Elders: The Unbeatable Storytellers

In the valleys of Kashmir, long before the hum of television sets or the scroll of smartphones, stories once stitched the fabric of daily life. Beneath chinar or walnut trees, around kangris in winter, or on hushed village evenings, storytelling was more than a pastime—it was a sacred tradition, a conduit of cultural values passed from one generation to the next.

Kashmir’s storytelling heritage is not just rich; it’s a legacy built on oral expression—an ancient art that carried the wisdom of elders, the morals of the community, and the spirit of resilience through time. These were not written tales but spoken ones, where every pause, inflection, and gesture added weight to the narrative.

From tales of loyalty and honesty to lessons in perseverance, education, and family honor, Kashmiri storytellers wove together life’s most essential values into their narratives. Common themes bound their stories together, even when details differed. It was through these oral traditions that generations found their moral compass, often without even realizing it.

I have heard so many stories in my life but the stories heard from the elders in childhood are the stories of my life—cherished, undeniably, like timeless treasures. Although I later heard, read in books and taught to my students the stories from Arabian Nights, Charlotte’s Web, etc. but quite many are such stories which my elders told us then. They were interesting and memorable! Perhaps my mother and grandparents have heard those stories from theirs. They were illiterate, but wise.

Literally, in those long dark nights when earthen lamps were the only source of light, one used to think over minute (tiny) things. Both in winters and summers, no sooner did it go dimmer than sisters, my cousins and I was frightened of that sight love-fully called Muth (Ghost). That horrible sound of window tapping still resonates in my ears. Even though that Muth doesn’t intimidate us today but in that time, it used to frighten us more. Like other grandparents, mine too were the well-known storytellers. After dinner, often at bedtime, my beloved grandmother Zoon Ded, even sometimes my mother used to tell us interesting tales.

Families were united then. Time, when the whole family would sleep in one room and we as children earnestly, used to sit very tightly around grandma for listening those stories. Stories like Sunkeser (little-girl), Shalkak (fox), Baadshah Sanz Sath Kore (king’s seven daughters), Zuen Muzoor (wood-cutter), Thug (spy) and Sudagar (merchant), etc. were some of the most common stories that I believe everyone of us would have heard from our elders. As for my mother and grandma, they were uneducated but good at narrating anecdotes. They narrated those Daleels (stories) to us in such a wonderful way as if they were their own.

Mouj, my grandma, would narrate so easily and convincingly each story that griped us till she wrapped that up with a prudent saying, “Tamen Payuv Dev Us Khuyew Gayev” (Roughly translated, it means: They fell on knee, we ate ghee). And on finding us yawning or drifting into a doze, she (grandma) would stop and continue the remaining part of the story, the other night. Notwithstanding the dark nights and cold beds we were scared of; I, my sisters and cousins used to wait out of curiosity for the coming night just to gather around the grandma and listen the unfinished part of the previous story.

Every story heard was full of emotions, feelings and philosophies. They were breaking tragedies with memorable morals at their tags. I am touched by those gestures by my sisters, and cousins while listening to those remarkable stories. Index finger was placed at lips for maintaining silence. I remember, when some one among us had refused to obey, he was tickled by us stealthily. His gurgles of pleasure used to distract grandma in her narration.

Sometimes, when our grandmother was feeling unwell, it was my mother who would take charge and narrate the story. We would wait joyfully under the light of Chong (an earthen lamp) for mother in the corner of room. We used to tell each other riddles till her advent. And when her domestic chores were over; she would come and sit at her place and would tell us a amazing story like our Naani. Unlike teachers, she used to narrate stories without keeping a sheet or some book before her. We were always urging her to tell us the tale of Sudagar (merchant) because this story used to raise our eyebrows and kept us silent for days. We didn’t ever sit around our grandfathers; not that they didn’t know any stories but they were strict and rebuked us on our minor mistakes.

Having stories at her tongue tip and giving answers to all our troublesome questions at the end; our grandma was indeed our first teacher. We couldn’t sleep without listening her story, except when it was told that some wild animal was roaming in the locality. In those days, Rantus (chimpanzee) or Muth (ghost) were often told us for keeping quiet. May God bless our fuming Daadi ‘Khatij Ded’. She was lean but strong. She never told us a story, not because she did not know any but because we were naughty for which she often used to call us ‘Lechrae Shur’ (naughty children).

To wrap up, it were not just my grandparents but others’ too whose delighted stories, woven with love, laughter and life’s lessons, have laid an indelible imprint on our collective memory— reminding us that the true essence of storytelling lies not just in words, but in the warmth and wisdom that our elders so selflessly shared.

Manzoor Akash is educator, author

and regular contributor to Senior Citizens’ Lounge