Q. Write the summary of The Garden of Solitude by Siddhartha Gigoo.

This novel is structured into four main parts, following an initial prologue. It tells a deep story leading up to an epilogue, which concludes the narrative.

The novel Garden of Solitude by Siddhartha Gigoo was first published in 2010 (paperback edition) by Rupa & Co. in New Delhi (India).

The Summary of The Garden of Solitude

Prologue

The story of this Kashmiri Pandit family begins in the winter of 1981 with the peculiar death of its matriarch, Poshkuj.

At the age of ninety, she dies laughing with a fishbone lodged in her throat during the Gada Bhata (Kashmiri Pandit festival), a night dedicated to offering rice and fish to the Lord of the House.

Her only son, Mahanandju, seeing a grin on her face, initially dismisses the event as one of her playful antics to amuse the children. Her daughter-in-law, Gowri, grieves that Poshkuj could not enjoy the feast she had eagerly awaited all year.

Part One

Poshkuj was a woman of legendary stature, whose father had been a prosperous saffron merchant in Pampore. She was married to a man named Gulabju, who later returned from extensive travels abroad, calling himself Michael Bawm.

After Poshkuj’s death, Gowri assumes the role of the family’s storyteller, ensuring her mother-in-law’s formidable memory is kept alive. Her most cherished tale is that of Poshkuj slapping a lion that had wandered into their orchard.

Gowri, a masterful narrator, brings the scene to life for her family: “In a moment of supreme rage, she slapped the lion twice. Unable to come to terms with this humiliation, the poor beast fled into the bushes, never to return to the house ever after”.

Though the event had no eyewitnesses, the family believes every word, cementing Poshkuj’s status as a fearless, almost divine figure. Through these captivating stories, Gowri preserves a legacy of strength and tradition, a legacy that her great-grandson would one day immortalize in his Book of Ancestors.

A Peaceful Coexistence

The narrative then focuses on the central characters and their tranquil life in Srinagar. Mahanandju, Poshkuj’s son, is a man of discipline and quiet virtue. Though he avoids temples and formal rituals, he possesses a deep, private faith.

He is highly respected in the community, by both Pandits and Muslims, as a skilled practitioner of traditional medicine, which earns him the affectionate title ‘Doctor Sahib’.

This healing art was passed down from his father, Gulabju, an erudite Sanskrit scholar who had a mysterious past. In a perplexing chapter of his life, Gulabju disappeared for eighteen years, returning as a changed man who called himself Michael Bawm.

Mahanandju holds onto letters from his father that detail these enigmatic years, a family secret that his own grandson will later uncover. The story is primarily experienced through the perspective of Sridar, Mahanandju’s grandson and the son of Lasa.

Sridar

Sridar is a sensitive and imaginative fourteen-year-old boy whose world is defined by typical childhood fears—a stray dog, India losing a cricket match to Pakistan, and the local custom of circumcision he observes with a mix of horror and fascination at Noor Medical Hall.

His true passion, however, is writing. Encouraged by his father, Lasa, a dedicated schoolteacher, Sridar meticulously keeps a journal and crafts essays filled with poetic and unusual imagery that both impress and slightly unnerve his English teacher.

The teacher tells him, “Your essays are remarkable. Keep writing. One day, people will read your writings with relish”.

Sridar is an introspective boy, haunted by recurring dreams of his own death, and he longs to capture the ephemeral words of his dreams before they vanish upon waking.

The family resides in a large, ancestral home in a neighborhood where different communities live in harmony. Their lives are deeply interwoven with those of their Muslim neighbors. Central to this dynamic is Abdul Gani, the local gravedigger and a friend of Mahanandju.

Gani, whose family has tended the graveyard for generations, treats it with the loving care of a personal garden. His wife, Shaha, is a close friend of Gowri, and their sons are Mukhtiar and Basharat.

Sridar’s adolescent world is also illuminated by his innocent crush on Nusrat, the beautiful daughter of Gulakhar, the impoverished local ironsmith.

Nusrat’s playful whispers and the secret thrill of holding her trembling hand during Eid celebrations represent a world of innocence and connection that transcends religious boundaries. This world is soon to be irrevocably lost.

The Conflict

The peaceful cadence of their lives begins to fracture with the emergence of political turmoil. The signs are initially subtle but deeply unsettling. Sridar’s mathematics tutor, Professor Wakhlu, is visited by two men, one of whom is identified as Billa Puj, a notorious local goon with militant connections.

Visibly shaken, the professor abruptly announces a holiday, and the next day, a note on his door reveals that he and his wife have left Kashmir, never to return. This event sends a ripple of fear through the Pandit community.

