The Lake At Dawn

Each morning, I am awakened by the faraway sound of men chanting. I know it's the call for prayer coming from a nearby mosque. In the comfort of my bed, I find the chanting melodic and soothing. I think I detect an oboe accompanying the voices of men.

The third morning, I woke up to the voices of prayer as usual. It was 5 a.m. I had to get ready for my visit to the open boat market. We got outside the boathouse where a shakara was waiting. A shakara is like a gondola. It is a long pointy boat with a canopy, an area for sitting, and an area where the "shakarier" rows the boat. You find shakaras only in Kashmir.

But silly me, I forgot to take a photograph of my shakara. Here is a blurry picture of someone else's shakara at the boat market.



The boatman fitted the seating area with cushions while Mohamed brought blankets from the boathouse. I climbed in from the pointy end of the boat and walk across to the cushions under the canopy. Mohamed tucked a thick blanket around me to keep me warm. But I was not paying attention to the boat. I was listening to the sound of prayers over the water at dawn.

I was mistaken about a nearby mosque. There was not one mosque. There were several, maybe six or eight. They were spread around Lake Nagin where my houseboat sat.

Truly, the combined voices of different chants and varying pitches coming from mosques across the lake is like the sound of men answering god with song. As the shakara glided across the water, the chanting from each nearby mosque became louder as other chants receded into a background drone. I was also mistaken about hearing an oboe. That was the faraway sound of chanting at a lower pitch.

At 5:30 a.m., the sky was still dark. The droning chants over the water was haunting, eerie, and enchanting. It was peaceful and beautiful as the horizon grew brighter with the sunrise, and this happens everyday. I cannot reconcile men who pray to god like that with terrorists. Indeed, I have been told many times, terrorists have nothing to do with Islam.

As the boat man paddled out of Lake Nagin and into Dal Lake, farmers in wooden boats glided by, carrying their ware to market.



They are wholesalers who sell to market vendors who sell to the general population. Wholesalers and vendors bargain and barter till they get what they want. Then the market vendors take their goods to market for the day. Everything is done on the water, from boat to boat.



The open boat market starts about 4:30 a.m. and ends when morning has broken. In recent years, sellers of finished products also come to the boat market with their wares because they know tourists come to see the boat market. I bought saffron from such a boat vendor.





On the way back to the boathouse, we paddle through the canals of Srinagar. These canals are dirty and smelly, with garbage strewn everywhere. This is not the Venice of India.





Mohamed stopped at one of the homes on the canal. He was excited. He said, Come, come, come, so I climbed to shore. He led me through the side of a garden and into a kitchen. "This is my brother," said Mohamed with a big smile. Then he bid me to sit, sit, sit, and put a blanket over my legs.

The "brother" and his wife served me tea and biscuits. Brother, wife, Mohamed and the boat man had milk tea with salt! They dip bread into their tea. Salt? The brother poured me a small cup to sample. Interesting.

Of course, brother is not brother at all. He is a good friend of Mohamed's. They worked together at the houseboat for 20 years. In recent years, brother resigned to start his own jewelery business, though he still gets calls from the houseboat to take tourists trekking into the Himalayas. Brother and Mohamed both said they love the trekking because they can never get enough of the beauty of the mountains.

I can't tell how old Mohamed is. Maybe in his forties. He owns a small farm in Gulamarg, another town that leads into the Himalayas. He works on the houseboat while his wife and six children tend the farm of rice, corn, cows, and goats.

After tea, we got back in the shakara. We next stopped at a wood carver's. He makes walnut furniture with intricate hand carved details of dragons, flowers, and Indian motifs. There were desks, room dividers, nestled tables, bowls, plates, and other pieces. As well-made as the pieces were, I was not fond of them. I am too practical for the detailed carving. They are high maintenance. How do you clean between the grooves of the carving?

I also think they are somewhat gauche and gaudy, even though I did like a set of nestled tables. That's okay. I was in India and India is a land of contrariness and contrast.

Anyway, we don't have room in our house for more conflicting furniture that draw attention to our lack of themed decor so I bought a mini shakara because the vendor said I was the first customer of the day and it would bring him good luck if I bought something. He kissed the rupees for luck when I paid him. I am a sucker for such sentiments. But really, how can you deny someone luck when it costs you so little?

Here are some houseboats on Dal Lake.



I think this is the houseboat I stayed in.