TANTRIC WISDOM IN THE VAAKHS OF LALLESHWARI

                                                                            

                         (Bharatanatyam dancer Rama Vaidyanathan performs on the Vaakhs of Lalleshwari )

TANTRIC WISDOM IN THE VAAKHS OF LALLESHWARI

 The mystical utterances of Lalleshwari or Lal-Ded occupy a singular and luminous place within the spiritual consciousness of Kashmir. Her Vaakhs are not merely poetic expressions but revelations of lived truth; distillations of direct realisation that arise from the deepest strata of awareness. Rooted in the non-dual vision of Kashmir Shaivism, they transcend the boundaries of doctrine and ritual, articulating instead an uncompromising path of inner awakening. In Lalleshwari or Lal-Ded, Tantra ceases to be a system to be followed and becomes an experience to be embodied.

 Within the intricate metaphysical architecture of the Shaiva Tantras, numbers such as five, ten, and eleven are not incidental—they are charged with profound symbolic significance. They function as luminous condensations of knowledge, mapping the descent of the Absolute into manifestation and the ascent of the seeker towards recognition. Five signifies the primordial powers (śaktis) of Śiva—cit (pure consciousness), ānanda (bliss), icchā (will), jñāna (knowledge), and kriyā (action)—through which the One becomes the many without ever relinquishing its unity. Ten gestures towards the disciplined modalities of practice, the structured pathways of ritual, mantra, and meditation through which consciousness is refined. Eleven expands this schema into a more comprehensive spiritual topology, encompassing initiation, vision, sacred alignment, and the integration of insight into lived experience.

 Yet, in the Vaakhs of Lalleshwari or Lal-Ded, this elaborate architecture is neither expounded nor denied—it is surpassed. With a disarming simplicity, she exposes the subtle peril inherent even in the most refined spiritual systems: the fragmentation of what is essentially whole. When these symbolic principles are grasped merely as intellectual categories, they cease to illuminate and begin instead to obscure. What was meant to guide becomes that which divides. She expresses this with characteristic brevity and force:

 

“Kyah kara paantchan dahan ta kaahan

Vakṣhun yath lejji yim karith gaei

Saari samahan yeith razi lamahan

Adha kyaazi raavihe kahan gaav.”

 (Alas! The five, the ten, and the eleven

scraped the vessel and drifted away.

Had they but gathered and drawn the rope as one,

nothing would have fallen into disarray or been lost.)

 The imagery is deceptively simple yet philosophically exacting. The “scraping of the vessel” signifies an engagement with externals: the manipulation of forms, classifications, and techniques—while the essence, the living content of realisation, escapes unnoticed. The failure lies not in the categories themselves, but in their disjunction. Fragmented knowledge cannot yield wholeness; divided means cannot lead to indivisible truth.

 In this light, Lalleshwari or Lal-Ded’s insight is not anti-Tantric; it is the very culmination of Tantric wisdom. The ultimate aim of Tantra is not the perfection of method, but the dissolution of all separation in the fire of awareness. The scattered “five, ten, and eleven” must be gathered—not as a system to be mastered, but as a recognition that all multiplicity arises from, and resolves into, the same undivided Self. This consummation of insight finds even more direct expression in another of her Vaakhs:

 “Onkar yeli layi anum,

Vuhi korum panun paan,

Sheh vot traavith sath maarg rotum

Teli Lall ba vaatchis prakaash-sthaan.”

 (I set my mortal frame aflame with the fire of devotion

When I mastered the mystic syllable, Om.

Abandoning the sixfold paths of the mind,

I journeyed alone into the seventh, the hidden way.

Only there, in that luminous sanctum,

did I, Lallā, behold the radiant abode of Light.)

 Here, Tantra is revealed in its most uncompromising form, not as ritual performance, but as inner combustion. The invocation of Om is not a recitation but an ignition: consciousness turning upon itself, consuming every trace of separateness. The body becomes the altar, awareness the flame, and the ego the offering. Her abandonment of the “six paths” signifies a radical withdrawal from all conditioned modes of perception, from the entire structure of dualistic cognition. The “seventh path” is not another method; it is the transcendence of all methods. It is the entry into that which lies beyond mind, beyond differentiation; pure, self-luminous awareness. The “abode of light” she beholds is not elsewhere; it is the recognition that the seeker has always been that light. I quote another popular Vaakh:

 “Mata rupi soyi paai diye

Bharuya rupi kari vilas vesh

Soyi maaya rupi zeevas haray

Shiv chhuyi krooth tai zchain vopdeesh”

 

“As a mother, she nourishes the infant at her breast;

As a wife, she moves in the delicate play of love;

As Māyā, she beguiles and leads the soul astray—

Śiva is no easy attainment; take heed, and awaken.”