The tension escalates when Basharat, the quiet elder son of the gravedigger Abdul Gani, disappears. His younger brother, Mukhtiar, confides in Sridar that Basharat has crossed the border into “Azad Kashmir” for weapons training with the Kashmir Liberation Front.

It will transform him into a hero in the eyes of his community, but a source of alarm for the Pandits. At the same time, a family feud leads Abdul Gani to separate from his brother.

In a bizarre meeting, he asks Mahanandju to use his influence to secure future “business” by convincing prominent Muslim families to choose him as their gravedigger.

That night, Mahanandju had a disturbing dream in which Gani warned him of an impending rebellion: “The Pandits should either join the movement or leave Kashmir. Destiny has been written for us.”

Tathia

Lasa, Sridar’s rational father, is initially dismissive of the growing danger. His friend and colleague, Tathia, confronts him with stark warnings, speaking of a militant “hit list” and the public murder of Wangnoo, a Pandit judge.

Lasa retorts, “There is no need to fear Tathia. Nothing will happen to the Pandits. We have been living together with Muslims for hundreds of years”.

However, the signs become undeniable. Lasa and his best friend, Ali, a Muslim bookseller, witness people gathered around a radio listening to song requests from Radio Azad Kashmir.

Lasa astutely observes they are not listening to the music but to the names, realizing it is a coded system to confirm the safe arrival of new recruits at militant training camps. This discovery reveals a covert insurgency operating in plain sight, and though Ali tries to hide the truth from his friend, a chasm of mistrust begins to form between them.

The Escalation of Violence

The situation deteriorates into open conflict, and violence becomes a daily reality. The slogan ‘Azadi … azadi …’ echoes through the streets. The murder of Amarnath, a retired Pandit lecturer and a family friend, brings danger to their doorstep.

He is shot dead just outside his home. The chilling response from one of his former students—that the killing was a “mistake” because his name wasn’t on the hit list—reveals the horrifyingly casual acceptance of violence that has gripped the valley.

One night in January, the mosques broadcast terrifying slogans, explicitly targeting the Pandit community: “O informers, agents and kafirs, leave this land. Leave Kashmir, leave Kashmir”.

This marks the point of no return. Lasa’s family, like all Pandits, is seized by terror. Their home, once a sanctuary, now feels like a prison. Their fear is amplified one night when two armed strangers lurk outside their house, trying the door.

Though they eventually leave, their menacing presence destroys any remaining sense of safety. A distraught Abdul Gani visits the next day, his love and helplessness mingling as he tearfully advises Lasa, “I ask you to leave because I love you”.

Poshtu Mot

In a last attempt to find guidance, Gowri seeks out Poshtu Mot, a reclusive Sufi saint known for speaking in riddles. When she asks him, “What will happen to us?”

He offers a cryptic prophecy: “Years from now, the children of your children will return and plant saplings in the backyard of their old houses. Go home now and sleep through the dark nights”.

His words offer no immediate solace but plant a seed of hope for a distant, generational return. The final impetus for their departure comes with the kidnapping and return of Hira Lal, a Pandit neighbor working for the Border Security Force.

He comes back after two days, traumatized and silent, and his family becomes the first in their locality to flee to Jammu.

Journey into an Unknown Future

The decision to leave is agonizing but inevitable. Lasa can no longer risk his family’s safety. They are forced to make impossible choices about what to pack, leaving behind an ancestral home filled with memories.

Gowri wept for the life they had built, asking her son, “Can’t we take the tiles? Can’t we take the new ceiling?”. On a cold morning, Mahanandju, Gowri, Sridar, and his mother board a tonga, leaving Lasa behind to manage the remaining affairs.

There are no farewells. As the tonga moves away, Sridar longs for a final glimpse of Nusrat, but she is nowhere to be seen, and the sounds of his childhood fade into silence.

Lasa’s last days in Kashmir are filled with sorrow and a heavy sense of responsibility. He encounters an eldérly Pandit couple left behind by their own sons and, with Gani’s help, arranges for them to travel with him.

His farewell to his dearest friend, Ali, is fraught with the weight of their shared history and the uncertain future. Ali, a supporter of the freedom movement, expresses a profound fear: “Lasa, Muslims are safe in Kashmir so long as the Pandits live here. Once the Pandits leave, the Indian forces will kill us”.

Finally, on January 24, 1990, Lasa boards a truck for Jammu, leaving behind the house where generations of his family had lived and died. The journey is a surreal ordeal, a procession of uprooted lives filled with “terror-stricken faces looking pitifully all around”.

