D.—Historical Legend of the Origin of Gilgit.
“Once upon a time there lived a race at Gilgit, whose origin is uncertain. Whether they sprang from the soil, or had immigrated from a distant region, is doubtful; so much is believed, that they were Gayupí = spontaneous, aborigines, unknown. Over them ruled a monarch who was a descendant of the evil spirits, the Yatsh, that terrorized over the world. His name was Shiribadatt, and he resided at a castle, in front of which there was a course for the performance of the manly game of Polo. (See my Hunza Nagyr Handbook.) His tastes were capricious, and in every one of his actions his fiendish origin could be discerned. The natives bore his rule with resignation, for what could they effect against a monarch at whose command even magic aids were placed? However, the country was rendered fertile and round the capital bloomed attractive gardens.
“The heavens, or rather the virtuous Peris, at last grew tired of his tyranny, for he had crowned his iniquities by indulging in a propensity for cannibalism. This taste had been developed by an accident. One day his cook brought him some mutton broth, the like of which he had never tasted. After much inquiry as to the nature of the food on which the sheep had been brought up, it was eventually traced to an old woman, its first owner. She stated that her child and the sheep were born on the same day, and losing the former, she had consoled herself by suckling the latter. This was a revelation to the tyrant. He had discovered the secret of the palatability of the broth, and was determined to have a never-ending supply of it. So he ordered that his kitchen should be regularly provided with children of tender age, whose flesh, when converted into broth, would remind him of the exquisite dish he had once so much relished. This cruel order was carried out. The people of the country were dismayed at such a state of things, and sought slightly to improve it by sacrificing, in the first place, all orphans and children of neighbouring tribes! The tyrant, however, was insatiable, and soon was his cruelty felt by many families at Gilgit, who were compelled to give up their children to slaughter.
“Relief came at last. At the top of the mountain Ko, which it takes a day to ascend, and which overlooks the village of Doyur, below Gilgit, on the side of the river, appeared three figures. They looked like men, but much more strong and handsome. In their arms they carried bows and arrows, and turning their eyes in the direction of Doyur, they perceived innumerable flocks of sheep and cattle grazing on a prairie between that village and the foot of the mountain. The strangers were fairies, and had come (perhaps from Nagyr?) to this region with the view of ridding Gilgit of the monster that ruled over it. However, this intention was confined to the two elder ones. The three strangers were brothers, and none of them had been born at the same time. It was their intention to make Azru Shemsher, the youngest, Rajah of Gilgit, and, in order to achieve their purpose, they hit upon the following plan.
“On the already-noticed plain, which is called Didingé, a sportive calf was gamboling towards and away from its mother. It was the pride of its owner, and its brilliant red colour could be seen from a distance. ‘Let us see who is the best marksman,’ exclaimed the eldest, and saying this, he shot an arrow in the direction of the calf, but missed his aim. The second brother also tried to hit it, but also failed. At last, Azru Shemsher, who took a deep interest in the sport, shot his arrow, which pierced the poor animal from side to side and killed it. The brothers, whilst descending, congratulated Azru on his sportsmanship, and on arriving at the spot where the calf was lying, proceeded to cut its throat, and to take out from its body the titbits, namely the kidneys and the liver.
“They then roasted these delicacies, and invited Azru to partake of them first. He respectfully declined, on the ground of his youth; but they urged him to do so, ‘in order,’ they said, ‘to reward you for such an excellent shot.’ Scarcely had the meat touched the lips of Azru, than the brothers got up, and vanishing into the air, called out, ‘Brother! you have touched impure food, which Peris never should eat, and we have made use of your ignorance of this law, because we want to make you a human being,[11] who shall rule over Gilgit; remain therefore at Doyur.’
“Azru in deep grief at the separation, cried, ‘Why remain at Doyur, unless it be to grind corn?’ ‘Then,’ said the brothers, ‘go to Gilgit.’ ‘Why,’ was the reply, ‘go to Gilgit, unless it be to work in the gardens?’ ‘No, no,’ was the last and consoling rejoinder; ‘you will assuredly become the king of this country, and deliver it from its merciless oppressor.’
“No more was heard of the departing fairies, and Azru remained by himself, endeavouring to gather consolation from the great mission which had been bestowed on him. A villager met him, and, struck by his appearance, offered him shelter in his house. Next morning he went on the roof of his host’s house, and calling out to him to come up, pointed to the Ko mountain, on which, he said, he plainly discerned a wild goat. The incredulous villager began to fear he had harboured a maniac, if no worse character; but Azru shot off his arrow, and accompanied by the villager (who had assembled some friends for protection, as he was afraid his young guest might be an associate of robbers, and lead him into a trap), went in the direction of the mountain. There, to be sure, at the very spot that had been pointed out, though many miles distant, was lying the wild goat, with Azru’s arrow transfixing its body. The astonished peasants at once hailed him as their leader, but he exacted an oath of secrecy from them, for he had come to deliver them from their tyrant, and would keep his incognito till such time as his plans for the destruction of the monster were matured.
