End of a cultural era: Rajas to ruins

How the decline of the royal families marked an end to a cultural epoch in Gilgit-Baltistan.

It might appear odd, even unbelievable, if one suggests a shared chapter in history between Gilgit-Baltistan and the Italian Renaissance. Like the Medicis family, which controlled Florence throughout much of the Renaissance and acted as patrons for writers, artists and thinkers in the region, the rajas or ruling families were the foundation for the cultural edifice of Gilgit-Baltistan. Art, poetry, music and folklore flourished during their rule and carved a distinct identity for the area.

Shigar valley — gateway to the mighty Karakoram. PHOTOS RINCHAN ALI MIRZA

Once the Medicis were ousted by a fanatical priest in the early 16^th century, Florence never returned to its former glory. The royal families of Gilgit-Baltistan suffered the same fate after the introduction of land reforms in the region during the 1970s. And cultural deterioration in the region has been its biggest price.

The golden years

Gilgit-Baltistan, formerly known as Northern Pakistan, is nestled between the Hindu Kush and Karakoram mountains in the north and Western Himalayas in the south. Not only does the region enjoy immense geo-political significance as it connects parts of West Asia, Central Asia, South Asia and China, but it has also had an unusual history.

Students at the Abruzzi school in the remote Shigar valley of Baltistan. The youth in the area is disconnected from traditional cultural practices. PHOTOS RINCHAN ALI MIRZA

Gilgit-Baltistan has always been under the rule of various tribal families, such as the Yabgos, Amachas and Maqpons, who trace their origin to the steppes of Central Asia. Their reign was interrupted when the Dogras conquered the region and established their rule. The Dogras were, however, driven out at the time of Partition with the Pakistani state establishing its authority in 1948. During the early phase of Pakistani rule, the region’s administration reverted to tribal families under the supervision of a political agent that was appointed by the federal government. Arts and culture thrived under the patronage of the rajas as they provided financial and commercial support to craftsmen, musicians, sportsmen and storytellers.

The Indus River enters the Gligit District from Skardu, six kilometres from Jaglot, where it is joined by the Gilgit River. PHOTOS RINCHAN ALI MIRZA

This setting remained largely intact up until the 1970s when land reforms were implemented in the region by the Bhutto regime. By taking away a significant portion of the land from the tribal families through these reforms — which they had made cultivable and inhabitable — dramatically reduced the power, prestige and assets of the rajas. As a result they became incapable of maintaining their support for local cultural activities.

Raja Hidayat Ali Khan who belongs to the Yabgo family of Khaplu. The family lost its wealth and influence after the 1970s land reforms. PHOTOS RINCHAN ALI MIRZA

“In order to survive, every nation needs its music, sports and folk stories. Without them, it simply becomes a gathering of people lumped together by an accident of history who share neither a sense of pride in their collective identity nor a feeling of belonging to their native soil,” says Raja Hidayat Ali Khan who belongs to the Yabgo family that once ruled the Khaplu valley in Baltistan. Even though tradition and culture in Gilgit-Baltistan seems to be dying a slow death, the region was once rich in both.

The lost word

Under the rule of the rajas, the storytellers or Rungh-Tankhans were given land grants for sustenance in return for keeping the tradition of orally reciting folktales alive. It was because of such patronage that the epic mythology of King Kesar — different versions of which exist across the Himalayan belt from Gilgit-Baltistan in the west to Burma in the east — survived and was handed down from one generation to the other over the years. The mythology consists of 12 chapters that takes 14 days and nights to narrate from start to finish and its central character, Kesar, is entertaining enough to keep the listener engaged for days. Its geographic span covers regions as diverse as the Chinese Turkestan, Tibet, Ladakh, Gilgit-Baltistan, Nepal and Burma.

Players scrambling for the ball during a polo match. The game was considered a testimony to the valour and courage of the locals. PHOTOS RINCHAN ALI MIRZA

As the traditional patrons of storytelling lost their wealth and influence, the number of storytellers shrunk in numbers too. The onset of technology in the form of mobile phones and television further alienated the youth from this age-old practice. With no audience for their tales, most surviving storytellers have forgotten their stories that were orally passed on from one generation to another.

When the music died

The professional musicians or Moans were accorded a respectable position within the social hierarchy and were considered by the rajas as members of their own household. The music they produced was sophisticated enough to be used as a medium to deliver messages across long distances through a subtle change in the tune of the flute or the drumbeat. For instance, the rajas could determine the ebb and flow of the fortunes of their army in the battlefield from a safe distance by listening to the changes in the beat of the drums being played by his musicians nearer to the action. They could also determine, sitting at their residence, whether a player had fallen off his horse or a goal had been scored or a foul had been committed during a polo match by discerning the changes in the tunes played by the musicians at the polo ground.

Raja of Skurdu’s polo team. The polo ground at Skardu was built by Raja Sher Ali Khan Anchan of the Maqpon family.  PHOTOS RINCHAN ALI MIRZA

However, music in Gilgit-Baltistan no longer enjoys the same lyrical beauty it did a few decades ago. Folk songs narrating the history of the area have now been replaced by popular Bollywood tunes and most musicians have switched to other lines of work in order to sustain themselves.

No land for sportsmen

G T Vigne, an English explorer, who visited Baltistan between 1835 and 1838, described the game of polo as ‘hockey on horseback’. The quintessential royal sport was kept alive because of the interest and patronage of the rajas and was also considered an exquisite display of the valour and ruggedness of the local population. The Shandur polo festival which has been taking place on the Shandur top every year since 1936, is also a huge tourist attraction. A large number of domestic and international tourists flock to the area each year to watch the Gilgit home teams take on a number of participating guest teams.

The match commences when the raja — the chief player, takes the ball in one of his hands, and then, loosening the reins on the horse with the other, starts off at a speed. He then tosses the ball in the air to strike it before it lands on the ground. A macabre legend has it that Raja Ali Sher Khan Anchan of the Maqpon family used to perform the manoeuvre using the skull of his vanquished enemy after success in a battle.

One of the few storytellers who is still alive. He complains of forgetting the folktales since there is no longer an audience for it. PHOTOS RINCHAN ALI MIRZA

But there seem to be very few in the region who revel in the glory of the sport now. “These days, young boys waste time on mobile phones and frivolous TV dramas rather than keep up their forefather’s tradition of playing polo,” says Khan. Although he grew up playing the sport, he sadly admits his failure to pass on the fervor to the next generation. “My own sons are no longer interested in listening to my exploits from the days when I used to play. They taunt me and say that instead of wasting my youth playing a sport I should have instead concentrated on increasing my wealth so they could have had a larger inheritance.”

Regaining lost glory

The cultural trajectory of the region has not shown much promise over the past few decades, but things may soon improve due to projects like the Aga Khan Cultural Support Programme, which has been instrumental in renovating most of the forts in the region. The local radio broadcaster, Radio Baltistan, has also stepped up its efforts in recording traditional folk tales, poems and songs that are in danger of being lost forever. Furthermore, there has also been a revival of interest in polo with matches being played twice a week in all the major towns of the region. Whilst all these developments are commendable they can only be considered the first steps on a very long journey of reclaiming the glorious cultural past of the region.

Rinchan Ali Mirza is a candidate for DPhil in History at University of Oxford. 

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, April 6^th, 2014.