Qazigund

At Qazigund, the first stop outside the valley, the full scale of the exodus is apparent. The chaos unites families and strangers in their shared grief.

An old Muslim man from a nearby mosque makes a desperate, final plea to the departing Pandits: “Pandits, do not leave your motherland. It is a conspiracy by our enemy to separate brother from brother… Without you, how will we exist?”.

His heartfelt cry is met with a slap from a young radical, symbolizing the violent death of the old, syncretic Kashmir.

As the truck crosses the Banihal tunnel, the snow-covered peaks of Kashmir vanish from view, replaced by barren mountains. Lasa is left to contemplate his shattered life and an uncertain future, holding onto a fragile hope that this parting is only temporary.

The final image is a milestone on the highway, stark and emotionless, declaring a new reality: ‘JAMMU – 79 KILOMETERS’.

Part Two

Part two provides a detailed account of the mass migration of Kashmiri Pandits. It shows their subsequent struggles, the psychological impacts they faced, and their efforts to rebuild their lives far from their homeland.

The narrative begins when Lasa arrives in Jammu. His arrival marks a chaotic and disorienting start to his new life as a refugee.

He gets off a truck where the highway meets a road already teeming with a “swarm of Pandits”. The entire area is a scene of overwhelming confusion and disarray.

Laborers are shouting loudly as they clamor for luggage. Vendors are yelling to sell their wares to the exhausted travelers. A frenzied search for familiar faces and answers is everywhere among the newly displaced people.

The local residents and shopkeepers of Jammu watch the “madding chaos of trucks” with “dull amazement” and “pitiful” gazes. This highlights the stark and sad contrast between the settled local community and the displaced Pandits in their new, alien surroundings.

Some “seasoned migrants,” those who had arrived earlier, try to help the fresh arrivals. They supply the newcomers with water, tea, and bread. Others attempt to bring some order to the “descending chaos,” but their efforts are mostly in vain.

Everyone in the crowd remains “directionless and dazed”. The old mén and women relentlessly question every new person arriving from the valley.

They are fixated on the grim news from Kashmir, asking for the numbers of “slaughtered” Pandits, “temples razed,” and “helpless families” that were left behind.

The Harsh Reality of the Camps

This constant and painful exchange of tragic stories becomes a daily ritual. It underscores the community’s collective trauma and deep uncertainty about their future. Lasa himself struggles with the meaning of this “mass migration”.

He questions whether their flight from home signifies “cowardice or great strength and courage.” He also worries deeply about how the children and the eldérly will adapt to such a difficult and uncertain life.

Soon after arriving, people advise Lasa to register his family in the temporary camps immediately. The government had repurposed many government schools and other buildings for the huge influx of migrants.

After a search, Lasa eventually finds some familiar faces. They escort him to a converted government school where many others are staying.

The school compound is a scene of “mad frenzy.” Children run around amidst shrieks and a loud din, while men haggle with hawkers over prices.

Women are gathered together, washing utensils in the “greyish waters of a canal” that flows nearby. Despite the chaos, Lasa finds a grim sense of reassurance. He sees that the Pandits are already focusing on their “basic needs” for survival.

This sight strengthens his own will to “hold on to the strings of his life” and not give up. He spends his first night in a dusty, crowded room. He is haunted by the memory of the announcements that were broadcast from mosques in Kashmir, which had instilled fear and prompted their flight.

The lack of basic amenities in the camps is severe. Lasa wakes up in the middle of the night, extremely thirsty, but is unable to find any water. He looks up and notes the cobweb-filled ceiling fan in the dark room. He questions the very point of waking up.

Psychological Scars of Displacement

His thoughts drift to the cherished belongings he left behind, especially his grandfather’s books, and he clings to a faint, distant hope of one day retrieving them.

Makeshift kitchens begin to appear in the school’s corridors as families try to create some semblance of everyday life.

They create partitions to have some privacy. They use their piled trunks and boxes or hang sarees and bedspreads to mark their small spaces. The sanitary conditions are appalling. There is only “one block of latrines for the entire school.”

This terrible situation forces women to seek privacy in the darkness of night and leads to common health issues, such as painful skin rashes. As many rooms are already full, Lasa’s family eventually has to seek refuge in a nearby temple complex.

At the temple complex, the weight of their situation fully hits the family. A despairing Lasa laments, “This is our end. We have only the past to seek refuge in”. His father, Mahanandju, sits “silent and stupefied,” tormented by the “solidity of pain”.

He deeply struggles with the loss of his familiar routine and his cherished objects from home. He feels like a “man without a reflection,” a person who has lost his identity. Lasa’s wife, trembling with constant fear, voices their collective anxiety when she asks, “Do we have to stay here forever?”.

