CVR- 17NOT FOR PUBLICATION

WITHOUT WRITER’S CONSENT

INSTITUTE OF CURRENTWORLD AFFAIRSChitral, Pakistan15 October 1991

THE I NF I DELS

by Carol Rose

Two British army desertersKaffiristan in Rudyard Kipling’Kinq. They venture into present-day Afghanistan,capped mountains populated by pagans who worshipheathen idols" and are renowned for their beauty.tragically, when one man returns from Kaffiristandecapitated head of hiscompanion, himself lost inmadness.

set out to become the kings ofs story, The Man Who Would Be

a land of snow-"two-and-thirtyThe story endscarrying the

Kaffiristan has longsince been engulfed in thetide of Islam that sweptacross Afghanistan. Butjust across the border, inthree remote Himalayanvalleys of northernPakistan, live the lastpagan people of the HinduKush. These are the KaffirKalash --the "BlackInfidels" a community of4,000 shepherds who arenamed for the black robesworn by the women and theirsteadfast rejection ofIslam. The Kalash worshipinstead a pantheon of godsand goddesses, a beliefsystem that for centurieshas enabled them to live inharmony with nature and oneanother.

Now their existence isthreatened. Having resistedmissionary efforts both ofMuslims and Christians, theKalash now are fighting forthe legal right to theirforest lands, the tap-rootof their economic andspiritual life.

A young Kalash woman wearing traditionaldress and special charcoal face make-upmade from powdered goat horn.

Carol Rose is an ICWA fellow writing about South and Central Asia.Photographs by Carol Rose.

Since 1925 the Institute of Current World Affairs (the Crane-Rogers Foundation) has provided long-term fellowships to

enable outstanding young adults to live outside the United States and write about international areas and issues. Endowedby the late Charles R. Crane, the Institute is also supported by contributions from like-minded individuals and foundations.

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In mid-September I drove to the Kalash valleys, intending tospend a few days with the Kalash. I knew only a little aboutthem" that they make wine and reject Islam. The day after myarrival in the northern-most Kalash valley of Rumbur, atorrential rain washed away the narrow mountain road leading intothe valleys, leaving me stranded. It must have been an act ofthe benevolent gods. In the subsequent days I was welcomed intoa Kalash family, where I was invited to participate in theirdaily life, hear their stories and songs, and begin learningabout their gods. I left reluctantly, vowing to return as soonas possible, convinced that I have much still to learn from theKalash and a moral responsibility to tell the story of theirstruggle to survive.

Brothers and Sisters

I am not the first westerner to write about the Kalash. TheBritish anthropologist, Peter Parkes, the French anthropologists,Jean-Yves Loude, Viviane Lievre and George LeFebvre have written

dissertations and booksabout the Kalash. Inaddition, film crews fromCanada, Japan, Britain,Australia, Germany andFrance have produceddocumentaries on thisfascinating people.

A Kalash shepherd wth hs prize goat.

All have worked withand most have lived withSaifullah Jan, a man in hismid-30s who speaks perfectEnglish, the first Kalash togo to school, and now theelected representative ofthe Kalash people in thelocal council of thedistrict of Chitral. I metSaifullah one morning in thedistrict capital, Chitral,about an hour from theKalash valleys. He had beensummoned by the districtcommissioner to meet withDiana, the Princess ofWales, during her two-hourwhirlwind tour of thenorthern areas of Pakistan.He was staying at a run-downhotel near the center of thecity, sipping tea in thecourtyard, surrounded by

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Kalashf ri ends.

Thefirst thingsI noticedaboutSaiful labwere his palegreen eyesand sandybrown hair,possiblyinheritedfrom thefirst Kal ashman to settlein Chitral,whom theKalashbelieve was ageneral inthe army ofAlexander the

Safullah Jan stands fore the RUmbur Valley he s fEhtngto protect.

Great in the3rd century. Saifullah is clean-shaven with high cheek bones anda hooked nose, resembling a Native American. He has a lowforehead, full lips and straight white teeth. He wore pale graybaggy pants and a long tunics, or shalwar kameez a gray-jacketand red tennis shoes. Chain-smoking cigarettes, he eyed mesuspiciously when I asked whether he would be available to workas a guide and translator. Later he thanked me for being sodirect; most westerners, he said, befriend him first and then askhim to work for free.

