How a humble hut became a shrine

A career in the Army takes you to far-flung border areas where one is exposed to many a myth and superstition. Most of them have existed since long, usually based on local lore. There are ‘Pir Baba’ shrines revered for their supposedly spiritual or magical powers. Many are located on the roadside. Almost every vehicle passing by slows down or halts; drivers and passengers pay their respects before moving on.

Call it a compulsive adherence to superstition or something else, these shrines are regarded as tutelary deities who protect travellers. Sometimes, it’s all about a coincidental happening or a prayer getting answered. One such myth which developed with time comes to memory.

Before the 1971 war, we were positioned on the heights of Shamshabari Range in Jammu and Kashmir. Deep down ahead of us lay Lipa valley in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir. Distance and thick forests restricted visibility. The enemy was seldom spotted, but often the distant beat of drums reached our ears. Possibly some local celebration, we thought.

We moved into this valley when the war began. Our attacks took us to the overlooking heights. As dawn broke, we spotted a nondescript hut in the valley. On a closer look, we realised that it covered the source of a spring. The sparkling water formed a small stream. A place nearby had the obvious name of Thanda Pani! The inside was dingy; except a Quran that was placed on a pedestal, there was nothing notable. Possibly, the holy book was placed there as thanksgiving for the spring by the locals. We paid obeisance and moved on.

Little did we realise that reverence for the place would increase manifold in the times to come. The war ended, and a few months later, we departed.

Years later, I got posted to the same area. As we reached the valley, there stood an elaborate structure with flags and buntings instead of the small hut. We were asked to pay obeisance at the shrine of the ‘Pir Baba’ to ensure a safe and successful stay. I was perplexed by this sea change.

Soon, I was posted out and left the area without visiting the place. I had barely reached home when orders came that my posting had been cancelled; I reported back promptly. Lo and behold, when I arrived there, my posting was reactivated! I was told that had I prayed to the ‘Pir Baba’ before leaving, all this inconvenience would not have happened. This time, before my departure, I bowed at the shrine, somewhat reluctantly, as that hut was still etched in my memory.

I again visited Thanda Pani to celebrate the golden jubilee of the war. The myth of the ‘Pir Baba’ had grown bigger. Visitors offered prayers and a chaddar, and so did we. Finally, as I crossed the Shamshabari, the sound of the distant drums came to mind. Possibly, these were sounded for a ruling local deity, and guess we too had fallen into the clutches of the superstition syndrome!

Musings