#Herath memories from the late ’80s: a young boy, waiting all year to visit our Pandit neighbors. Their warm smiles, walnuts, and sweets as Prashad… Back then, hearts held no hatred—only love. We were simply #Human then. Before labels divided us. 💔
Wishing all my Pandit friends and brothers a very Happy Herath. May the warmth of this sacred day remind us of the love we once shared. ❤️ #Herath #Kashmir #Harmony”
This poignant post on X, shared by a @Ah_Iqball is more than nostalgia—it is a mirror reflecting the fractured soul of a land once celebrated for its syncretic culture. Herath, the grand festival of Kashmiri Pandits, is not merely a celebration of Lord Shiva; it is a testament to a shared history now shadowed by displacement and longing.
The Light of Herath: A Cultural Beacon
Herath, or Maha Shivratri, is the Kashmiri Pandit community’s most revered festival. For centuries, it has symbolized spiritual renewal, familial bonds, and the triumph of divine consciousness. The rituals—Kalash Sthapana, walnut offerings, and communal feasts—are threads weaving a tapestry of identity. The feast, with its Rogan Josh and Modur Pulao, is a culinary heirloom, while the belief in auspicious rain during Herath underscores a deep bond with Kashmir’s natural rhythms.
Yet, today, these traditions are tinged with melancholy. For many Pandits, Herath is no longer celebrated in their homeland’s walnut orchards but in exile, where the scent of haakh (collard greens) mingles with the ache of displacement.
The Exodus: When Darkness Fell
The Kashmir of the late 1980s, as described in the tweet, was on the brink of catastrophe. In 1989-90, as militancy engulfed the region, Kashmiri Pandits—a minority community integral to Kashmir’s cultural fabric for millennia—became targets of violence. Threats, targeted killings, and posters ordering them to leave or face death triggered one of modern India’s most tragic exoduses. Nearly 100,000 Pandits fled their homes, becoming refugees overnight. Temples were desecrated, homes abandoned, and a 5,000-year-old legacy of coexistence shattered.
The exodus was not just a demographic shift; it was a cultural amputation. The Pandits’ absence left a void in Kashmir’s ethos—their festivals, language, and intellectual contributions relegated to memory. Generations grew up in migrant camps or unfamiliar cities, clinging to traditions like Herath as lifelines to their roots.
Herath in Exile: Resilience and Longing
Today, Herath is a paradox. In Jammu, Delhi, and beyond, Kashmiri Pandits gather to perform rituals, their homes adorned with the same kalash and walnuts. Yet, the rain that once blessed their celebrations in Kashmir now falls on unfamiliar soil. Elders recount tales of Srinagar’s Herath bazaars; youth grasp at fragments of a homeland they’ve never seen.
The tweet’s invocation of “hearts without hatred” underscores a painful truth: the labels of “Pandit” and “Muslim” have been weaponized, erasing a history of shared festivals, Sufi shrines, and mutual reverence. The exodus did not just displace a community—it fractured Kashmiriyat, the region’s ethos of pluralism.
A Path to Healing?
The Kashmir of 2024 remains a contested landscape, but glimmers of hope persist. Initiatives to preserve Pandit heritage—documenting rituals, reviving the Kashmiri language, and digital archives—are vital. Yet, true reconciliation requires more. It demands acknowledging the trauma of the exodus, ensuring justice for victims of violence, and rebuilding trust.
Herath, with its message of divine unity and renewal, offers a metaphor. Just as the Kalash symbolizes prosperity, Kashmir’s healing requires nurturing the seeds of empathy. The tweet’s longing for a time “before labels” is a call to action: to honor not just Pandit festivals, but their right to return, thrive, and coexist.
Rekindling the Light
Herath Mubarak is more than a greeting; it is a prayer for remembrance. As Kashmiri Pandits light lamps this Herath, their resilience illuminates a path forward—one where the walnuts of prasad are shared again in Kashmir’s valleys, and where the rain of blessings falls on all its children.
Let this Herath rekindle the simple truth of that tweet: before politics, before division, we were human. And humanity, like Shiva’s dance, can transcend even the deepest darkness.