"At the Hindu Kush conference in Chitral last year, all theuniversity professors presented papers on the Kalash and wereaddressed as ’Doctors or PhDs’ " he said. "When I worked withthem they were poor graduate students, living in my home andeating my food. Now they are professors, famous and rich, but Iam still poor Saifullah, the jungiwala [jungle man]."

Throughout the next three weeks, .Saifullah and his wifeshared their home with me, fed me, introduced me to their familyand friends, taught me Kalash phrases, regaled me with Kalashstories and serenaded me with Kalash songs. Saifullah stillreferred to himself, jokingly, as a jungliwala. He referred,affectionately, to me as a sherwali [city woman]. But most ofthe time we used the traditional Kalash form of address, baya(brother) for men, and babe (sister) for women.

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Entering the Kalash Valleys

The day after I metSaifullah, we set off in asmal I jeep for the RumburValley, one of three Kalashval I eys. The other twoval i eys are Bumburet andBirir. Each valley has fiveKalash villages as well asMuslim homes, set apart fromthe Kalash.

My Muslim driver, Noorul Amin, drove the jeep,while Saifullah and threeother Kalash men squeezed inthe back. It was by far themost harrowing drive of mylife. The road to Rumburwas a dirt and gravel ledgeabout seven feet wide,blasted out of sheer rockwall, with a straight dropto the rushing waters of theKunar river some 500 feetbelow. I felt guilty aboutNoor ul-Amin. He hadn’twanted to visit this land ofpagans in the first place;

Kalash shepherds are dwarfed by the size now he was serving asof the Himalayan foothlls as they return chauffeur for them on thiswith their flocks from the hgh pastures, most dangerous of roads.

After about 45 minutes ofnavigating the tortuous

climb, the road suddenly fell away down the cliff. Saifullahexplained that it had washed out a year ago and that he wasblocking its reconstruction until a court case over forestryrights was settled. No road means limited logging and no touristdevelopment.

We parked the car off the road and began the final hour-longwalk to Balanguru, the first village in Rumbur Valley. Fruittrees lined the road, ripe with mulberries, pears, peaches, plumsand apples. Grape vines grew high into the holly trees, readyfor picking. There were cedar trees for building homes and oakfor burning fires to heat homes and cook food. Fields of goldencorn awaited harvest and walnut trees rained their fruits on theroad; we used rocks to smash open the hard shells, peeling thebitter skins and devouring the sweet nutmeat within.

As we approached the Village, we saw fewer Muslim homes,

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characterized by high wall compounds, and began to meetSaifullah’s Kalash friends on the road. The men looked Pakistanito me, except that all were clean-shaven and readily shook myhand in greeting (something a Muslim man rarely does), saying,"Ishpatl, Baba! Proosht as?" (Hello sister, are you well?) Themen greeted Saifullah in the traditional manner, touching theirright hands to one another’s hearts, then shaking hands.

Kalash women also ran from their houses to greet Saifullah,often kissing his hands in female Kalash greeting of friendship.The women and girls wore black dresSes decorated with red andgreen embroidery. Mounds of 20 to 30 plastic red, green and bluebeads adorned their necks. Their hair was plaited in fivesections, each braided, with one braid centered just above theforehead and held in place behind the right ear with a woolenheadband. The headbands wrapped around the women’s heads,extending in a single strip down their backs about two feet; theywere decorated with cowrie shells, red plastic beads, buttons andbells. Other women wore a more formal Kalash headdress on topof their headband: a Widepiece of wool that sat atop.-their heads and cascadeddown their backs. These,too, were decorated withshells and buttons, but alsohad a large purple pom-pomon the top.

Before we reached thevillage, clouds gatheredoverhead and it began todrizzle, a rain that wouldturn into a downpour for thenext four days. On theoutskirts of the firstvillage, we arrived at ahotel, a rickety woodenbuilding furnished withwoven-rope beds, named the"Rumbur Hilton." Saifullahsuggested that Amin might behappiest staying there,insofar as there was aMuslim shopkeeper living onthe ground floor. I wasinvited to stay withSaifullah’s family.

At this point, I wasworried about Amin. He was MAP OF THE KALASH VALLEYSsoaked by the rain, (S0u[ce’ L0ue & Liere, Ka|ash Solstice, p. 9. L0k Wirsa,shivering and running a high Is|amaha.)

