Water-Thief

The so-called Happy Valley of Kashmir was unhappy, very much, so. Poor peasants, exploited and fleeced by the landlords and the revenue bureaucracy, deserted their good earth to find employment in the city of Srinagar, and many of them migrated to the plains in search of labour. Landlords, finding that they owned uncultivated tracts of land, for which they had to pay the irrevocable revenue taxes, out of their own pockets, also renounced their proprietary rights over the land. Acres of cultivable land lay waste over the darkening bosom of the Elysian Valley. These ugly patches swelled in size and, in the same proportion, the government land revenue fell, shaking the corrupt bureaucracy to its very foundation.

The Maharaja, a good and wise ruler, sat calm and majestic in his right oriental 'durbar; smoking his grandiose hookah, fed by so many busy hands. Balancing his bulky turban, he looked out of his noble eyes at the inspiring countenance of the Settlement Commissioner, who said, "Maharaja Sahib, my settlement scheme has started. It will not only bring the peasants back to their land, but I shall also find a responsible proprietor for every inch of cultivable land." The Maharaja understood the brusque European with some difficulty. When he did so, he was delighted. The courtiers noisily expressed their applause as they marked His Highness permitting the shadow of a smile to cross his set lips.

What the Settlement Commissioner had said, he did, fetching admiration from every quarter. Where local people, still apprehensive whether they could pay the revenue after assuming the proprietorship of holdings, were not to be had, the Commissioner invited outsiders, resident in Kashmir, to take up the land. Many of them, out to make a fortune in Kashmir, readily availed themselves of these concessions.

One of these adventurists was Amin Khan- hailed from Peshawar, a tall, sturdy, sunburnt Pathan youth, who had run away from home due to political troubles. Travel to Kashmir and a fast life in Kashmir for about a year had almost beggared him. For next to nothing, he got a big tract of land near Naseem Bagh, one of the famous Moghul Gardens in Kashmir. This almost coincided with his employment in the police department of Srinagar as a head constable.

In those days even the far-away glimpse of the red turban of a policeman would frighten every Kashmiri. Peasants were coerced by the police to return to the deserted land if they would not do so willingly. Amin Khan's land was about seven miles from Srinagar. He, being the most feared of head constables of Srinagar, exploited his position and influence to have his land tenanted with occupancy peasants. He made them construct a cottage for him on the land in addition to the hovels that they raised for themselves. Amin Khan soon managed to have the full complement of peasants that his land demanded. The nearby village and hamlets, dotting the countryside, also sprung up into life as old peasants returned to the land or new peasants were procured to occupy them.

Years passed. Landlords started making profits out of their land. Peasants lived better lives. Their smiling green fields were a joy to see. They started reclaiming barren land. Landlords anxiously plotted with the corrupt Patwaris to obtain or to seize more land. Amin Khan, now risen to the post of a police inspector, multiplied his acreage ten fold. by means fair or foul. After marrying a beautiful Kashmiri woman, he lived on his land in a bungalow-sort of a house. A canal ran through it and fed his vegetable garden and thence went to his surrounding paddy fields. Amin Khan rode his fine horse from the city to his country house. Pedestrians knew him and feared him. He hated them, these timid Kashmiris, one and all. His police investigation methods were well-known to be the most cruel and barbaric. His fierce look, his pointed, heavy moustache and his aggressive mien cowed every Kashmiri before him. They, poor Kashmiri peasants of the nearby village, whose lands were about to fall in his wily clutches, hated him for his greed for money and his avarice for land.

It was a gay Kashmir summer. The paddy fields stretched far and wide around Amin Khan's country house. The view of the surrounding snowcapped mountains was a matter of pride to him. It was morning. He looked anxiously at the bright sun. No comforting speck of a cloud which might foretell rain that the ripening paddy wanted in its last ripening stage, could be discerned by him.

Amin Khan shouted to a head peasant, "Razaka, come here". Razaka came running, out of breath, for he feared the brutal kicks and heavy slaps of Amin Khan. To him he commanded, "Go, block the canal with a willow log where it goes to the village. The fields of those Kashmiri dogs don't want water. Let our fields have full water for two days. Then we will see whether we will leave the canal open to those village curs."