 This Vaakh, interpreted through the combined prism of Kashmir Shaivism and Tantric praxis, articulates a non-dual ontology wherein Shiva manifests as both the source of experiential plenitude (bhoga)—nourishing as mother and delighting as consort—and as the agent of self-concealment through Māyā, understood as a dynamic modality of Śakti. In Tantric terms, this polarity is not contradictory but constitutive, since Śakti’s power both projects multiplicity and veils the intrinsic swātantrya (absolute freedom) of consciousness, thereby generating the finite subject (māyā-pramātṛ), whose bondage (bandha) is itself a functional expression of divine autonomy, while simultaneously providing, through embodied experience, sensory engagement, and ritual internalisation, the very means of reversal whereby the practitioner reclaims sovereignty via recognition (pratyabhijñā) that all affect, cognition, and embodiment are already saturated with the presence of Śiva.

Thus, Lalleshwari or Lal-Ded does not reject the Tantric tradition; she fulfils it. Where the Tantras provide structure, she reveals essence. Where they enumerate, she unifies. Where they instruct, she embodies. The elaborate schemata of Tantra, its categories, correspondences, and ritual elaborations—are not denied but rendered provisional: scaffolding that must ultimately be relinquished once the edifice of realisation stands complete.

It may also be observed that the subtle message of the Tantric Āgamas has, over time, often been obscured, veiled beneath layers of formalism, interpretation, and accretion. In such conditions, the means risk eclipsing the end, and the living current of experience is replaced by adherence to structure. Lalleshwari or Lal-Ded’s Vaakhs cut through this obscuration with uncompromising clarity, restoring immediacy to what had become mediated and essence to what had become elaborated. Her voice does not diminish the grandeur of Tantra; it reveals its highest fulfilment. For in the final vision of non-duality, the five, the ten, and the eleven do not disappear; they dissolve into that indivisible awareness from which they first emerged. There, all structure yields to being, all knowledge to realisation, and all paths to the radiant certainty of the Self.

 

(Avtar Mota)

 

PS

Kashmir Shaivism may be understood, in a scholarly context, as a highly systematised non-dual (advaita) Śaiva philosophical tradition that flourished in Kashmir between the eighth and twelfth centuries. It advances a metaphysics of absolute consciousness (cit), identified with Śiva, in which the manifest universe is not regarded as illusory but rather as a real and dynamic self-expression (svātantrya) of that ultimate principle. Its epistemological and soteriological framework is grounded in the doctrine of recognition (pratyabhijñā), according to which liberation (mokṣa) is attained through the direct re-cognition of one’s essential identity with universal consciousness. The polymath Abhinavagupta played a decisive role in synthesising scriptural, ritual, and philosophical strands of the tradition, most notably in his encyclopaedic work, Tantrāloka.

By contrast, Śaiva Tantra denotes a broader and more internally diverse body of scriptures and practices within the Śaiva religious sphere. It encompasses multiple doctrinal orientations—dualist, non-dualist, and non-dual-with-dualism—as well as a wide array of ritual technologies, including mantra, initiation (dīkṣā), temple worship, and yogic discipline. These traditions are typically oriented towards both worldly fulfilment (bhukti) and spiritual liberation (mukti). Kashmir Shaivism may therefore be regarded as a philosophically sophisticated and exegetically refined articulation within the wider ambit of Śaiva Tantra, distinguished by its emphasis on non-dual metaphysics, hermeneutics, and interiorised contemplative practice.

 

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
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" A LIAR IS ALREADY IN POSSESSION OF TRUTH.

                                            

( Photo : A Franprix store at Ru de Grenelle , 7th Arrondissement, near iconic Eiffel Tower.)

A LIAR IS ALREADY  IN POSSESSION OF TRUTH

In France , I observed that people often use Friedrich Nietzsche 's line 'Les menteurs possèdent la vérité' meaning 'A liar is already in possession of truth' . I saw a  salesgirl at the Franprix store using it. I heard a professor at the  Sorbonne University using it.I heard a traveller waiting for his metro at the  Châtelet–Les Halles (Metro Junction)  in Paris saying so .

