The Moral Heartbeat of Kashmir
Kashmir remembers. Its rivers remember the footsteps of poets, kings, and saints. Its mountains remember the whispers of love, loss, and courage. And somewhere in that memory walks a saint who never sought attention, never desired glory, never wore robes of power. He came like mist—soft, subtle, unassuming—Nund Reshi, whom we reverently call Hazrat Sheikh Noor-ud-Din Wali (RA).
He lived in an age when the valley resonated with many voices—Islam, Shaivism, and the fading echoes of Buddhism. Sufi orders from distant lands brought poetry, metaphysics, and disciples. Yet Nund Reshi turned inward—to the soil, to the people, to the rhythm of ordinary life—and spoke a language entirely his own. He shaped the Rishi Order, rooted not in distant texts or imported doctrines, but in the daily acts of humanity: working the land, tending the sick, sharing food, lifting hearts.
“Ann poshi teli yeli wan poshi” — food will last as long as forests last. He said this centuries ago, but it rings truer today than ever. These are not mere words of ecological wisdom; they are a moral compass. Protect the forests, respect the rivers, live in balance. Greed is not strength; simplicity is power. His philosophy blended the spiritual and the practical: care for the earth, care for each other, and care enough to notice.
Nund Reshi’s greatness lay in his ordinariness. He ate what others ate, wore what others wore, and walked among the people. Luxury was foreign to him—not as denial, but as equality. In a time of kings and priests, he chose humility. Every act of kindness, every shared meal, every healing touch was resistance—quiet, human, revolutionary.
And there was Lal Ded, the wandering Shaivite poetess. She sang of Shiva; He spoke of Allah. Yet their hearts met perfectly. No conversion. No conflict. Only recognition of shared truth. Love, renunciation, compassion—their dialogue became a secret song of the valley, teaching that faith is a bridge, not a fence; truth wears many faces. And if we listen closely, that song still echoes through our hills.
His shruks—short, simple Kashmiri verses—carry this voice. They are not adorned with foreign metaphors or lofty words but grounded in the soil, the plough, the hearth, the forest, the village. Through them, Nund Reshi brought the light of the Qur’an and the teachings of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) into the language of the Kashmiri heart. He turned revelation into reflection, translating divine wisdom into the idiom of the common folk. In every verse that speaks of toil, hunger, or forgiveness, one can hear the echo of the Qur’anic truth and the Prophet’s(peace be upon him) teachings. His “shruks” became living commentaries on faith—reminding that worship is incomplete without compassion, and that the truest piety lies in honest work and shared bread. They speak directly to the heart, like water poured into a cup. Everyone can hear them, everyone can feel them, everyone can carry the lesson home.
His poetry democratized the sacred, bringing spirituality from the monastery to the marketplace, from the priest to the ploughman. He respected women, honoured the poor, and upheld honesty in life. Poverty was no disgrace; wealth was no virtue. To grow food, to forgive, to share, to care—that was holiness. In doing so, he made ethics a way of life and became the moral heartbeat of Kashmir.
Even today, at Charar-e-Sharif, his presence lingers in the silence after prayer, in the calm breath of the valley, in the hearts of pilgrims who offer not out of fear but devotion. The shrine invites rather than overwhelms. Its message seeps into the stones, the wind, the conversations: simplicity is strength, compassion is sacred, divinity lives in everyday acts—in bread shared, in labour done, in kindness offered quietly.
In our hurried, noisy world, Nund Reshi’s whispers feel urgent. They remind us that faith must soften, not harden; that life’s sacredness lies in the ordinary; that humanity itself is the measure of the divine. Rivers may change, kings may fall, walls may rise—but mist lingers. And if we pause, we can still hear it say: Be human first. Honour the earth. Honour each other. Love without measure.
Nund Reshi came like mist—and like mist, he remains, shaping, softening, reminding us that the truest faith and the greatest courage lie in living rightly, with love, humility, and compassion.
The author is a teacher.