"But, sir sir..." Razaka blurted.

Obviously, he wanted to say something but could not muster the necessary courage to do so. Amin Khan grew impatient and with a rap on his hookah pipe, he sent Razaka away, cowering. Stealthily, Razaka crept his apprehensive way to the canal where water was crudely measured through willow spans thrust across the thin line of water. He pushed the willow log to its place, blocking flow of water to the village.

At about noon, the water of the canal would smell due to melting of the snow on the mountains which fed the many streams. Then the peasants would hastily divert the water, dividing it carefully, according to established proportions, into their paddy holdings. On that day they were surprised to find no water coming to their holdings. The canal ran dry. Its muddy bed was cleft into crevices by the hot sun. What can it mean? Every peasant asked himself and asked others. They shouted to one another in protracted yells and they assembled sweating hollow-cheeked and mud-laden all over their ragged clothes, under a Chinar.

"What has happened to the water?" said one.

"Who has stolen our water?" raved another, and yet another.
A peasant came, running, taking short cuts through muddy paddy holdings, towards them, and said, making fierce gestures.

"Look, there ! The Pathan's fields have water. The fields of that police wolf are full of water. He has stolen our water. Curse him!.."

His words were drowned as they cried: "Water-thief! Water -thief" "Kill him!" "Set fire to his house!" "Rape his fat wife!", and so on. They, all in a body, ran towards the house of Amin Khan. More peasants joined them, picking up shovels, sickles, lathis, brickbats, and whatever else came handy. Even women, without wiping the mud from their legs, and dirty-fared children joined them. Reaching Amin Khan's house, they broke open the gate and crowded into the courtyard.

"Kill the Pathan" "Burn his house!" "Water-thief! Water-thief!" etc., rose the deafening slogans. Amin Khan ran to the verandah. He could not at once understand why the rabble attacked his house. Realising the nature of the situation, he ran in and came out, grabbing his rifle. The mob had advanced near the house. Brickbats were freely thrown at the house. Amin Khan ducked his neck-to save himself. He shouted to the mob at the top of his voice, asking the reason. He caught the words "Water-thief!" from among the babble of Kashmiri that he could catch. Then he understood. He flew into a rage and cried, "You bastards! You be damned! "Why do you come here like this? Whose water? I am not water -thief! It is none of your business. I can block my canal." A shower of missiles greeted him in response. "Burn his house.. He is the Water-thief! May God kill him with a thunderbolt…." came the fiery voices of the angry mob that pressed close to the house. They were now breaking against the doors and windows of the first floor. Amin Khan aimed his rifle at a ring-leader of the rabble, shouting fiercely, "You sons of curs! Will you go away or I kill you all?.." But Amin Khan did not do so, as he simultaneously heard the shrieks of his wife, sobbing aloud. "My children are out in the garden !Allah save them!" The thought of the safety of his children utterly demoralised Amin Khan. His Pathan blood cooled in his veins. He left his rifle on the verandah and rushed downstairs to face the fury
of the mob.

Strangely enough, the mob was calmed at Amin Khan's appearance. The peasant's dread of the police somehow persisted. They shouted all the same "Water-thief! Give us water."

Amin Khan, exasperated and fuming at the mouth, said, almost appealingly, "You will have water," and added, tailing his servant, "Razaka, where are you? Go, divert the water of the canal to the village."

At this the mob was instantly pacified. Voices came, as dazed Amin Khan caught them, "May Allah save the Pathan! Come away to your fields.." While the mob melted, Amin Khan ran towards his children who had been so far hiding in a granary.

Several years passed. The peasants of the village were happy and contented. The crop promised a good harvest. The sun was about to set in the golden west behind the curving line of mountains. Peasants sat under the Chinar where they had one day assembled to fight the "Water-thief." The rustic hookah went round. The Grand Old Man, stroking his short hoary beard, looking towards Amin Khan's house, said, "There we go tonight. Know you, the Pathan has invited elders of the village to dinner at his house for this is the birthday of his eldest child." Saying this, he chuckled significantly and added, with a twinkle of his humorous eyes" The water-thief will no longer steal our.