The phrase "A liar is already in possession of truth" is a profound philosophical insight . Its use elevates a society intellectually at the same time it exposes the peddlers of wilful falsehood.  This idea is often attributed to Friedrich Nietzsche, who argued that a liar must have access to the truth in order to effectively deceive others. In other words, to lie, one must first know the truth and then intentionally distort it. In French literature, more particularly the existential philosophers like Jean Paul Sartre ,Albert Camus and even Jean Grenier have added  dimensions to this thought . I saw reflection of this thought in some poems of Jean Baudelaire.Nietzsche  In "Beyond Good and Evil,"  argues that liars exploit the trust in truth to deceive others. A trader with ancestral links in Armenia told me this in Alfortville ,France :

" There is nothing in this world except truth. Even falsehood rests on the edifice of truth. You know it better . You belong to the land of Advaita and Sankara . " 

My Interpretation 

A liar's ability to deceive relies on his  knowledge of the truth. This highlights the importance of truth as a foundation for discourse, even in the context of deception. Lying involves a deliberate attempt to mislead, which presupposes an understanding of what is true. And if a liar didn't have access to the truth, he  wouldn't be able to create a convincing falsehood.

The phenomenon of dishonesty, or speaking untruth, is a multifaceted aspect of human behaviour, extensively explored in psychological, sociological, and philosophical  literature. According to research, individuals may engage in wilful falsehood  for various reasons, including:

(1) Self-preservation..It   also means  fear of punishment, rejection, or negative evaluation .

(2) Social gain... People may lie to impress others, gain social approval, or avoid conflict.

(3) Instrumental gain...Wilful falsehood  can be a means to achieve a desired outcome or benefit  .

There is a habitual behaviour too associated with frequent lying.It can become an ingrained habit often driven by underlying psychological factors .

So long so much ..

(Avtar Mota )

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

WRITERS OUTNUMBERING READERS: A STRUCTURAL IMBALANCE IN THE LINGUISTIC AND PUBLISHING ECOSYSTEM

                                                                               

WRITERS OUTNUMBERING READERS: A STRUCTURAL IMBALANCE IN THE LINGUISTIC AND PUBLISHING ECOSYSTEM

The feeling that writers may now be outnumbering readers is not merely a rhetorical exaggeration; it points to a deeper structural imbalance within the linguistic and literary ecosystem. At stake is not only the health of the publishing industry but the vitality of language itself. A language survives not through writing alone, but through a living equilibrium between speakers, readers, and writers. When this balance is disturbed, the consequences extend beyond literature into culture, cognition, and collective memory.

A language does not endure by virtue of its writers alone. Writers refine and extend expression, but their work derives meaning only through reception. Readers are not passive consumers; they are interpreters who sustain depth, continuity, and intellectual inheritance. Speakers, meanwhile, anchor language in lived experience, ensuring that it remains dynamic rather than archival. Remove speakers, and the language dies outright; remove readers, and it becomes shallow and unreflective; remove writers, and it gradually loses its capacity for renewal. Each is indispensable, though not equally foundational.

The present moment, however, appears marked by disequilibrium. The rapid proliferation of writers, enabled by digital platforms, self-publishing, and the lowering of entry barriers, has not been matched by a corresponding expansion in readership. On the contrary, evidence suggests a contraction in sustained reading practices. This raises an unsettling question: what becomes of a literary culture when production exceeds reception?

The answer is not merely economic but epistemic. Writing presupposes an audience; without readers, it risks becoming performative rather than communicative. A proliferation of texts without corresponding engagement does not signal richness, but dispersion. Meaning fragments, and literature risks becoming an echo chamber of voices speaking without being heard.

The condition of libraries illustrates this paradox with particular clarity. Once vibrant centres of intellectual life, many libraries today face declining circulation and reduced footfall. Shelves continue to expand, acquisitions continue to arrive, yet the fundamental question grows harder to ignore: libraries are storing books for whom? If readers diminish, libraries risk becoming custodial spaces rather than living institutions; repositories of unread texts rather than sites of active engagement. The issue is not the absence of books, but the erosion of the reading public that animates them.

The publishing industry mirrors this imbalance. Traditionally, editorial gatekeeping and market constraints ensured a rough alignment between what was produced and what was likely to be read. While imperfect, this system maintained equilibrium. Digital disruption has altered this dynamic: authorship has expanded dramatically, yet mechanisms for cultivating readership have lagged behind. The result is an oversupply of content in an attention-scarce environment.

Attention, rather than information, has become the limiting resource of the age. Readers are confronted with an abundance of texts competing not only with one another but with digital media designed to capture and fragment attention. In such a landscape, visibility often outweighs substance. Works that align with algorithmic preferences gain prominence, while more demanding or nuanced writing struggles to find an audience.

Economic structures further compound the problem. High distribution costs, retailer commissions, and inflated pricing limit access to books, particularly for younger readers. At the same time, authors frequently receive minimal returns, creating a system in which neither producers nor consumers are adequately supported. The paradox is stark: more books are being produced than ever before, yet fewer are being meaningfully read.