“He then took leave of the hospitable people of Doyur, and went to Gilgit. On reaching the place, which is scarcely four miles distant from Doyur, he amused himself by prowling about in the gardens adjoining the royal residence. There he met one of the female companions of Shiribadatt’s daughter (goli in Hill Punjabi, Shadróy in Gilgiti) fetching water for the princess, a lady both remarkably handsome, and of a sweet disposition. The companion rushed back, and told the young lady to look from over the ramparts of the castle at a wonderfully handsome young man whom she had just met. The princess placed herself in a spot from which she could observe any one approaching the fort. Her maid then returned, and induced Azru to come with her on the Polo ground, the “Shavaran,” in front of the castle; the princess was smitten with his beauty and at once fell in love with him. She then sent word to the young prince to come and see her. When he was admitted into her presence, he for a long time denied being anything else than a common labourer. At last, he confessed to being a fairy’s child, and the overjoyed princess offered him her heart and hand. It may be mentioned here that the tyrant Shiribadatt had a wonderful horse, which could cross a mile at every jump, and which its rider had accustomed to jump both into and out of the fort, over its walls. So regular were the leaps which that famous animal could take, that he invariably alighted at a distance of a mile from the fort and at the same place.
“On that very day on which the princess had admitted young Azru into the fort, King Shiribadatt was out hunting, of which he was desperately fond, and to which he used sometimes to devote a week or two at a time. We must now return to Azru, whom we left conversing with the princess. Azru remained silent when the lady confessed her love. Urged to declare his sentiments, he said that he would not marry her unless she bound herself to him by the most stringent oath; this she did, and they became in the sight of God as if they were wedded man and wife.[12] He then announced that he had come to destroy her father, and asked her to kill him herself. This she refused; but as she had sworn to aid him in every way she could, he finally induced her to promise that she would ask her father where his soul was. ‘Refuse food,’ said Azru, ‘for three or four days, and your father, who is devotedly fond of you will ask for the reason of your strange conduct; then say, “Father, you are often staying away from me for several days at a time, and I am getting distressed lest something should happen to you; do reassure me by letting me know where your soul is, and let me feel certain that your life is safe.”’ This the princess promised to do, and when her father returned refused food for several days. The anxious Shiribadatt made inquiries, to which she replied by making the already-named request. The tyrant was for a few moments thrown into mute astonishment, and finally refused compliance with her preposterous demand. The love-smitten lady went on starving herself, till at last her father, fearful for his daughter’s life, told her not to fret herself about him, as his soul was [of snow?] in the snows, and that he could only perish by fire. The princess communicated this information to her lover. Azru went back to Doyur and the villages around, and assembled his faithful peasants. Them he asked to take twigs of the fir-tree or tshi, bind them together and light them—then to proceed in a body with the torches to the castle in a circle, keep close together, and surround it on every side. He then went and dug out a very deep hole, as deep as a well, in the place where Shiribadatt’s horse used to alight, and covered it with green boughs. The next day he received information that the torches (talên in Gilgiti and Lome in Astori) were ready. He at once ordered the villagers gradually to draw near the fort in the manner which he had already indicated.