The government’s announcement of a relief package brings little comfort to many. They receive a monthly allowance of five hundred rupees, along with some kilos of rice and sugar.

They are also given the official designation of “Internally Displaced Migrants.” The registration process for this relief is arduous.

Finding Hope Amidst Despair

It involves waiting in long queues, providing documents, and filling out forms. Poignantly, when asked for their permanent address on these forms, many people simply write “Yesterday”.

Prem Nath, a neighbor, represents the community’s growing anger and frustration. He criticizes the “meager relief” provided by the government. Prem Nath reveals that he used “forged paperwork” to obtain “almost a dozen ration cards” for his family.

He starkly contrasts their former prosperous lives in Kashmir with their current plight, where they live in places he calls “buffalo sheds.” He makes a shocking admission: “The Muslims were better. At least, they understood us”.

Lasa observes this deep internal conflict and self-loathing within his community. He sadly notes that they are now “at war with our own selves”.

This period highlights a profound sense of purposelessness, as individuals like Lasa wake up each day and wonder, “What is the point of waking up?”.

Lasa and his son, Sridar, eventually manage to secure a small, dark rented room that used to be a barn. This underscores the grim reality of their new housing situation.

Despite these extreme hardships, the Kashmiri Pandits demonstrate a firm and resilient commitment to education for their children.

Sridar initially struggles to gain admission to schools in Delhi. He faces challenges due to closures or having insufficient marks, which reflects the widespread problems faced by many migrant students.

Ultimately, he decides to return to Jammu and join the camp school. This school becomes a crucial and supportive community for him for many years.

Later, Lasa’s family eventually settles in a small town called Baderkote. Here, Sridar gets admission to a college camp and studies Arts.

Tales of Trauma and Suffering

This showcases the community’s resilience in pursuing intellectual and personal development even amid displacement. In this new town, Lasa finds a good friend in the Postmaster.

The Postmaster is a local poet who cultivates literary gatherings. At one of these gatherings, Sridar recites a powerful poem he wrote on the death of a boy during crossfire.

The Postmaster is very impressed and helps Sridar get his words in print for the first time. This success ignites Sridar’s passion for writing.

The Postmaster’s story of a postman who wrote letters to himself to maintain his sanity in a “no-letters life” serves as a poignant metaphor for loneliness and the loss of purpose in exile.

This period marks Sridar’s deepening engagement with literature and his aspirations to write poetry. He finds solace in stories and develops a strong desire to “experience new things, dream new dreams and explore a new world”.

Pamposh

In the camp school, Sridar meets Pamposh. Pamposh is a quiet, unkempt boy who embodies the most severe suffering found within the camps. One day, Sridar’s poem about “autumn in Kashmir” deeply moves Pamposh.

In response, Pamposh delivers a harrowing and unfiltered account of his daily life. He states, “Every day I lead the life of a centipede. I crawl, I lick. I hide, I sting.”

He describes the pervasive “stench of human excrement and waste,” the contaminated water, and the constant, itching insect bites.

Pamposh recounts the silent suffering of his traumatized grandfather, who became mute after seeing a gun and now suffers from a festering leg rash.

He also describes his delusional grandmother who mistakes a lizard for a toy and stares into “a world of oblivion and amnesia”. Most disturbingly, Pamposh reveals the “torture” of an old man in an adjacent tent by his own family.

The Politics of a Lost Home

This highlights the moral decay brought about by extreme hardship and the complete lack of privacy. Pamposh’s raw narrative profoundly affects Sridar, leading him to smoke a cigarette for the first time.

Having lost one home, Pamposh is no longer “in search of another,” embodying a profound and devastating resignation. This deep suffering is underscored by the recurring, grim question at camp funerals: “Snakebite or sunstroke?”.

Concurrently, Mahanandju’s mental health deteriorates significantly. This decline is due to the trauma of migration and his old age.

He begins to have delusions about a character named “Chaman Lal,” whom he alternately calls a “great dictator” and a persecuted friend. His memory becomes fragmented.

He retreats into a childlike state, unable to distinguish between past and present, or between reality and imagination.

Lasa’s mother desperately tries to engage Mahanandju in conversation and maintain family sanity by picking petty squabbles and hating silence. This profound deterioration is a direct consequence of his inability to cope with the “alien surroundings and loss of his land”.

Sridar develops a secret love for a girl he observes from his terrace. He is also drawn to the idea of a reclusive, contemplative life.

