Snowflakes and Stories

It was not rare for children to sit around their grandparents by the hearth, waiting for a story. The air would be filled with anticipation, and the crackling sound of firewood in a (Bukhari) would fill the room. The children sat closely, wide eyed, so they could hear a story that was always thrilling and at times horrific and still interesting. These were stories and not just bedtime stories steeped in culture, history, and moral lessons. Some of the most favourite ones have dark and eerie undertones and also revolve around supernatural beings like the Rantas (a figure so wildly in Kashmir), Pari (fairy), Dev (demon), and Jin (genie). Such characters would throw people into situations whereby one has to walk through one’s fears, pay the price for what is done, and most importantly learn some life lessons regarding discipline, honesty, and respect. Such stories were never about entertainment alone but values passed through a small age group to develop in a better, disciplined, honest, and respectful character.

But today, this tradition seems to be fading away. I often miss those childhood days when winter came along with more than just snow. It brought with it the excitement of family reunions, the warmth of the hearth, and new stories to be heard. I remember how the children in my family would eagerly wait for the arrival of my father’s aunt from Delina Baramulla and Aish Puf from Nishat. These visits were special events that we looked forward to every year, and the arrival of these beloved family members signalled the beginning of many nights filled with stories.

These were times of gathering. Children from every nook and corner of the house would curl up around the fire, waiting for that first word of a new tale to be spoken. My father, Late Abdul Rashid Qureshi, would settle in, and we would all huddle around, watching eagerly as he began to recount tales well remembered by him. My father was a man of great wisdom, though he was a driver. When he would return home from his long trips to Delhi, he brought back not only gifts and stories but a sense of warmth that made every tale more special.

The stories he told were often steeped in horror and mystery, such as Rantas, who would appear in the dark of night to frighten those who strayed too far from the safety of their homes, or Pari, the fairy who would lure children into the forest with promises of riches, only to lead them into danger. Then there were the Devs, mighty and terrifying entities that required one to pay respect, and the Jins, creatures with unknown powers, which could be cruel or kind. These stories often ended on a frightening note, but they did not lack a lesson.

Every story had a moral, be it about the perils of greed, respect for elders, or honesty in every move. The horror these stories presented was not just for fright but to serve a much greater purpose. They enlightened children to the boundaries that defined right and wrong, reminded them of the value that family provided, and underscored the importance of heritage. These stories formed the foundation of an upbringing that centered on discipline, respect, and love for one’s culture. Today, when everything is just a button away, it is very hard to think of what we have lost in the way of personal connection and cultural transmission. Information and entertainment are just at our fingertips, but so are our forgetfulness about the simple things that brought families closer. In a world dominated by social media and video games, the art of storytelling becomes a forgotten culture.

Not only is it a loss of a culture but also a way of life that created solid family relationships and ethical values in the generations that followed. The stories we heard as children, be it supernatural tales or the real world, shaped our sense of self, community, and responsibility. They taught us to be kind, respectful, and aware of the consequences of our actions. These stories made us appreciate the wisdom of our elders, who were the bearers of these important life lessons. It is a pity that in this fast-paced world, we have let go of such a valuable tradition. We are losing not just the stories but the sense of togetherness they created. The act of gathering around the hearth, sharing stories, and learning from them is something that cannot be replaced by screens or gadgets.

Family stories, passed from generation to generation, are the warmth of the family and must be preserved. “Snowflakes and Stories: The Lost Folklore of Kashmir” reminds us of the days when stories, told in the warmth of the home, were more than just tales; they were the fabric of our lives. They taught us lessons in a way that no textbook ever could, and they brought families together in a way that modern technology can never replicate. As we move further into the digital age, it is important to remember and cherish the traditions that have shaped us. For in those snowy winters, sitting by the crackling fire and listening to the soft whispers of old stories, we learned the values that continue to define us.

Mukhtar Ahmad Qureshi is a teacher by profession

mukhtar.qur@gmail.com