“King Shiribadatt was then sitting in his castle; near him his treacherous daughter, who was so soon to lose her parent. All at once he exclaimed, ‘I feel very close; go out, dearest, and see what has happened.’ The girl went out, and saw torches approaching from a distance; but fancying it to be something connected with the plans of her husband, she went back, and said it was nothing. The torches came nearer and nearer, and the tyrant became exceedingly restless. ‘Air, air,’ he cried, ‘I feel very, very ill; do see, daughter, what is the matter.’ The dutiful lady went, and returned with the same answer as before. At last, the torch-bearers had fairly surrounded the fort, and Shiribadatt, with a presentiment of impending danger, rushed out of the room, saying ‘that he felt he was dying.’ He then ran to the stables and mounted his favourite charger, and with one blow of the whip made him jump over the wall of the castle. Faithful to its habit, the noble animal alighted at the same place, but alas! only to find itself engulfed in a treacherous pit. Before the king had time to extricate himself, the villagers had run up with their torches. ‘Throw them upon him,’ cried Azru. With one accord all the blazing wood was thrown upon Shiribadatt, who miserably perished. Azru was then most enthusiastically proclaimed king, celebrated his nuptials with the fair traitor, and, as sole tribute, exacted the offering of one sheep, instead of that of a human child, annually from every one of the natives.[13] This custom has prevailed down to the present day, and the people of Shin, wherever they be, celebrate their delivery from the rule of a monster, and the inauguration of a more humane government, in the month preceding the beginning of winter—a month which they call Dawakió or Daykió—after the full moon is over and the new moon has set in. The day of this national celebration is called ‘nôs tshilí,’ ‘the feast of firs.’ The day generally follows four or five days after the meat provision for the winter has been laid in to dry. A few days of rejoicing precede the special festivity, which takes place at night. Then all the men of the villages go forth, having torches in their hands, which, at the sound of music, they swing round their heads, and throw in the direction of Gilgit, if they are at any distance from that place; whilst the people of Gilgit throw them indifferently about the plain in which that town, if town it may be called, is situated. When the throwing away of the brands is over, every man returns to his house, where a curious custom is observed. He finds the door locked. The wife then asks: ‘Where have you been all night? I won’t let you come in now.’ Then her husband entreats her and says, ‘I have brought you property, and children, and happiness, and everything you desire.’ Then, after some further parley, the door is opened, and the husband walks in. He is, however, stopped by a beam which goes across the room, whilst all the females of the family rush into an inner apartment to the eldest lady of the place. The man then assumes sulkiness and refuses to advance, when the repenting wife launches into the following song:—
Original:—
Mù tútè shábilès, wó rajó tolyá.
I of thee glad am, oh Rajah’s presented with tolahs!
Mù tútè shábilès, wó ashpa panu.
I of thee glad am, oh steed’s rider.
Mù tútè shábilès, wó tumák ginu.
I of thee glad am, oh gun-wearer. [Evidently a modern interpolation.]
Mú tútè shábilès, wó kangár ginu.
I of thee glad am, oh sword-wearer.
Mú tútè shábilès, wó tshapàn banu.
I of thee glad am, oh mantle-wearer.
Mú tútè shábilès, shá mul dé ginum.
I of thee glad am, pleasure’s price giving I will buy.
Mú tútè shábilès, wó gúmy tshino.
I of thee glad am, oh corn-heap!
Shábilès shá mul de ginum.
Rejoicing pleasure’s price giving I will buy.
Mú tútè shábilès, wó giéy loto.
I of thee glad am, oh ghee-ball.
Shábilès sha mul de ginum.
Rejoicing pleasure’s price giving I will buy.
Translation:—
Thou hast made me glad! thou favourite of the Rajah!
Thou hast rejoiced me, oh bold horseman!
I am pleased with thee who so well usest gun and sword!
Thou hast delighted me, oh thou who art invested with a mantle of honour!
Oh great happiness! I will buy it all by giving pleasure’s price.
Oh thou [nourishment to us] a heap of corn and a store of ghee!
Delighted will I buy it all by giving pleasure’s price!
“Then the husband relents and steps over the partition beam. They all sit down, dine together, and thus end festivities of the ‘Nôs.’ The little domestic scene is observed at Gilgit; but it is thought to be an essential element in the celebration of the day by people whose ancestors may have been retainers of the Gilgit Raja Azru Shemsher, and by whom they may have been dismissed to their homes with costly presents.
“The song itself is, however, well known at Gilgit.
“When Azru had safely ascended the throne, he ordered the tyrant’s palace to be levelled to the ground. The willing peasants, manufacturing spades of iron, ‘Killi’, flocked to accomplish a grateful task, and sang whilst demolishing his castle:
Original:—
Kûro téyto Shiri-ga-Badàt djé kuró
[I am] hard said Shiri and Badatt![14] why hard?
Demm Singéy Khotó kúro
Dem Sing’s Khotó [is] hard
Na tshumáre kille téy ráke phala thèm
[With] this iron spade thy palace level I do
Tsháké! túto Shatshó Malika Demm Singéy
Behold! thou Shatshó Malika Dem Singh’s
Khotó kuró na tshumare killéyi
Khotó hard; [with] this iron spade
Téy rake-ga phalatém, tshaké
Thy palace very I level, behold!”
Translation:—
“‘My nature is of a hard metal,’ said Shiri and Badatt. ‘Why hard? I Khoto, the son of the peasant Dem Singh, am alone hardy; with this iron spade I raze to the ground thy kingly house. Behold now, although thou art of race accursed, of Shatsho Malika, I, Dem Singh’s son, am of hard metal; for with this iron spade I level thy very palace; look out! look out!’”
During the Nauroz [evidently because it is not a national festival] and the Eed, none of these national Shîn songs are sung. Eggs are dyed in different colours and people go about amusing themselves by trying which eggs are hardest by striking the end of one against the end of another. The possessor of the hard egg wins the broken one. The women, however, amuse themselves on those days by tying ropes to trees and swinging themselves about on them.