Culturally, the status of reading has shifted. What was once a central intellectual practice has, in many contexts, become peripheral. Digital habits encourage skimming rather than deep engagement, weakening the cognitive capacities required for sustained reading. This has implications not only for literature but for language itself. The richness of a language, its nuance, metaphor, and intertextual depth, is sustained through reading. Without it, language risks becoming flattened, efficient but impoverished.

The educational system bears part of the responsibility. Reading is increasingly framed as a functional skill, tied to assessment and utility, rather than as a source of intellectual and imaginative engagement. This instrumental approach discourages the development of lifelong reading habits. Without early and meaningful encounters with literature, the foundation of a reading culture weakens.

Addressing this imbalance requires coordinated intervention. At the policy level, reading must be recognised as a public good. Investment in libraries, affordable access to books, and community-based reading initiatives is essential. Libraries, in particular, must be reimagined; not merely as storage spaces, but as active cultural centres that foster interaction, discussion, and discovery.

Within the publishing industry, economic reforms are necessary. Alternative distribution models, including direct-to-reader platforms and subscription services, may reduce costs and broaden access. However, these must be balanced with fair compensation for authors and support for independent booksellers, who play a crucial role in sustaining literary culture.

Technological innovation, often seen as part of the problem, can also contribute to the solution. Digital platforms can facilitate discovery, connect readers with relevant texts, and support diverse formats such as audiobooks. Yet such systems must prioritise depth and diversity over mere engagement metrics, ensuring that reading remains a meaningful rather than superficial activity.

Cultural interventions are equally vital. Reading must be made visible and social once again. Book clubs, literary events, and public discussions can help restore its communal dimension. Even within digital spaces, reading communities can be cultivated, transforming solitary activity into shared experience.

Ultimately, the imbalance between writers and readers reflects a broader misalignment between production and attention. The ease of writing has increased, but the capacity for sustained reading has not kept pace. Restoring equilibrium does not require fewer writers, but more readers, engaged, attentive, and sustained over time.

If this imbalance deepens, the consequences will be significant. A world in which writers outnumber readers is not one of abundance, but of diminished communication. Texts will multiply, yet their capacity to resonate, endure, and shape thought will weaken. Libraries will continue to store books, but the question, ‘ for whom?’  will become ever more pressing.

The survival of language depends not on writing alone, but on the continuous interplay between expression and reception. To preserve this balance, reading must be reasserted as a central cultural practice. Without it, language risks becoming not a living medium, but a silent archive.

( Avtar Mota )

 

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

THE RETURN OF KASHMIRI PANDITS : REAL ISSUES

                                                                              

 THE RETURN OF KASHMIRI  PANDITS: REAL ISSUES

 The question of the return of Kashmiri Pandits cannot be meaningfully addressed without first confronting, in its full depth and complexity, the reasons for their departure. Their exit in the early 1990s was not a normal migration, nor a gradual demographic shift driven by economic aspiration or social mobility. It was a forced and fearful exodus that unfolded within a specific historical moment marked by the rapid escalation of terrorism, the spread of radical ideologies, and the near-total collapse of state authority in the Kashmir Valley. During this period, Kashmiri Pandits, a small yet historically significant minority deeply embedded in the Valley’s intellectual, cultural, and social life, found themselves increasingly vulnerable in an environment that was becoming openly hostile. The atmosphere was shaped by targeted killings of prominent members of the community, widespread threats issued through posters, letters, and mosque loudspeakers, and a pervasive climate of intimidation that penetrated daily life with alarming intensity.

Slogans echoed through neighbourhoods at night, many explicitly threatening the Pandit community, creating an environment in which fear was not abstract but immediate, personal, and inescapable. The brutal killings were not random; they were selective and symbolic in gruesomeness, often targeting individuals seen as representatives of the community’s identity: intellectuals, professionals, and serving officials, thereby sending a chilling message that no one was beyond reach. These acts were accompanied by instances of abduction, sexual assaults, and the public display of hit lists outside mosques. At the same time, the administrative machinery of the state appeared paralysed. Governance structures failed to provide reassurance or protection, leaving vulnerable populations without a sense of security. In such conditions, remaining in one’s home became inseparable from the risk to one’s life. For many families, the decision to leave was not triggered by a single incident but was the culmination of sustained fear, uncertainty, and the erosion of any belief that safety could be restored in the near future. They left in haste, often under the cover of darkness, carrying only what they could manage. Homes, properties, temples, schools, and generations of accumulated memory were abandoned. Their departure lacked closure; it was marked instead by a fragile expectation: that the displacement would be temporary, that normalcy would return, and that they would soon reclaim their place in the Valley.

