The book refuses to move from postcard Kashmir to political Kashmir.In touristy visions of Kashmir,Dal Lake has become an enduring postcard. A picture of a shikarah poised amid the lake framed by the Himalayas has acquired the status of a veritable logo for the timeless beauty of the Valley. The picture,so to say,is an evocation of the Valley and captures some distinctive essence of the place. But we may be making a serious error of judgment if the postcard infers the entire Valley for us. That is,if it leaves an undue imprint on our larger understanding of the Valleys life. More so,when the place,perhaps more than ever,lies starkly split between its lovely physical attributes and the political image. There are now two Kashmirs: one a physical one that has always been the locus of romantic dreams with Dal at its centre and the second,a Kashmir of mind,which reflexively scares the outsiders. A Kashmir that has been an unmitigated scene of murder and mayhem for the past two decades. Justine Hardys book In the Valley of Mist: A Family Story is poised precariously on the Dal side of the divide with tentative forays into the other side. Reading this book,one cannot but come away with a distinct impression that this is a divide that Hardy somehow refuses to distinguish,bridge or even comprehend. A serious omission for an author who knows Kashmir for decades,right from the liberal Eighties when she could walk freely in Lal Chowk in her western clothes through the Nineties to the present decade when she takes care to fully cover her body and head. Hardys imagery too is sourced from Dal. It is a world of still lakes,lotus gardens,houseboats,high Himalayan peaks and carpets. Even the title doesnt miss the mist. Hardy tells the story of the affluent family of Mohammad Dar,a houseboat-owner,carpet-seller who lives on the bank of the lake with his three brothers,Imran,Ibrahim and Yusuf. Dar was born on a wooden boat moored on a lake between a lotus garden and white-marble mosque that houses hair of the prophet. And the high peaks around the lake mark the limits of their Valley home. However,it is not only the location that separates the family from the mainstream Kashmiri life but also their affluence. The family owns luxury houseboats,a house between a meadow and the lake,owns carpet showrooms in five-star hotels in Delhi,has sold chain-stitched rugs and carpets to the former US president Bill Clinton and his wife Hillary at the Maurya Sheraton. And it is a family that detests jihad,has had their house ransacked by militants and has generally preferred escapes to Delhi and abroad from the turmoil in the Valley. And to make them a medium to tell the Kashmir story is bound to promote a skewed,even stereotypical,reading of the situation. So we have observations such as you need some inspired motivators,unemployed youth,lure of houries in Jannat and funding to get an elaborate jihad going. Or,an easy buying of the view that youthful heartbreaks can be exploited on a mass scale to manufacture fidayeen.It is this reductive,localised explanation of broad,complex,historical and geopolitical factors,accumulated local disaffections and theories of nationhood that makes In the Valley of Mist just another book on Kashmir. It,however,offers a new perspective on the situation in Valley,a longtime tourists perspective. The problem is that she looks at the situation from few interfaces the Dar family,a journalist,an army officer,a tailor,human-rights activists mingled with some prominent details of two decades of trouble.What we get as a result is a postcard view from the Dal lake or even the Nigeen lake which in parts touches upon the grief of the Valley but leaves entire swathes of the truth untold.
