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Visiting the Gurez Valley of Kashmir is a rare opportunity, but becoming a part of a wedding celebration in one of its petite villages is rarer.
About 123 km away from Srinagar lies Kashmir’s Gurez Valley, dotted with turquoise rivers, lone valleys, and rustic settlements. It's a stone’s throw away from Pakistan-occupied Kashmir. In early October 2021, only a few weeks before the state would be covered in autumn hues, I had the chance to visit Gurez on a solo backpacking trip. I took a shared jeep from Srinagar to Dawar, Gurez. On our way, we passed the famous lakes of Manasbal and Wular. We also crossed Razdan Mountain Pass, where we made a pit stop to admire the beauty of the 11,667 feet high pass. We finally reached Dewar after an eight-hour journey. Dawar comprises a small but bustling market lane, antique wooden houses set by the river, and the mighty Habba Khatoon mountain, whose peak can be viewed from every corner of the village. I spent the rest of the day exploring Dawar, chatting with friendly soldiers stationed nearby, and eventually finding a homestay to set myself up for the next few days.
The next morning, I decided to rent a taxi and explore the villages of Gurez along with a lady I befriended at the homestay in Dawar. For approximately Rs. 4,000 per day, we found a local taxi driver, Altaf, who agreed to take us to the last Indian village in the region. We started at about 10 am, our taxi cutting through the pristine landscape of Gurez. There was the gorgeous Kishenganga River on one end and a mighty mountain on the other. We made our first stop at Purana Tilel, where we had to visit the police station to get a permit to travel further into Gurez. After a polite 20-minute affair, we were back on the road, headed to Niru to pick up lunch. Then, we stopped at Khurtan Tal and hiked down for a bit to reach the river bank. It was lunchtime. We opened our dry chicken fry, rumali rotis, and onion salad for a filling meal. Looking back, I recognise that the sight accompanying our meal was undeniably among the most magnificent I have ever dined amidst.
Ultimately, we headed towards the “last village”. It was located somewhere between Dadaveli and Kabul Gali. Kabul Gali was where the roads of Gurez ended, and civilians were not allowed to go all the way. It is said that in earlier times, this road connected to the silk route of Gilgit-Baltistan. When we entered the "last village", I could hear chatting and giggling in the distance. There was a young girl along with a group of boys, all dressed in bright, colourful clothes. We walked further into the singular alley of the village, and at the end of it, found all the village folks gathered in the last house on the lane. In its front yard, the auspicious multi-course Wazwan was under preparation. Set aside on the road were the renowned Kashmiri dishes of Rista, Nadru Yakhni, Ghosht, Dum Aloo, Lahabi kabab, Rogan Josh, Doudha Ras, and more. Nearby, copper pots bubbled over blazing logs. The caterer, or Waza, tended to stews and cooked ghushtaba meatballs. Altaf informed us that at any Kashmiri wedding, families prepare 25 to 40 traditional dishes for the wedding feast, to be relished by the entire village in celebration. Curious about the two women visiting from “outside”, the villagers gathered around us to playfully investigate. We were soon informed of the wedding, and before we could say much, we were gleefully taken to the bride’s home.
A young girl in her early twenties—the bride—Faheema was clad in a bright pink sharara dress with glimmering golden ornaments. Her hands and feet were painted bright with fresh henna, a sign of the Maenzraat ceremony that must have followed the previous evening at her maternal home a few dozen kilometres away. She had made the journey to make her new life in this village, still meeting much of her new family for the very first time. Faheema sat in a corner by the window in a room full of people. Guests frequented in and out to greet her, as the elderly women sang wedding folk songs. The young boys and girls all danced and regaled in this tiny room bursting with happiness. For the village of Kabul Gali, today was all about celebrating the union of this young couple, and they had all retired from their duties early on. Unusually, they had not lined up the day with a lot of ceremonies and rituals, and upon asking, I was informed that “this is just how weddings go here.” The kindly grandma I was talking to continued in her affectionate voice, “We don’t cram our days up with a lot of moving around and obligations. We all gather up in the house, dance the day away, and then relish a feast come sunset.” To me, it sounded like a fantastic way to get married.
The next hour reeled in merriment, where we congratulated the bride, danced with the women, and spoke with the villagers about the weather, their home, and more. We were invited to enjoy the delicious and tempting Wazwan menu, but time stops for none, and evening was fast approaching. We left with many good wishes and a heart full of joy. Having witnessed a local wedding was truly a beautiful feeling. On the 2.5 hour-long drive back to Dawar, we watched the sunset in silence. Back in Kabul Gali, I imagined the villagers enjoying a gala dinner with the newlyweds, as a vibrant sunset sky slowly made room for the Milky Way to shine bright over their heads. At around 8 pm, the pyramid-like Habba Khatoon greeted us, once more, with its stunning sight and exuded its mighty presence even in the dark. We were back at the homestay in Dawar, still taking in the newness of this far-off land, savouring each scene and moment to our heart’s content. And as things usually go in a far away Himalayan hamlet, a new adventure awaited us the next day.
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