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Houses built up the hllsde n the Rumbur vllage ofBalanguru.

fever. Hesat on thebal cony ofthe hotel,g i oomi I ywatching thedownpour,Saiful lahwent insearch oftea, and Iscroungedthrough mybackpack fora hat andgl oves forAmin to wear.Suddenly thepeacefulsound of therain wasbroken by theear-shatteringcry of a

muezzin-- "Allah ul-Akbar"-- calling faithful Muslims toprayer. "How strange!" I said, wondering why a mullah would bestationed in this Kaffir village. "Yes," Amin agreed. "He is 15minutes early!"

Saiful lah soon returned with a pot of hot tea, whichimproved my spirits immeasurably. Amin was worrying about makinghis prayers, so Saifullah suggested that he go to the villagemosque while I accompany Saifullah home. As we crossed aslippery log that had been placed as a bridge over the rushingRumbur river, Saifullah explained that the mosque had been builtat the time of partition, when the government of Pakistansanctioned forced conversion. There are four Kalash families inRumbur that have converted to Islam, out of a total of 120 Kalashfamilies in the valley. Many of them were forced to do so whenone family member was convicted of a crime and given a lightsentence in exchange for embracing Islam.

As we climbed the path toward the main part of the village,I saw a hillside covered with flat-roof houses constructed ofwood logs laid horizontally and flat stones held in place withmud mortar. The houses were built one on top of the other up thesteep hill. Most houses had many windows and some even had openbalconies. A few had chimneys, but most let the smoke fromcooking fires escape through windows and cracks in the stonewalls.

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Saifullah explained that all land within the village iscommunally owned; people build where they can find space. Thehigh pastures, far up the mountains, also are communally owned.Only the fields, the forests and the walnut trees are privatelyheld, each family owning one to three acres of land. Fathersdivide their land equally among their sons and the youngest soninherits his father’s house. Interspersed with the houses aresquare windowless pastl, or larders, where families lock awaytheir foodstuffs for winter.

As we neared Saifullah’s house, we were greeted warmly by apetite woman, who smiled shyly as we approached, kissingSaifullah’s hands and murmuring a greeting. She also shook myhand, before walking down the path. A few minutes later,Saifullah remarked, "That was my wife."

Her name is Weshlam Gul (Milk of the Flower), but mostpeople refer to her as Yassir Ayas, "Mother of Yassir," namedafter her eldest son. In the following days, she opened her hometo me, taught me to make bread, braided my hair, introduced me tothe women of the community, and began sewing a traditional Kal.ashdress so that I will be suitably attired for my next visit.

Mysterious Red Spots

The next four days it rained continuously. Poor Amin grewincreasingly unhappy at being stuck in this "fasool" deadend - so far fromhome, amidst theseKaffirs, cold fromthe constant rainand boredwith"nothing to do".An attempt by theKalash hotel-,keeper to cheerhim with offers ofwine and hashish,strictly forbiddenfor devout MUSlimsbut frequentlyused by Kalash,only increased hisunhappiness. Idecided aftertwodays to send himout of the valleyon foot, leavingthe jeep for me’toodrive later. Aminwas ecstatic. So WeshlamGul, mother of Yassr.

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was the village of Balanguru, I later discovered; it seemseveryone was aware that I was dragging around an unhappy Muslim.

In the meantime, I was having a wonderful time atSaifullah’s house, spending the long days sitting by the fire,practicing the relatively easy Kalasha language, learning aboutthe Kalash religion and listening to Kalash stories. Often Iwould play with Saifullah’s four sons and one daughter, recitingABCs With them in exchange for them teaching me the Kalasha namesfor everything in the house.

On my third day in Balanguru, I watched from Saifullah’shouse as a large section of the mountain across the river turnedinto a giant landslide. For more than an hour, a torrent of mudwashed like a waterfall down the cliff face into the river below.

"Oh shit," said Saifullah. "This is going to close the roadand strand your jeep."

Everyone gave me an apprehensive stare. To their delight, Ireplied, in childlike Kalasha, "Key Karik, Baya?" "What canyou do, brother?" Realizing that it was going to take at leasttwo weeks (actually, much longer) for the Pakistani government toopen the road, I settled into Saifullah’s home for a long stay.

The house itself was a typical Kalash home, built ofalternating wood beams and flat stones, with a flat mud roof.