Dispossession, Erasure, and the Normalisation of Absence

What followed transformed that temporary flight into a prolonged and painful exile. In the years after their departure, many properties left behind by Kashmiri Pandits were occupied, encroached upon, or transferred under deeply contested conditions. Homes were taken over, sometimes through distress sales conducted under duress, and at other times through outright illegal occupation. Orchards, agricultural lands, and commercial establishments changed hands, often without transparency or fairness. Temples and religious sites were left unattended; in numerous cases, they fell into disrepair, suffered vandalism, or were encroached upon. Educational institutions and community spaces that once sustained cultural continuity met a similar fate. These developments represented far more than a change in ownership; they marked the systematic fading of a community’s visible and material presence in the Valley. Over time, absence itself became normalised. New generations grew up in an environment where the coexistence that had once defined Kashmiri society was no longer a lived reality, but a distant memory, if remembered at all. This normalisation was accompanied by a silence as consequential as the violence that preceded it. People within the broader society, whether out of fear or reluctance to confront uncomfortable truths, did not openly acknowledge what had occurred. The result was a profound rupture in trust; not only between communities, but within the moral fabric of society itself. In such a context, the idea of return cannot be reduced to administrative planning or political declarations; it is shaped by the weight of unresolved history.

Acknowledgement And Accountability

For return to be genuine, it must rest upon a process that extends beyond policy frameworks. This process begins with acknowledgement: a clear and unambiguous recognition of the events that led to the exodus, including targeted killings, threats, the pervasive climate of fear, and the failure of institutions and society to protect a vulnerable minority. Such acknowledgement cannot be partial or qualified; it must be candid and consistent. It must also confront the uncomfortable reality that some of the violence and intimidation originated from within the Valley itself, involving individuals, often local youth who had been radicalised and drawn into extremist movements. Recognising this does not implicate an entire society, nor does it negate the broader political complexities of the conflict. Rather, it affirms a fundamental moral principle: that the targeting of unarmed civilians and the intimidation of minorities are indefensible under any circumstances. Alongside acknowledgement must come accountability. This requires not only condemning those responsible for violence but ensuring that legal processes address past crimes and present injustices. Allegations of illegal occupation, fraudulent property transfers, and encroachments upon religious and cultural sites must be examined through transparent and credible mechanisms. Where wrongdoing is established, remedies must follow, whether through restitution, compensation, or restoration of rights. Without such measures, calls for return risk being perceived as symbolic gestures disconnected from reality.

Equally important is the role of society in fostering conditions conducive to return. Reconciliation cannot be imposed from above; it must be cultivated within communities. This involves re-engaging with a shared cultural and historical narrative in which Kashmiri Pandits are recognised not as outsiders or relics, but as integral to the Valley’s identity. Educational institutions, cultural forums, and public discourse must play an active role in restoring this understanding, particularly for younger generations who have grown up without direct interaction between communities. Building trust requires sustained engagement, openness, and a willingness to move beyond entrenched narratives. It also demands confronting the legacy of silence by creating spaces where difficult conversations can occur without fear, allowing empathy to replace distance.

The Deeper Challenge: Memory, Resistance, and the Moral Imperative of Return

Opposition to the return of Kashmiri Pandits is not always overt. More often, it exists in layers: of silence, denial, convenience, and unresolved guilt. It resides not only in past violence but in memories of what was allowed to happen and in the realities that followed. It is reflected in the occupation of abandoned homes, orchards, temple lands, schools, and institutions; properties that were not merely physical assets but the living heritage of a people. Homes were not simply occupied; they were erased as sites of memory. Temples were not only left behind; they were desecrated or allowed to fall into neglect. What once embodied identity and faith was reduced to silence or appropriated in absence.

It also persists in the enduring trauma of that period: in the targeted killings, the threats on walls, the slogans in the night, and the fear that entered homes uninvited and never fully departed. Families did not leave by choice; they fled to survive, carrying little beyond their lives. A painful truth remains: much of this violence did not feel distant or faceless. In many cases, it emerged from within the Valley itself: from individuals shaped by radicalisation and extremist ideologies, turning against communities with whom they once shared everyday life. This reality deepens the wound, transforming violence into a rupture of trust, shared history, and human connection.

Equally significant was the silence that accompanied these events; neighbours who looked away, communities that froze, and a society that, whether out of fear or helplessness, could not or did not act when it mattered most. In the years that followed, this silence was seldom broken with honesty or accountability. It continues in narratives shaped by prolonged exposure to radical ideas, where reconciliation is viewed with suspicion and return is perceived not as healing, but as disruption. 

