The Dawn Markets of Dal Lake

Getting ready to sell (c) A. Harrison

The gentle sound of lapping water which had filled my dreams. Now the call to morning prayer drifted across the waters of Dal Lake. In the darkness the voices came softly, a gentle melody to call me from the sleep.

There was little light as our little wooden pushed off from the wooden walkway outside the houseboat. We slid across the water, a few lights from the other houseboats reflected in the lake. Although later in the day this part of the lake becomes a highway, for the moment no other boats were about.

The larger waterways en route to the market (c) A. Harrison

I snuggled into my blanket as the morning breeze drifted over me. Each morning the snow crept a little further down the mountain side.

We turned from the water highway into the smaller water laneways. As the waterways became narrower the lilies and other water greens grew thicker, almost blocking the way. The occasional house sported a light, or a person would wave from an open doorway or window. At times a wooden walkway ran beside us, the occasional rickety bridge crossing high across the water way. Looking at the cracked and missing planks, I’m glad we chose to travel by boat.

Images from the markets; the yellow prow is the front of our boat (c) A. Harrison

Soon the rivulet opened into a larger waterway filled with boats. They milled around, drifting towards but never into one another, sometimes needing the gentlest of pushes to stop a collision.

The morning market was in full swing. Boats filled with vegetables and fruits, dried products, flowers floated around us. A boat-load of women in a world of men, we were left alone, but they were happy for us to watch and take photos. The boats were long and thin, with gunwales hovering just above the waterline. Often a man sat perched on the prow, ready to push away other boats as they wove around themselves in unseen patterns.

I have no idea how he balanced (c) A. Harrison

As the day grew lighter more boats came to join the controlled chaos. Although this market usually supplies the shops and restaurants of Srinagar, with most places shut due to the current curfew, this was one of the few places locals could buy fresh food. As we ventured deeper into the labyrinthine waterways, away from the patrolling police, we passed the occasional open shop, or owners sitting gossiping with one another outside their shops, ready to sell if the opportunity arose.

Birds flew around us, the occasional eagle overhead, whilst ibis stood knee-deep in the water. Around the lake mountains rose to the sky, their tops painted with snow year round. Kashmir is a land of incredible beauty, a beauty still reflected in its people, who are somehow surviving so many years of turmoil.

Heading home (c) A. Harrison

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