Varmul’s Thokur Kuth
Baramulla or Varmul as we fondly remember it as, is not merely a film to me. It is a summons from the core of my childhood, a name that pulls at something essential inside. I was born in Baramulla; anything that whispers its story has me transfixed, as if it is speaking directly to the part of me that left but never stopped belonging. When news of the film surfaced, I set a reminder on Netflix without a second thought, the movie felt like a chance to revisit the lanes and memories I still carry everywhere.
The film is an unsettling journey through the valley’s shadows, shifting light and muted colours blurring those fragile boundaries between memory and myth. Shots linger over the silence of abandoned homes and rain-soaked streets, weaving suspense and hints of the supernatural into the very real terror of loss and displacement. Yet for me, the most profound ache lies in the gentle, insistent echo at its heart: the soft but unwavering chant of the Shiv Stotram rising from the Thokur Kuth, Kashmiri Pandit prayer room, concealed just behind a cupboard. It is a heartbeat of faith that endures even as everything familiar crumbles, calling out to those of us who still carry the valley inside, no matter how far we are from its banks.
The chant from Thokur Kuth lingers like whispers through Baramulla’s walls. It is not the suspense or supernatural threads, nor even the shadows of violence, that stay with the viewer long after the credits fade. Instead, it’s the sound of the Shiv Stotram, an invocation that has, perhaps unknowingly, stirred hearts across continents.
The film’s true brilliance lies, not in technical mastery or dramatic spectacle, but in its bold revival of memory through sound. The chant is not just part of the movie’s atmosphere; it is a resurrection of something long buried, a communal soul that once breathed peacefully in the valley.
Beyond the Film: An Unintentional Awakening
This isn’t a review of the film’s craft. Instead, it is a reflection on what the movie achieved without trying. Over decades, many works have sought to recount Kashmir’s pain; the upheaval, the exodus, the haunting silence of homes left behind. But rarely has something spoken so directly to those silences, nor to the private grief that remains unspoken. The Shiv Stotram isn’t a soundtrack; it is a memory calling from behind closed doors, from the rooms that once echoed with morning prayers before being abandoned in haste.
Some critics noted that Baramulla portrayed Kashmir only in somber shades, ignoring its breathtaking beauty. They’re right. The Varmul I remember was vibrant; rivers danced through its core, badam phulay (almond blossoms) painted the spring in soft white and life thrived even in its narrow alleys. Yet perhaps the darkness of the film mirrors the valley’s truth today, a reflection of what was lost when light departed.
The Critics’ Voices
In her review “Ghosts of Baramulla: Original Sin and the Horror of Denial,” Sunanda writes that the film confronts Kashmir’s buried guilt and the weight of collective silence. She threads the story through layers of denial, suggesting that Baramulla is less about horror and more about what happens when truth itself becomes a ghost, haunting those who refuse to see it. Her piece aches with a recognition that violence consumes not just the victims but also the conscience of those who remain unmoved.
Then there’s another review, a quieter one, shared on BuzzBytes. It offers something rare: an admission of regret. For those of us uprooted in childhood, these words are at once consoling and too late. They descend like rain on parched soil—welcome, but powerless to turn back time or erase the ache that we continue to carry with us.
The Echoes That Remain
One person’s apology will not restore what was lost to collective silence. Kashmiriyat, believed to be that spirit of shared existence, will not return with lone murmurs of remorse. What is needed now is a chorus, as unwavering and whole as that which once drove us to leave; voices rising in honesty and resolve, not as individuals, but as a community willing to look at the past without flinching. Only then can the old bonds hope to find their way home, back into the valley and into our fractured hearts.
Until then, the sound of the Shiv Stotram remains an echo. A sacred reminder from a hidden room that faith, memory and pain still live in the walls of homes left behind. Perhaps, someday, those echoes will find their way into open air again, transforming grief into something resembling peace.
Sheetal Raina
Dr. Sheetal Raina is the founder and editor of ISBUND, an immersive platform dedicated to preserving and celebrating Kashmiri culture. Deeply connected to the heritage and traditions of Kashmir, she brings a distinctive voice to cultural discourse - blending academic insight with heartfelt commitment to her roots.
4 Comments
-
Anu Raina
Indeed Sheetal, the echoes of the Shiv Stotram had a bigger impact deep within, mildly burying the cries of the suffers, boldly reminiscing the past, showcasing our strength in our rich cultural heritage.
-
Sunil Munshi
Dear Sheetal, you’ve brought out the very poignant, subtle yet profound elements of the film; thank you for this write up. The film touched us all very deeply. Wish everyone else would understand but it doesn’t really matter…….
-
Sushil
Reading this article brought back a flood of memories. I was also forced to leave Kashmir in the 90s like so many of us and even after all these years, the sound of my grandmother chanting the Shiv Strotam as she prepared her Thokur Kuth for Shivratri still echoes in my mind. There was a quiet solemnity in her rituals, a deep connection to faith that still feels comforting but also heartbreaking at the same time. I remember how, at the same time, my father would sit in silence, perhaps already contemplating the difficult decision to leave everything behind. Thank you for capturing a piece of that shared history.
POST COMMENT
Related Posts
Spiced Memories, Shared Dreams: Kashmiri Pandits and the Art of Belonging
Somewhere in a small apartment in Delhi, Kishni smooths the creases on
Diwali Unveiled: Stories, Myths and Light Across the Globe
Making Room for Absence: How We Get On, Somehow
Grief announces itself quietly, showing up in empty chairs and message
Under the Shamiana
Golden Kashmir autumns brought family and tradition together under Ben
Musical Voices of Kashmir: Lal Ded and Beyond
Kashmir’s timeless musical tradition weaves together mystic poetry,
Beauty, Brains And Bathroom Chemistry: A Reluctant Scientist’s Skincare Confessions
A self-declared rationalist gets unexpectedly swept into the sometimes
Vikram Dhar
This piece really resonated with me. For many of us who left as children, Baramulla feels less like a film and more like a reminder of a life we lost. The Shiv Stotram behind the cupboard brought that back in a way few things do.
And you’re right, individual regret is welcome, but it isn’t enough. Until there’s a collective acknowledgement of what happened, the Shiv Stotram will remain an unanswered reminder of what we went through.