A Voice of/from the Valley
The Story of Galwan Valley of the Himalayas
Due to the ongoing India-China standoff, it is safe to assume that the Galwan river and its valley are now oft mentioned terms, at least within the South Asian public. At the time of writing, the talks are on- and so are the disagreements. With differing opinions coming from various interest groups, the geopolitical status of the valley is being constantly manipulated and altered. At this point of time thus, it would be a good idea to understand more about the region, beyond the conflict of which only time will give us true insights.
The Galwan river is a tributary of the Indus that runs 80 km westwards from its origins in the Karakoram range through Aksai Chin and East Ladakh to join the Shyok river. The Galwan valley is a sliver of flat land abutted by steep gorges through which the river flows.
The two countries fighting over this part of the planet, braving sub-zero temperatures, is not new. The Line of Actual Control (LAC) is notional, to a certain degree. And with China constantly coming up with new and sometimes contradictory claims in the region, it seems that the issue is here to stay. The valley was also a flashpoint during the 1962 India-China war. Here is a clipping of The Times of India from 20 July 1962:
Interestingly, the namesake of the river and valley is Ghulam Rassul Galwan, an Indian adventurer and explorer who assisted many European and American explorers in their expeditions through Kashmir at the turn of the 19th century. He later brought alive the world of treacherous expeditions through high Himalayas during The Great Game, as Russia and Britain jostled for dominance in the region, in his book titled Servant of Sahibs: A Book to be Read Aloud.
Servant of Sahibs, published in 1923, is an autobiographical account of the life and times of the 19th-century Ladakhi pony herder, Rassul Galwan. Onaiza Drabu does an insightful, and rather detailed, review of the book below:
Unknowingly, through this rather simple book, Galwan gives us interesting details of life as a Ladakhi. Although ostensibly an autobiographic travelogue, his writing is set against the background of colonialism, exploration and an economy sustained largely by trade through these explorations.
In such small, almost unnoticeable instances, Galwan speaks of social and occupational stratification in Kashmir. In the first chapter, titled ‘My Family’, he speaks of his origins as a descendent of a famous robber. He belonged to one of the lowest social class of Kashmir, the galwans, notorious for thievery. Unashamed of his origins, he does not take to to the trend of the upwardly mobile of shedding last names: “This told my mother me… His name Kara Galwan. Kara was his name (means: black). Galwan means robber… When he saw good one pony, that stole he.”
Galwans, according to famous explorer Sir Walter Lawrence, “could always be recognized by the darkness of their skin”. They were the horse thieves. Originally said to have earned their livelihood by grazing ponies, they later found it more remunerative to steal them and subsequently developed into an established criminal tribe. Rassul translates his surname, Galwan, into ‘bad-trouble-man’, implying the negative connotation associated with his lineage stemming from robbers. Khaira Galawan, was the dacoit-hero of many a legend. After his arrest, the rulers succeeded in killing half the galwans, while others were sent to areas around Gilgit. It is this Kara, Khaira Galawan, that Rassul claims to be his great-grandfather.
His relationship with his mother is an interesting one. Raised by her alone, a mother-son dyad emerges in the Galwan household. She controlled the finances, managed his earnings and arranged his marriage, while he acceded to her authority, stealthily hiding money to enjoy on his own after being financially independent. “I hid two rupees in one place where mother not find them, for my play money. Other money all, gave her.” It was the mother who chose the bride for she was to live and work with her for most of her time. The mother’s motivation to get Rassul Galwan a bride was to find someone to share the burden of housework. Galwan did not see his bride till the day of his wedding, as was common custom. “I said myself: ‘How does that girl look? If she is ugly, then what shall I do? Then I shall be ashamed before these Leh girls and boys.’ They must say: ‘Rassul has got a bad wife.’ But mother likes her, so I must like her.”
Other than details of stratification and kinship that seep between the lines of Galwan’s narratives, there is an interesting record of magical ritual in the book, too. It has stories that involve black magic, or as Galwan says,“It is jhadoo. It was made one woman for bad luck to your mother.” In one instance, he faces illness because of a supposed spell on him and is cured by a priest soon after the enchantment is discovered. “We have got him, and he has found in his book that on a Wednesday you met with a demon in a wood and that demon got angry on you.” Interestingly, the sahibs accept this diagnosis and it is their suggestion to call an exorcist to cure him. “Sahib said one day: ‘You am not ill. It looks us they have made a jadoo for you.”’ To make sense of this we can turn to ethnologist E E Evans-Pritchard, who said that to understand black magic was important “not only for the anthropologist but also for the colonial administrator and missionary, if they wish[ed] to show to the peoples whom they govern and teach that they understand their notions about right and wrong.”
There is a striking paragraph that aptly summarises the book:
From tailor-place bought little pieces cloth. In plenty tailor-man’s place spoke nice matter for cloth, and made friends with them, the tailor-men. There I made some sahib and mem sahibs. Their faces made with white dobe, their hats and boots with bocha (mean one thing make oil from). Myself was servant to sahib.
Galwan here talks about the dolls he used to make to play with as a child. The “play he makes” captures the dichotomy this book presents its reader with. Knowing his audience, Galwan could have plugged this bit of information into his manuscript to appease his sahibs. It is also possible that the editors retained this line just to establish the natives’ eagerness to serve. However, it is also likely that colonialism was so internalised that Galwan could not think of himself as an individual beyond a slave.
As a resource in the field of geography and ethnology the book presents a diarists account of the day-to-day life of native travellers. If interpreted in the context of its production, it is a rich documentation of society. However, the book’s emphasis on asserting it as the voice of the ‘other’ — by keeping the original language intact and the narrative stitched as though he wrote to please, reiterating his indebtedness to his ‘sahibs’ — must not be ignored. Interspersed with quotidian details of life and customs in the mountains, the simple story of Galwan, ‘bad-trouble-man’, promises to be a challenging and insightful piece of literature.
Read the full review here.