There was also a failure of leadership and institutions: political voices that spoke selectively, civil society that chose caution over courage, and systems that offered promises instead of justice. The combined weight of militancy, opportunism, radicalisation, silence, and institutional inaction has created a reality in which return is not simply about going back; it is about confronting what was lost, what was taken, and what remains unresolved.

The return of Kashmiri Pandits, therefore, cannot be reduced to infrastructure alone. It is not merely about housing, employment, or security, essential though these are. It is about restoring relationships between people and their homeland, and between communities that once coexisted. This restoration demands transformation at the moral, social, and legal levels. It asks whether a society is willing to confront its past honestly, address its consequences justly, and reimagine its future inclusively. Without such a foundation, the language of return remains incomplete, and reintegration uncertain. With it, however, return can move from aspiration to possibility, offering not only the restoration of a displaced community but also the renewal of a shared and pluralistic vision of Kashmir. Accordingly, the return of Kashmiri Pandits is not merely a political or logistical issue. It is a moral test. It asks whether truth can be acknowledged, justice restored, and trust, once broken in the most painful way, rebuilt with honesty, dignity, and courage. It demands that all false, mischievous, and malicious narratives concerning the eviction of a vulnerable community from its native land must be put to rest, once and for all. Any return under any circumstances also demands constitutional guarantee framework for no-repetition  of such tragedies. Without truth, return becomes performance. With truth, it becomes a possibility.

( Avtar Mota )

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

MY LATEST BOOK :" SONGS BENEATH A LOST SKY "

SONGS BENEATH A LOST SKY'( Exile and Longing )......A collection of 36 Poems in English.

Published in 2026 and released worldwide in March 2026, the book is available in India at Amazon, Flipkart, and Notion Press at the following links, respectively:-

https://www.amazon.in/dp/B0GTHP1FPK

https://www.flipkart.com/songs.../p/itmdfab94297d0cd...

https://direct.notionpress.com/.../songs-beneath-a-lost.../

In worldwide markets, the Book is available at Amazon

United States of America...

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GPPD5Z

Canada

https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0GPPD5Z5T

UK

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0GPPD5Z5T

Australia

https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0GPPD5Z5T

France

https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B0GPPD5Z5T

A review of this poetic collection says this :

"Avtar Mota’s Songs Beneath a Lost Sky is not merely a collection of poems but an act of remembrance and moral testimony. Comprising thirty poems shaped by exile, cultural erasure, and historical trauma, the book stands as a poetic archive of the Kashmiri Pandit experience after 1990. These poems do not attempt to aestheticise suffering or dilute its sharpness through metaphor alone. Instead, they insist on a witness. They remember what history has tried to forget and articulate what politics has rendered inconvenient. In doing so, Mota situates poetry not as ornament, but as moral testimony. Poems such as “The Night of Parting, 1990” and “The Day of Our Exile” capture history through intimate detail—an early-morning knock, hurried departures, abandoned temples. Notably, Mota avoids communal simplification; figures like Raja, the compassionate neighbour, affirm his humanism. Exile in Jammuemerges as prolonged indignity rather than a single event. Heat, deprivation, and bureaucratic neglect reveal displacement as erosion of dignity and identity. Yet cultural memory remains indestructible. Rivers, festivals, and sacred geography—especially the Vitasta—become living repositories of belonging.

At the heart of this collection lies a central wound: the forced displacement of Kashmiri Pandits from their ancestral homeland. Yet the book resists being read solely as “exile poetry” in the narrow sense. It reaches far beyond reportage or grievance. Mota’s strength lies in his ability to fuse personal memory with civilisational consciousness, turning individual loss into a collective historical lament. The poems operate on multiple registers: emotional, cultural, philosophical, and metaphysical, making Songs Beneath a Lost Sky both intimate and expansive.

The title itself is emblematic. “Songs” imply continuity, voice, and survival, while the “Lost Sky” signals dispossession on a cosmic scale. This is not just the loss of land or shelter, but the loss of an entire moral and cultural horizon. The sky: symbol of protection, order, and belonging, has vanished, yet the songs persist beneath it. Poetry, in Mota’s vision, becomes what survives when everything else is taken away. The opening poem, “Tonight’s Music,” sets the tone for the collection. The silence of untuned instruments, the absence of Raag, and the dispersing audience become metaphors for cultural rupture. Music here is civilisation itself, its grammar forgotten, its listeners scattered, its masters silenced. The poem’s quiet despair announces what the reader will encounter throughout the book: not spectacle, but restraint; not shouting, but controlled grief. Mota understands that some losses are too deep for rhetoric.

