There are places in Kashmir where the very air hums with forgotten melodies, and the ground whispers tales older than the mountains themselves. Gulmarg, with its vast, emerald meadows, is one such place. Today, I found myself adrift in its expanse, a lone figure amidst a riot of wildflowers, and felt the unspoken song rise around me.
The pines stood like silent guardians on the slopes, their branches swaying to a rhythm only they understood. Below, the meadow unfurled, a living carpet embroidered with sapphire blues, sunlit yellows, and soft, blushing pinks. Each bloom seemed to hold a drop of morning dew, mirroring the distant peaks, like tiny, fragile eyes gazing at the sky.
It wasn’t a sound I heard with my ears, but a resonance within the heart. A lament for what has been, a quiet joy for what endures, and a gentle hope for the quiet promise of tomorrow. It felt like the land itself was breathing, a slow, deep inhale of peace, followed by a soft exhale of memory.
In these moments, words feel inadequate, yet they are all we have to try and capture the ‘fragrance’ of such beauty. Voice of Jehlum seeks to articulate these intangible feelings, to give voice to the unspoken, to paint with words the hues of longing and wonder that the soul recognizes.
As the sun began its gentle descent, painting the western sky in strokes of fiery orange and soft violet, I carried the meadow’s song within me. A reminder that some of the deepest truths are not shouted, but whispered by the wind, through the leaves, and across the fields of our most cherished landscapes.