The housestood on topof another,so the frontdoor was onthe secondfloor,accessible byclimbing alog notchedwith stairsthat leanedagainst thewall.

Insidethere weretwo rooms: aback bedroomabout 10 feetsquare filledwith woven-rope beds and

Saifullah and Weshlam Gul sit around the fire in their hme a front room,wth their dauEhter Gulstan. approximately

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12 feet by eightfeet, where thefamily ate andentertainedguests. Like mostKalash homes, thefloor was poundedearth. Fourpillars held up aceiling, which wassupported bycedar-wood cross-beams.

In the frontroom was a mudhearth, aroundwhich guests saton low stools madeof wood with wovengoat-leatherseats. Everyoneelse squatted ontheir haunchesaround the fire.

Weshlam Gul prepares chappatls on a metal pan set overa mud hearth.

Hanging on the walls above the fire were Yassir Ayas’ cookingutensils a metal spoon for turning bread, a concave metal panupon which bread was Cooked, and a metal triangular tripod forsupporting saucepans over the fire.

In one corner of the room was a stack of oak firewood. Inanother corner, chickens roosted, when they weren’t wanderingaround in search of food scraps. The family’s pet goat, Jasmine,was tied to one of the four pillars in the room; no one seemed tomind when she defecated in the room.

I soon became accustomed to living so close to the earth.In many respects, mine was a life of luxury; Saifullah had builta guest room about 50 feet from the house, where I slept. Therewas no electricity and no toilet facilities in the village, otherthan a communal toilet ground behind the guest room. Still, Inever once fell ill during my stay in the village.

Actually, the only sign of sickness while in Rumbur was theappearance of tiny red welts all over my body, which itchedterribly. I refrained from mentioning this to Saifullah, untilone day when I asked him what sickness most caused the Kalash todie. "They get red marks all over their body, then they die," heexplained.

My heart leapt to my throat. "Do they look like this?" Iasked, pointing to the tiny red marks on my arms.

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Saifullah laughed. "No, baba, what you have are fleas!What I am talking about are the measles."

Life Among the Kalash

As the days passed, I began to appreciate the rhythm ofdaily life in Balanguru. Each morning, a rooster’s call wouldawaken Yassir Ayas. In the early morning darkness, she wouldrouse from her woven-rope bed, smooth the five braids tightlyknotted on her head,.-, straighten her black dress, and don hercowrie-shell headdress.

As Saifullah and the children slumbered in the back room,Yassir Ayas would stir the cinders in her earthen hearth set onthe mud floor of the family’s main room, adding oak branches tostart the fire that would burn throughout the day. She shooedthe chickens from their roosts in the corner of the room andfreed the family goat from the pillar to which it has been tiedall night, leading it outside to an earthen patio, which also wasthe roof of the neighbor’s house below. In a large aluminum bowlshe then mixed a thin paste of water and fresh stone-ground-flour, milled the previous day. Using her hand as a ladle, shebegan pouring five-inch pancakes of watery dough onto a metaldome-shaped pan set over the fire, making 20 to 30 flat breadchappatis that, along with heavily-sugared black tea, she servedher family for breakfast.

One by one, her children awoke. The youngest, a three-year-old named Gulistan (Mountain Flower) would cry to be held.Eight-year-old Masiar once complained that the school teacher hadbeen beating him because his uniform a gray pajama-styleshawar kameez had not been washed (it had been raining toomuch). The other boys, Yassir, 13, Wasir All, ii, and SherWhite, 4, would sit around the fire, rubbing the sleep out oftheir eyes as they drank tea and munched chappatis. After theolder children went to school, Yassir Ayas served breakfast toSaifullah and an uncle who also lives in the house, as well as tome and any other guest who may have stopped by. When everyoneelse had eaten, Yassir Ayas tore off a piece of bread forherself, pausing to sip a cup of salted tea, which she drinks inorder to save the expensive sugar for her children and guests.

During the day, Yassir Ayas would take corn or wheat fromher larder to the local water-powered mill for grinding, shewould wash the clothes for her family in the canal that runsthrough town, and she would cook meals consisting of tomatoes,potatoes, goat cheese, walnuts and onions, with rice or bread.