The emotional range of the collection is wide. While grief and resentment dominate, there are moments of tenderness, nostalgia, and philosophical reflection. Poems like “And Then Arrived the Warm Sun”, “ The Snowfall “, and “Journey: Birth–Youth–Old Age” reveal the poet’s sensitivity to everyday life and cyclical time. These pieces remind the reader that even within histories of rupture, ordinary human emotions, love, ageing, and parental bonds continue to assert themselves.”

Some Poems From the Book.

(1)

(In Exile, Mother Missed Her Shadipora Prayag)

Mother used to say:

“When I am gone,

Take what remains of me to Shadipora Sangam,

Where the Sindhu stream joins the Vitasta River,

Where our dead have been sleeping since eternity.

That is where your father waits.”

She said,

“After this long exile,

Only there can I speak to them.

Only there can I listen.

Let me stay hidden beneath the current,

Unseen,

Unnoticed.”

After exile,

She spoke often of the cold waters of the Sindhu stream,

White with snowmelt,

Running through the Ganderbal valley,

The mere mention of which brought a visible joy

To her otherwise pensive face.

She remembered that water,

Once flowing through the taps of Rainawari.

For her, this Sindhu stream water was Amrita,

Not because it promised immortality,

But because she had drunk it

As a baby,

As a young girl,

As a married woman,

As a housewife.

It lived in her blood.

It was her first belonging.

She died far from that remembering,

At sixty-six,

Her body thinning quickly after the 1990s,

In the heat and dust of exile,

Through the daily humiliations of water scarcity in Jammu,

Through the long feeling of being rendered irrelevant.

She lost her voice,

Then her authority,

Then even the weight of her own name.

We could not take her to Shadipora Sangam.

The confluence had learned the language of terror.

The waters had learned blood.

It had become a playground for those who perfected cruelty upon

innocents.

So we carried her elsewhere.

Her ashes touched the Chanderbhaga at Akhnoor,

The Askini River of the Vedas,

A living archive of India’s spiritual and historical journey,

Ice-cold,

Authentic,

Sparkling,

Yet, alien to her.

The river received her

Without question.

She must have wept

Inside that water.

She must have called us traitors.

But I know this:

My father rose from his waiting at Shadipora Prayag.

The ancestors, too, gathered their silences

And went to Trimmu Sangam in Jhang

To meet the new arrival,

Their own Bentathi,

Kaki to some,

Bhabi to others.

Trimmu, the sangam where the Vitasta River

Meets the Chanderbhaga River,

Where rivers forget partitions,

Where ashes do not know borders,

Where ashes cannot read maps of hatred.

Where every banishment is undone.

(Avtar Mota)

(2)

(A Day of June 1990 in the Tented Colony of The Exiled Pandits)

In the sweltering heat of Jammu's June,

Bansi Lal sleeps inside his tent without a fan,

Sweating yet snoring,

While the world outside is busy and engaged.

Perhaps he has nothing to do;

His bank accounts have not been transferred yet,

His children have no school to go to,

The water tanker from PHE didn't arrive today.

No salary,

No office,

Nothing in the bank,

Sleep comes without effort.

Lakshmi Nath died yesterday from heatstroke,

Rupawati died after being stung by a deadly snake,

Death has rituals,

The dead need space to mourn them,

And rituals don't know harsh weather.

Pinkoo is shivering with a high fever,

His mother doesn't know what Malaria is.

The sun rains fireballs from the sky

As some politician comes in a Jeep,

He distributes pamphlets, and the speaker blares:

"Desh ke gadhaaron ko

Jail mein bhejo saaron ko"

And tents don't have windows,

The residents just listen to this noise,

And stay inside.

Unafraid of heatstroke,

The greedy brokers from Kashmir

Move through the tented colony

With deceit and treacherous intentions,

Seeking power of attorney from the exiled

And hapless victims to grab their properties for peanuts.

Greed is a chameleon;

It visits its victims with gifts that they miss,

A bunch of nadru and some green leafy haak,

With enough of saam, daam,dhand and bhed.

Tarsem, the vegetable seller, drags his cart

Through the rugged and rough path inside the colony.

He cries," kadam, nadru, haak’

He knows he will sell everything in one round.

The vegetables that the hapless consume

Don’t need special soil, seasons or manure to grow.

The Relief Tehsildar and his Naib move through the tented colony,

They talk to some young women,

Making promises of green pastures.

The women look disdainfully at both,

And spit at them in anger as they go back inside their tents.

