May 18, 2010. 3.30pm: It was raining heavily the entire day in Srinagar and since I was aware of the last day, my wander lust just didn’t seem to have got enough of the place. I had read of Rozabal in one of the books by Osho and was curious to visit the shrine in the downtown Srinagar. Rozabal is a shrine in Srinagar where Jesus Christ is believed to have been buried. It is believed that Jesus Christ survived the crucifixion and came to Kashmir, India, where he lived last years of his life and finally died in Srinagar, where he is believed to have been buried and have even left a bloodline in that region. When a friend of mine told me about the place and its directions the same morning, my curiosity was eating me up from within. I was told by many locals that it isn’t a safe place to go, but I blamed my itchy feet and went on to explore. The place seemed a lot difficult to find at first and when I did, it wasn’t much of a pleasant experience. I found kids, barely 8 years old, who were agitated to see me trespass their “territory”. I saw the shrine, closely and wondered whether all those stories about Jesus living in India were true. I made up my mind to research over it later. I read what is written on a board just above the shrine. Photography was strictly not allowed. I do not remember the lines as they are, but it did mean something that was sure to ignite fires of controversies. I would have to read a book and research more deeply to write anything about Rozabal. Many books like The Rozabal Line and The Lost Years of Jesus explain many related stories. I was just fulfilled enough to have been able to visit the most mysterious place known to me and moved on carrying a thousand thoughts in my mind.
May 18, 2010. 5.30pm: The typical woman inside me was yelling by now and wanted to make the most of shopping in Kashmir! It was undoubtedly the most beautiful evening of all –yes, I was being partial since it was my last evening by the Boulevard. The Dal Gate Road was full of street hawkers selling Kashmiri handicrafts made of Papier Mache. Every single artefact stands out with its vibrant explosion of Indian hues and intricate Mughal designs. I loved walking down the road aimlessly while the rest of the world around me continued to run. The sun didn’t wait to set, the shikaras didn’t stop floating and the shops didn’t stop selling. The world moved on every second as I walked aimlessly on the road, exploring each shop and trying to touch everything that caught my eye! I shopped like a total shopaholic with full-on bargaining power! The still waters of Dal Lake had began to reflect the street lights around, the house boats had began to gear up for another candle-lit dinner for the evening, the shikaras were carrying newly arrived tourists to their reserved house boats, as the sky turned dark. And I knew, as I leave, someone else like me would come here, explore the place, indulge in the slowness, ride horses up to 14,000 feet, listen to the sound of waters that the oar of shikara pushes, travel the less travelled roads that lead to Himalayas, discover true romance in the Mughal Gardens, watch the green carpets of Gulmarg, and simply live a part of their lives in the land of Kashmir.
I did not know whether the Kashmir euphoria was rising up within me or was the sadness of saying a final goodbye, faded my euphoria of the place. Whatever it would have been, it sure was one beautiful sad evening. I discovered that this place had moved me, in a way that I could never be the same again. I wanted to live the moment forever and never wanted to go back to where I belonged. Kashmir is a powerful beauty and it sure had cast a spell on me. It made me think beyond the commercial world. The spell it put on me had a name and I called it the spell of simplicity. I wanted to surrender myself to the euphoric Kashmir. I am still under the same spell and living in the afterglow.
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