A Pandit Must Know His Meat

Nilmat Purana is an extensive document believed to have been written between the 6th and 8th centuries C.E. It is also widely called the Kasmira Mahatmya, and describes the socio-religious, cultural lives of people in that century. Kalhana, who wrote Rajtarangini, has quoted Nilmat Purana to be his earliest source while writing the legendary script. Nilmat Purana is particularly significant to Kashmiri Pandits as it is one of the earliest documents that mentions the regular meat-eating ways of Pandits in that era. Kashmiri Pandits have largely been Shaivites following the Trika philosophy, which in essence is a non-dualistic practice of Shiv-Shakti tantra—a belief that makes Shiva the entirety of the universe. Kashmiri Shaivism or Trika philosophy is markedly contrarian to Shaiva Siddhanta or Tantric Shaivism, which is considered normative Shaivite practice across the length and breadth of India. Kashmiri Pandits have often explained their love for meat originating in this unique practice of Shaivism which existed in Kashmir for centuries. In my family, no one had read the Nilmat Purana or knew much about the Trika philosophy but almost everyone knew their meat.

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To this date, the only obsession that has been ret­ained in our family is food. Meat and rice are the soul food that will keep men in our household quiet for hours and allow the environment to rem­ain fuss-free. It is a joke that my wife recounts at parties, “My husband gets drunk on his meat.” In the early years of my existence, I have known my grandfather to lose it if the rogan josh (a lamb curry cooked in red chilli-based gravy) had a little more water than was required. A good rogan josh is supposed to be cooked with little water content and loaded with the richness of mustard oil and the juicy fat of the lamb. Mutton has to be fried in mustard oil in a heavy pan or a pressure cooker and kept simmering till the flesh becomes brown evenly. In this deep-frying technique lies the eventual taste of this delectable dish and the reason for an early heart attack. The greatest determining factor in cooking KP wazwan is the choice of the meat and the butchery that is involved. If you choose a lamb (and mind you, it’s always lamb meat and not goat) with excess fat then you will land up with a greasy and sick-looking rogan josh. So, choose your lamb carefully. My father gave me a talisman that has always saved me from a disaster while buying meat. He said, “Whenever you are in doubt about the quality of the meat available, ask for patim raan (meat from hind legs). Additionally, the butchering of the flesh is crucial as the special cuts you need for your rogan josh are mandatory to get the best results. In Pune, in certain pockets where Kashmiris live in large numbers, these cuts are called Kashmiri pieces (pun not intended).

The final presentation of the rogan josh has to be fiery looking, although Kashmiri chilies are known mostly for their colour. The mutton pieces must be perched nicely over a rich, oil-based gravy. I remember while watching Shi­kara, a film made on the exodus of KPs in 1990, the lead actress is shown cooking rogan josh for her family. While the entire theatre was solemn-looking at the terrible tragedy that had befal­len a minority community, I was aghast at the watery gravy she had made in the name of rogan josh. I rem­ember whispering to my wife, “Trath tchin emi yath rogan josh as (She has woefully spoilt the rogan josh).”

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Meat eating amongst Pandits in Kashmir has had religious sanction too. Atop the beautiful hillock of Shankaracharya is the temple of Sharika Mata, believed to be an incarnation of Goddess Durga. Sharika is the mother goddess of many KP families in Srinagar and beyond. On the birthday of Mata Sharika, which falls every year on the 9th day of the month of ashad (Har Navum for Kashmiris), Pandits follow a tradition of carrying yellow rice cooked with turmeric, a little oil and salt. Along with this rice is a Kashmiri delicacy called tcharvan (goat’s liver) which is offered to the deity on her birthday. It may sound shocking to most Savarnas that Pandits in Kashmir would continue eating their meat till the 3rd or 4th day of the venerated Navratras, when most of the upper caste Hindus practise strict vegetarianism and fasting in general. Since the exodus, this practice of eating meat in Navratras has largely stopped among almost all the families; my late grandfather called this phenomenon ‘Hinduisation of Kashmiri Pandit culture’.

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On YouTube, there is a funny skit in which Mr Kaul relates how a KP in exile keeps telling the host of a wedding how Kashmiri Pandits got annihilated due to the exodus and keeps harping on the loss of ethos and culture while he polishes off four large pieces of rogan josh and yakhni from his plate. One fellow invitee looking at this scene murmurs, “Yemi hisaab yi khyavan chu, waen che emis yeazmanas khyanich vaer” (The pace at which he is consuming his meat, he will now eat the host too). I remember discussing with the vasta waza (chef in-charge) during the planning of my cousin’s wedding about the amount of mutton that was required to be bought for the feast and he replied nonchalantly, “650 gm per head”. I was shocked to hear that number and rem­inded him that we were also serving chicken for starters and as part of the main course. I still can’t forget the look of disdain on his face; he mustered all the arrogance possible and replied, “We don’t consider chicken as meat.” The 650 gm per head calculation stayed and he wasn’t wrong either. There was little leftover at the end of the feast.

Despite the fancy variety of meat available in Kashmiri Pandit cuisine, my personal favourite is mujje gade (Kashmiri freshwater fish cooked with radish). The cooking process, as a matter of compulsion, is accompanied by Begum Akhtar singing on my speakers. I put my favourite playlist on and start marinating the fish with a little oil in which I mix a generous amount of turmeric with salt. Begum Akhtar, in the meanwhile, croons the exalted verses written by Ghalib’s contemporary, Momin Khan Monin, “Woh jo hum me tum me qaraar tha”. I deep fry the fish—after marinating them for 30 minutes—in mustard oil till they turn golden brown. Fish is never to be touched while frying, and after removing the fish I add radish to the hot oil. Radish is followed by the addition of yange (asafoetida), budde ael (black cardamom) and zuer (cumin seeds). After the radish is fried, I add the fried fish to the vessel, supplementing it with copious amounts of red chilli. It is then mandatory to add a glass of water to prevent the red chilli from burning. While the water is yet to come to a boil, I make myself a drink and stand at the kitchen counter to hear Begum sahiba render flawless dadra in “Humri atariya pe aa jao sawariya”. Water comes to a roaring boil before I finish my drink, so it is time to add shonth (dry ginger powder) and badiyan (fennel powder) to it. The delicate dish is finally sealed with the addition of a little garam masala and ajwain. Red hot mujje gade is served over a sumptuous quantity of boiled white rice.

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There is a lot more to the Pandit cuisine than just meat. Paneer, collard greens, lotus stem and Kashmiri turnips all contribute to the colour in our thali and variety in our taste buds. But taking out meat from a KP’s plate is like taking out an animal from its natural habitat. He would obviously look out of place. The recent ruckus over meat-eating in the Northern Indian belt is a sham which is spread by people who neither understand the agency that an ind­ividual has to choose what he/she wants to eat nor know the statistics of the meat-eating population of our great nation. I have personally seen news anchors, who have added fuel to the fire of this debate, in the recent past consume non-vegetarian food with the vengeance of a predator. If there are still any doubts in the minds of the readers, always follow my dad’s advice. Go for the hind leg.

(Views expressed are personal)

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Amit Bamzai is a pune-based Kashmiri entrepreneur with deep-rooted interests in kashmiri literature and music