predumen K Joseph Dhar (16-05-1938-12-06-2014)

Yet the effort did not end there.

Joseph Dhar says in 1890, Fathers Henry, Hanlon and Michel Donsen revived the Ladakh mission. They travelled through remote valleys, educated small groups of boys and girls and learned the Ladakhi language to connect with local communities. Their dedication eventually led to the establishment of St. Peter’s Mission in Leh.

The missionaries endured immense hardship. Winters in Ladakh were so severe that many had to temporarily relocate to Kashmir Valley to survive the cold months. Some later moved to distant lands including Uganda and the rainforests of Zaire, carrying with them experiences from the Himalayas.

Turning point in Kashmir

In May 1891, Fathers Winkley and Cunningham arrived in Baramulla accompanied by Monsignor Brouwer. According to Dhar’s account, the missionaries presented the Maharaja of Kashmir with a valuable mosaic sent by Pope Leo XIII.

What happened next would shape the future of Catholic institutions in Kashmir.

In the presence of members of the State Council, the Maharaja reportedly told the missionaries:

“Preach everywhere and tell the people that there is only one God.”

That remarkable gesture of royal encouragement opened the doors for the Catholic Mission in Kashmir.

Soon afterwards, land was purchased in Baramulla, where a chapel and school were established. Under Father C.B. Simons, the institution steadily expanded and by 1911 had developed into a full-fledged high school, emerging as one of the Valley’s important centres of modern education.

A Page from “The Great People of Jammu and Kashmir”

Joseph Dhar’s research paper also reveals little-known episodes from Srinagar’s history.

In 1895, Father Winkley settled in Srinagar and built a simple priest’s residence and chapel at Mulla Mohalla. Despite devastating floods in 1903 and 1905, he continued his work. That modest structure eventually evolved into the Church of the Holy Family on M.A. Road.

The 1930s witnessed another wave of expansion. Burn Hall School was founded in Srinagar, while Presentation Convent institutions widened educational opportunities, especially for girls. St. Joseph’s Hospital in Baramulla emerged as a major healthcare institution serving people from across Kashmir.

Upheaval of 1947

The tribal invasion forced priests and nuns to evacuate temporarily from Kashmir. But within months many returned, resuming educational, medical and social services amid uncertainty and violence.

The post-independence years saw Catholic institutions spread further across Jammu and Kashmir. Schools, churches and hostels appeared in Jammu, Akhnoor, Poonch, Udhampur and Srinagar, while the Catholic community steadily grew in the region.

Predhuman K. Joseph Dhar himself occupies a unique place in Kashmir’s literary and social history. A respected Kashmiri scholar and educator originally from Srinagar, he is widely remembered for pioneering efforts to translate the Holy Bible — a landmark contribution to linguistic and interfaith scholarship.

Today, many of the schools, hospitals and churches established during those early missionary years continue to serve society, though few know the extraordinary story behind their origins.

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