This delightful tale takes you to the snow-covered slopes of Kashmir, where two siblings embark on an adventurous sledge ride. Through laughter, fear, and the warmth of home, the story celebrates childhood innocence and the simple joys of winter.
It was a heavy snowy day. The snow was falling thick and soft, like a Kashmiri mother-in-law, “Hash Mouj”, showering candies on a Mahrin (bride). All the kids in the locality eagerly waited for the snow to stop so they could enjoy a traditional form of Kashmiri sledging known as “Ressin”. My little sister Nooni and I were no different—our eyes glued to the sky, waiting for the perfect moment.
Finally, the next day, the sun shone brightly, and the whole area looked like a Mahraaz(groom) fresh from a bath, sparkling in the sunlight. Our friend from the nearby house called us, “Let’s play Ressin/Sledding!” We rushed outside and begged our mother for two flour sacks. It wasn’t as easy as it sounds; we had to make a heap of snow in the courtyard to form a small hill for the sledging. But then, one of our playing partners had a brilliant idea.
“Why don’t we climb the nearby mountain and sledge from there?” he suggested. “We won’t have to work so hard to make a snow heap!” Everyone agreedand off we went, marching towards the mountain. Our socks got drenched, our hands froze, and even our noses started to turn into icicles. But nothing could stop our excitement.
After climbing a few metres, we finally decided it was time to sledge. Our senior playing partner placed the flour sack, sat down, and slid down the mountain. One by one, we followed suit, laughing and tumbling in the snow.
But then, from a distance, we heard someone call us—it was our mother! We could barely hear her over the wind, but fear struck our hearts. We realized she must have found out and soon she’d tell our father. He wouldn’t spare us!
In a panic, my sister and I bolted down the mountain, our hearts pounding like drums. We raced home, our eyes wide with fear as if we’d seen a Rantas (a mythical creature from Kashmiri folklore).
To our surprise, when we arrived home, our mother didn’t scold us. Instead, she burst into laughter at our shivering, soaked state. She quickly changed our wet clothes, wrapped us in blankets and told us to warm our hands on the Kaanger (fire pot). We couldn’t help but chuckle at how we had feared the worst for nothing, but then again, the thrill of sledging from the mountain had made it all worth it!
Rumaisa Ashraf Bhat
ru************@***il.com