This is inspired by tales of a mythical Ladakhi tribé and a substance called “Shinkiyesh” that promises “stillness” and freedom from time.

One evening, he and a friend accidentally wander into a restricted army cantonment. This leads to their interrogation as suspected militants. This harrowing experience, where Sridar’s beard and a shawl make them look suspicious, highlights the vulnerability faced by Kashmiris.

The political aspect of the migration is explored through the “Panun Kashmir” movement. This is an organization demanding a homeland for Kashmiri Pandits within Kashmir itself.

A Search for a New Beginning

Lasa and Sridar attend a conference in Delhi where different perspectives on exile are voiced. Some Pandits, who left earlier, express that exile has given them freedom.

Others demand international recognition of their “ethnic cleansing” and the “atrocities” committed against them. Politicians assure them of their importance in Kashmir’s future.

Yet, they cynically consider using the “Kashmiri Pandit card” at the “negotiation table to complicate matters if it came to secession”.

This period encapsulates the conflicting realities of hope and betrayal faced by the displaced community.
Lasa gains crucial insights into Kashmir’s enduring suffering from others.

Nancy, a former colleague, recounts terrifying militant threats that forced her family to flee within 36 hours. She tells him how their cherished books were pillaged.

He also meets Qazi, a Muslim friend of Ali’s, who reveals Lasa’s old house is now occupied by the Border Security Force. Qazi paints a grim picture of life in Kashmir under the “constant fear of the gun,” where young boys are killed and cultural spaces are shut down.

He shares the tragic story of his nephew, Nissar, who joined militants, was abused, and is now imprisoned.
Despite these profound losses, the characters find moments of solace and humor.

They hope for a future generation to achieve “freedom from slavish mentality”. A poignant letter from Ali further underscores the persistent fear and mourning in Kashmir.

It concludes with the powerful sentiment: “We must remain mad in order to be sane”. Sridar’s quest for purpose continues. He travels to Allahabad for a Defence Services interview but is not selected.

He visits Sangam, the confluence of rivers (Ganga and Jamuna), desiring to experience freedom.

Raghav

There, he meets Raghav, a young guide who introduces Sridar to his brother, a violinist teaching mentally challenged children. Raghav’s surprising knowledge and his gift of a flute symbolize a fleeting connection to hope.

When the guide asks about his home, Sridar replies, “I left my river far behind at a place which was once my home. The river is somebody else’s now”.

Back in Jammu, he struggles with career choices, contrasting his desire for a non-materialistic life with family expectations. Despite continued setbacks, Sridar ultimately decides to “stay in Delhi and begin life anew”.

Part Three

Sridar’s New Life in Delhi

Sridar, who now lives in a migrant camp in New Delhi. He shares a room with other bachelors who, like him, are migrants from Kashmir. His roommates work different jobs, some as engineers and others in courier companies or television networks.

They live together like a family, sharing chores and cooking meals. Their conversations often revolve around their old home in Kashmir, politics, their struggles as migrants, and their hopes of earning more money to support their parents living in camps back in Jammu.

Sridar finds a part-time job with a filmmaker who is making a documentary about terrorism. The filmmaker is impressed with Sridar’s writing and hires him to translate Kashmiri scripts into English, paying him two thousand rupees a month.

Sridar works at night in a studio, reading through many documents, old newspaper reports, and interviews about the conflict. This work gives him immense satisfaction.

He also sees scenes filmed in the Jammu migrant camps, which show the deep pain and loss of his community. The documentary portrayed the social, cultural, and economic deprivation that had set in.

Sridar’s Fascination

Sridar becomes fascinated with how films are made, and the filmmaker even decides to use one of Sridar’s poems in the documentary, which makes Sridar ecstatic.

At the film company, Sridar becomes good friends with Lenin, an assistant who is originally from Kerala. Lenin is passionate about cinema and literature. He encourages Sridar to join film clubs and take a part-time course in filmmaking.

They spend their free time watching films from around the world and reading books about great filmmakers. Sridar’s love for movies grows deeper.

He starts dreaming of making his own film, often imagining a powerful scene of trucks filled with Pandits fleeing their homes. In his dream, he could even hear the “laughter of Tota, the mad girl”.

New Friendships and Old Wounds

Sridar and Lenin’s friendship deepens over their shared love for books. Lenin is a very intense reader who believes that reading a book was “sweat and perspiration, blood and toil, not just enjoyment and relaxation”.

They often argue about the books they read. Sridar, who loves stories for their beautiful journeys, often listens while Lenin explains the deeper meanings of the characters and their motivations.

During his film appreciation course, Sridar meets a unique character named Walrus, a sculptor with a large moustache. Walrus is eccentric and often late, but he and Sridar become friends.