The Katha Upanishad says,

"Suffering puts you on the path of Sat-karma (righteous deeds) ",

And wolves don't always succeed.

Forgetting their Shiva,

Every day, the exiled now pray to the Vedic gods;

Indira for early Rain,

Surya for relief from the blazing sun,

Vayu for some cool breeze,

Varuna for shelter and refuge,

Mitra for being kind and just,

And Ushas for dispelling darkness.

(Avtar Mota)

(3)

( To Albert Einstein )

If you are a gem born of eternity,

I am the dust that remembers the feet that walked over it.

If you are a mountain carrying the sky,

I am the trembling pebble at your feet.

My smallness cannot climb your vastness,

Cannot touch your towering mind,

Not by distance,

Not by language,

Not by any measure this world allows.

And yet I have to say this to you;

Across centuries and silences,

One wound beats the same in us both.

You were torn from the soil that named you,

Driven from the home that shaped your breath.

I, too, walk with a homeland folded like a scar inside my chest.

But exile is the same cold night whether it falls on a giant or on the

smallest soul.

So, I speak to you not as an equal,

But as one broken compass to another,

Both of us still pointing, endlessly,

Towards a home that no longer exists.

(Avtar Mota)

(4)

( And Then Arrived the warm Sun )

Some skilful washerman Cleansed the sky to its purest blue. When the sun’s rays kissed the earth, Life stirred and warmed once more. Our heavy lunch made us languid, And here I lie in the warmth, A siesta under the gentle sun.

……..…….And then arrived the warm sun.

Snow from tin roofs Slid down with the thawing warmth. The courtyard overflowed with water, The fallen snow stacks blocked the lane. Should I dry the Kangri charcoal now? Perhaps it will give warmth afterwards. ‘What use is exercise if all turns to ash at the end?’ “Tip Tip ” fell tiny, melting drops from the roof, And this “Joff Joff” of wading through the water, A night-long “Dhroff Dhroff ” of snow crashing from roofs, Shaking the houses all around. Behold! Here comes the dried vegetable seller, The smoked fish seller, The Harissa (mutton steamed to pulp with herbs) seller, and The Shikar (flying bird) seller. “Come, Pandit Ji, Yes, I am late this time. Come, Khwaja Sahib, Buy a Seer for your family.”

……... ……And then arrived the warm sun.

What a glorious sunshine today! See! There plies a Tonga as well. Who crosses the nearby bridge? What? What? Ah! My beloved father. There he comes to my doorstep, Driven by his love for Saiba, Here he is. Alas! My in-laws, Just strangers, it seems. What a life! Always busy in the kitchen, Cooking, washing, cleaning, Forsaking the comfort of sleep, What did I gain from all this? A heart heavy with unspoken grief, Lampoons and sharp words from my mother-in-law, The fury of my sister-in-law. Was marriage only about this?

…………………………. And then arrived the warm sun.

My loving father, Again at my doorstep; I shall hide my tears, Veil my suffering, What else can I do? Will he step inside my in-laws’ house? Will he climb the stairs? A new Pheran for Saiba he brought, A new suit for me as well, And yet, oh how my heart aches to see him, Wearing torn shoes. What can I offer him in return? Let his love guard me through all time! Let him live long for my dear mother! O Lord, hear this small prayer. Placing his hand gently on my head, He comforts me softly, saying: “Come, someday, that way, Visit your parental home too. Let truth and simplicity be your companions, My love, My darling daughter. These days will change for the better, Do not worry, Your dreams and desires Will surely take shape. May this little Saiba live long! To bring comfort and joy to your life.”

…………………….. And then arrived the warm sun.

(Avtar Mota )

(5)

( Homeland )

When I was young, Father once said this to me,

“Son, remember this truth of life: A child's growth, like a flower, needs The nourishment of mother's tender love alone. A young man's dreams, ambitious, and free, Require the fuel of money's golden might. And when life's autumn leaves begin to fall, A person needs a hand that will not let go. A companion's presence is the heart's last light at that time. Unlucky, indeed, are those who miss these precious gifts, At life's appointed time.”

I believed him, Until 1990 arrived. Until my homeland was torn from my arms And we were driven into the heat and dust of distant plains, Where memories burned hotter than the sun, And exile settled deep in our bones. Then I learned what father never knew. A child needs a homeland Before he knows his mother’s name. A man needs a homeland Before he learns the value of money. And in old age, When strength fades, When faces blur, When even companionship grows silent, One needs nothing But the soil that remembers his footsteps. For homeland is the first lullaby, The last prayer, The breath between birth and death.

(Avtar Mota)

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.

Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.