Walrus asks Sridar about Kashmir, and this leads Sridar to speak about the pain of his family’s migration. He explains, “I don’t live there now. We migrated from there in 1990”.

He tells Walrus that another family now occupies their old house in Kashmir. This conversation reveals that Walrus also understands the pain of homelessness.

Walrus shares his own story of how floods in his village in West Bengal destroyed everything, leaving his family to survive for days without shelter.

He also talks about their classmate, Shabeer Ahmad, a Kashmiri Muslim. Walrus says that Shabeer believes “it was a conspiracy by the Government of India to get Pandits out of Kashmir”.

Sridar disagrees, saying, “Pandits were thrown out of the Valley. Muslims succeeded!”. Shabeer and Sridar often speak in Kashmiri and share jokes, but they have different political views.

Shabeer’s younger brother was killed in a landmine blast, which he blames on the Indian army. This tragedy turned him from being pro-Pakistan to wanting an independent Kashmir.

He dreams of a future where Muslims and Pandits can live in harmony again. He tells Sridar, “We will have our own cricket team, which will beat both India and Pakistan”.

A Father’s Letter and a Journey Within

One day, Sridar wins a consolation prize in an essay competition organized by the Asian Buddhist Foundation. The prize is a two-week stay at a hotel in Ladakh. He is excited about the trip.

The night before he leaves, he says goodbye to his friends and packs his bag. Among his belongings is a letter from his father, Lasa. In the bus to Ladakh, he reads the letter, and its contents disturb him deeply.

Lasa writes about the terrible sadness that has filled his life, saying, “After you left for Delhi, a strange vacuum entered my soul”. He describes the hopeless atmosphere in the migrant camps in Jammu, where people seem to have lost their passion for life.

He writes about how husbánds and wives have grown distant and how “Our identity is imprisoned in a ration card”. The most painful part of the letter is about Sridar’s grandfather, Mahanandju.

Lasa explains that Mahanandju’s mental health is getting worse. The doctor says it is Alzheimer’s. He is losing his memory and cannot recognize his own family.

He is calm only with medicine, and Lasa fears that only seeing his old home in Kashmir one last time might bring him some happiness.

Sridar is deeply moved by his father’s letter. He writes a reply in which he tries to comfort his father. Sridar reminds his father of the beautiful moments they shared in Kashmir, like visiting the frozen Dal Lake and flying kites.

He encourages his father to find strength in “madness” and beauty, not just in sadness. Sridar writes, “In madness we will be happy. In madness we will hear the song of life and find beauty and love”.

The Search for Peace in Ladakh

Sridar’s trip to Ladakh becomes a journey of self-discovery. The beauty and emptiness of the barren mountains strike him. At his hotel, he is welcomed by a young boy named Riyaz, who works there.

Sridar spends his first few days exploring the town and visiting Buddhist monasteries, known as Gompas. He is fascinated by the peace and contentment of the Lamas (monks) who live there.

He has a deep conversation with a Lama about happiness and desire. The Lama tells him that true peace comes from having no desires and living in harmony with the world, saying, “I don’t crave happiness.

So, I am always happy”. The Lama advises Sridar that understanding is not as important as experiencing life and finding one’s own path.

During his time in Ladakh, Sridar discovers a small bookshop called ‘The Mountain of Books’. The shop is run by a mysterious and beautiful woman named Ameira.

She is a woman “without a past” who came to Ladakh as a tourist years ago and never left. Sridar and Ameira become close friends. They spend their afternoons talking about books and life.

Ameira is also a writer and shares her unfinished stories with Sridar. She eventually tells him her secret: her husband, who was from Kashmir, died under mysterious circumstances while working as a spy. She decided to stay in Ladakh to be free, concluding her story with the words, “I am free at last”.

Facing the Past

Sridar’s time in Ladakh is cut short by a phone call from his father. Lasa tells him that his grandfather Mahanandju’s condition is getting worse.

Mahanandju has been dreaming about the stray dog that used to terrorize Sridar in his childhood, and believes the dog has bitten Sridar. Sridar decides to leave Ladakh immediately to be with his grandfather.

When he reaches home, he finds Mahanandju very thin and weak. He shows his grandfather that he has no dog bite, which brings a moment of relief to the old man.

However, Mahanandju’s health continues to decline. He stops eating and loses his ability to recognize people. The family watches in helpless silence as he slowly fades away.

One night, Lasa finds that Mahanandju has passed away peacefully in his sleep. After the cremation, Lasa tells Sridar he has decided to sell their house in Srinagar. A year later, Sridar chooses to take a full-time job as a writer in Delhi.

Before he leaves, Lasa gives him some old pages from a letter written by Sridar’s great-grandfather, Gulabju (Michael Bawm). The letter reveals that Gulabju had written a book about a clan of snake worshippers, which was published in Italy.

This discovery gives Sridar a new sense of purpose—a promise to himself to carry forward his great-grandfather’s lost legacy. In Delhi, he reconnects with his old school friend, Rahul, who is now a movie star.

Part Four

It was a chilly evening when Sridar arrived at New York’s John F. Kennedy Airport, on his way to Denver for a year-long deputation.

His cab driver, a Pakistani migrant, immediately asked, “Are you from Lahore?” Upon learning Sridar was from India, the driver shared his own story of eight years in America, stating, “It was hard for the first few months. I could not bear the loneliness here. I missed my home, the neighbourhood, and my friends and relatives. But slowly this place became my home.”

He praised Denver, remarking, “You will like Denver. It is much like Kashmir.” The next morning, a call to his grandmother brought a sorrowful reminder: “I will miss you on your birthday.”

Soon, Sridar was airborne, and the sight of Denver’s snow-capped mountains and familiar avenues, reminiscent of Kashmir, made him muse, “Nothing is lost after all. Is this home or just a false reflection?”

Sridar settled into his new studio apartment, finding it “Perfect! Now I shall begin a new chapter,” and resumed his writing.

Connecting with the Displaced Community

Sridar quickly established a routine in Denver, reading local and national newspapers and enjoying his daily bus ride, which brought back childhood memories.

His apartment complex was a melting pot of nationalities, and he frequently met fellow Indians at the local grocery store. These encounters often revolved around mundane topics like sales and Bollywood movies, but Sridar also observed a deeper commonality among all immigrants.

“They saw thousands of dreams; dreams of happiness and success and wealth. They created small homes for themselves away from their homes.”

Through his father, Sridar connected with Dr. Rupesh Zadoo, a Kashmiri Pandit doctor and a vocal advocate for the Panun Kashmir movement. Dr. Zadoo passionately urged Sridar to use his writing to bring attention to their community’s plight.

Dr. Zadoo’s mother, still reeling from the murder of her brother by militants, expressed her deep-seated anger: “Death to the militants!”

The Weight of a Lost Homeland

Dr. Zadoo tirelessly campaigned for the Kashmiri Pandit cause in the U.S., highlighting their lack of global representation. He lamented, “The world does not see anything except Kashmiri Muslims and their demand for freedom. The world thinks that their plight is worse than ours.”

He stressed the vital importance of remembering their past and preserving their culture: “Our children need to know their past. We need to preserve our age-old culture…We must demand our separate homeland in Kashmir.”

Dr urged Sridar not to let their history fade, declaring, “You must not be silent Sridar. You must not let the memory fade. Don’t think of Kashmir as a beautiful valley. Think of it as a drop of your ancestral blood; remember that our community went through genocide; remember that we were uprooted from our homes and made to wilt in an unfamiliar land in our own country.”

Zadoo’s own pain was evident when his mother, unable to reconcile with their new home, stated, “This place is not Kashmir. My home is lost.”

The Imperative to Remember

Sridar wrestled with the profound sense of loss and the growing realization that “Forgetfulness will invade everyone. Collective amnesia will lead to permanent vacuity of the mind.”

He felt a powerful urge to return to his roots, to his “homeless people” in Kashmir, and document their journeys. His job in Denver became a torment, as “The fire within consumed his soul every day.”

After eighteen months, Sridar returned to India in 2002. He found the migrant camp in Jammu transformed, with many families having moved on due to their children finding jobs.

Only the eldérly remained in the camps, now with a new temple dedicated to Goddess Zala—a symbol of their enduring spirit. Sridar embarked on his mission to record their stories for “The Book of Ancestors.”

Fading Past

Sridar meticulously documented the stories of the old migrants. He met Bab’s family, who, despite their dire poverty, maintained an illusion of prosperity for their neighbors.

He encountered Dina Nath, an eldérly man suffering from memory loss, often muttering about waiting for Sheikh Abdullah.

Sridar noted the “emptiness” and “longing” in Dina Nath’s eyes, sensing his yearning “to die in my house in Kashmir and be cremated there.”

Bab, despite his age, fondly recalled his childhood in a “house which had a dozen rooms” amidst apple and walnut orchards, and the village temple where “Pandits from all over the Valley would come.”

He spoke of his cherished Muslim neighbors: “All of them in our neighbourhood were dear to me. We were all together most of the time.”

Sridar realized the urgency: “These people will die soon, one by one, and take with them their memories. The precious stories will be lost forever.”

Return to Kashmir

Driven by his quest, Sridar decided to visit his old house in Kashmir. He sought Pamposh’s family, who had vanished from the Jammu camp, though he managed to get their old Kashmir address.

In January 2005, fifteen years after the exodus, Sridar boarded a bus to Srinagar. Military checkpoints and a stark beauty marked the journey. At Qazigund, he spoke with Ram Naik, a jawan, who shared his stoic acceptance of danger and the growing connection he felt with locals.

“Normally, nothing happens here. I sip tea and talk to the locals from the village. I am told that some years back they hated people from the armed forces. But they seem to like me.”

Arriving in Srinagar, the auto-rickshaw driver’s question, “Where would you like to go Panditji?” was met with Sridar’s long-prepared answer: “Home! Would you take me home? Khankah-i-Sokhta.”

The driver lamented the changes: “We have lost a generation in these fifteen years. Look at the bridge here. Look at the houses. Everything is a wreck. Will Pandits never return now?”

Childhood Home

Walking through his old neighborhood, Yarbal, Sridar was struck by the “desolate houses which once belonged to Pandits,” now “deserted” and decaying.

He saw the old “Freedom for Kashmir” graffiti on walls. His own house appeared from a distance, its tin roof rusted, its wooden pillars dark.

Sridar found “the initials of his grandfather’s name still etched on the door of his old house,” a moment that left him “petrified, frozen in the moment and its strangeness.”

A middle-aged Muslim woman, the current resident, greeted him with compassion. “My God! Is this a miracle?” Sridar mumbled. She welcomed him, saying, “Come inside my son!…Your family lived here. I can see it in your eyes.”

Inside, his childhood room felt strangely familiar, his name still on the door, and his mahogany bookshelf, though plundered, still there. He resisted the urge to reclaim a painting he had made as a child.

The Silence of Loss

Sridar continued his pilgrimage, visiting Juma Saecz’s tailor shop, where he recognized the old man, his grandfather’s friend. Juma Saecz, now frail, was deeply moved to learn of Mahanandju’s death.

“May God forgive my sins for not even grieving my old friend’s demise! He would have died a happy man in his own house.”

At Ali’s house, his old friend embraced him, weeping. Ali revealed the tragic deaths of Tota Maecz, killed by a stray bullet, and Gani and Shaha, who died of illness.

“After all these years nothing seems to have changed here in our locality, yet, much is lost,” Sridar reflected.

Sridar chose his home as his pilgrimage. “This is my pilgrimage; the visit to my house. I hope I can get my grandmother here someday.”

Illusions of Peace

In Srinagar, Sridar reunited with former school friends, Faud and Gowhar. Faud’s play deeply affected him, as did learning about classmates’ tragic fates—one killed as a militant, another a doctor abroad.

Gowhar, a cynical journalist, dismissed Kashmir’s “freedom” as false, exposing corruption between the army and militants.
Nagraj, another friend, believed the truth was complex. He shared his profound grief over his father’s death, caused by immense guilt from abandoning his theatre troupe when forced to flee.

Nagraj felt compelled to continue his father’s artistic legacy. Despite Sridar observing peace, Nagraj saw only a superficial calm, believing true freedom remained elusive.

Later, in Varmul, an old man’s enduring hope for the Pandits’ return, symbolized by a cherry tree, touched Sridar, who found solace in his writing, realizing his stories were his most significant legacy.

Epilogue

Sridar stood in a humid auditorium in Jammu, holding his newly released book, “The Book of Ancestors.” The event was a commemoration of Martyrs’ Day for the migrant community.

An acquaintance lamented their generation was “the last Pandit generation with roots in Kashmir,” having “severed our last ties with our own homeland.”

He despaired, “Our children do not speak in Kashmiri now. The government does not care for us any longer. We are voiceless!”

When the chief guest failed to appear, Sridar read passages from his book. He recounted his grandfather’s question, “What will you do with my things after I am gone?” and his own realization of the profound importance of these seemingly ordinary possessions.

His grandfather’s advice echoed: “Don’t give away my things after I am gone. Hide them from the kabaadis, for they trade in things too precious to be either sold or bought. Dump my things somewhere in a corner at the attic of your house…Preserve these belongings for your children and grandchildren. Tell them, if you can, the stories about how I came to acquire these things.”

Sridar recognized how these “small possessions began to reveal themselves” to him. As rain began outside, Sridar left with his wife and daughter, the town he would “never forget,” sleeping far behind the distant mountains.