Twice a week, Yassir Ayas joined the other Kalash women atthe river, where they would wash their hair. One day, sheinvited me to go along. We strolled down to the riverside,

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stopping to chatwith other womenas we went. Atthe water, wecollected flatstones; each womanpulled from herpocket a tinypiece of resinfrom the suchintree and began topound it on thestones until itbecame a graypaste. Aftercombing out myhair in the water,Yassir Ayas beganto work this pasteinto my scalp.She divided myhair into five

The Bashol, or menstruation house, in Bumburet.

sections, braiding each plait. The final braid, on the front ofmy head, she looped over my forehead and tucked behind my rightear. Then she gave me a Kalash headdress to wear and stood backto admire her work. A11 the women crowded around, smiling andtelling me that it was beautiful.

After an hour or so of gossiping together, we returned tothe house. I felt foolish at first with my hair styled like aKalash. But Saifullah’s uncle looked at my new hair-style andsaid, "That is such an improvement, sister, setting me at ease.

The Kalash Pantheon of Gods

As the days passed, I began to inquire about the variousgods and goddesses that rule:Kalash life. I hesitate to write.about this complex.system of religion, for it would take manyyears of study to truly understand the entire pantheon of godsand festivals. Nonetheless, no report on the Kalash would becomplete without at least attempting to give a rudimentaryexplanation of Kalash spiritual beliefs.

Central to the Kalash belief system is the idea of purity.Men are inherently pure, women impure As a result, women cannotgo to the central places of worship. Likewise, men are notallowed in the Sashoi, or house of menstruation, where the womengo each month during menstruation, for childbirth, and for 21days after a baby is born. Any woman who enters the menstruationhouse must wash her entire body and her clothing before leaving.For most women, this is the one time of the month when they are

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free from household chores of cooking and child-care. Surroundedby meadows and woods near the Rumbur river, the menstruationhouse is a peaceful setting where women walk arm-in-arm, oftenplaying reed flutes and singing together in the open air.

Because they are considered impure, women also are forbiddento eat honey from household hives, although they can eat honeyharvested in the wild. Likewise, they cannot eat meat from malegoats sacrificed during festivals but can eat female goat meat.They are forbidden to enter the summer pastures during the wintermonths or the high mountain pastures throughout the year. Theycannot touch the jugs in which wine is made, but can drink winethat has been bottled. They are free to walk in the village, eatwith the men except during festivals, and dance freely duringcelebrations.

There are Various gods and goddesses, and different Kalashva11ys often have different names for similar gods. General ly,

the gods are worshipped throughseasonal festivals andcelebrations that involve goatsacrifices and dancing. TheKalash believe there is one Godthe Creator, who reigns above allthe minor gods and goddesses.Here is a partial listing of thedeities"

Dezau/Khodai" The Creatorand god of everything. He has noplace of worship.

Sajigor" (Only in RumburValley). A male god who protectseverything. There is an open-airsanctuary in the summer fields,where goats are sacrificed duringcertain festivals. Only men cansee this sanctuary.

Warin" (Only in BirirValley)" Similar to Sajigor, thegod of everything, but mostespecially wine.

Praba" (Only in BirirValley)" Similar to Sajigor, agod of everything.

Mahandeo" A male god of theWall paintings of men and oats on honeybees. There is an open-airthe Jestak Temple wall in Bumburet. sanctuary, decorated with carved

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horses heads. Goat sacrifice is made here each spring, open onlyto men.

Ingao: (Only in Bumburet Valley): A male servant god ofMahandeo.

Jestak: A female goddess of babies and marriages. Theseare covered sanctuaries, open to men and women alike. During amarriage, the bride and groom are taken here, and blood pouredinto their ears.

Jatch: A female goddess of crop protection, who has anopen-air sanctuary open to men and women alike. An offering ismade to Jatch, of flowers and shrubs, each winter festival andalso before the wheat harvest.

Greemoon: (Only in Birir Valley) A male god of goats. Whencoming from the high pastures to bring his goats to the valley,he was turned into a stone and is now worshipped.

Balimayeen" Female goddess of all things. A messenger toGod the Creator, with a shrine in Bumburet.

Katsawear: (Only in Rumbur Valley), a male god for huntingIbex during the winter.

Bhut: Demons found in all three valleys. The Kalash believethat half of all the products from the fields and goats arestolen by the demons. Every autumn, they make an offering offlowers to the demons by baking a big chappati and eating it withclarified goat butter, called ghee.

Suchi" Fairies populate the mountains; some are good, otherevil. They originated when Adam made too many babies and Eve(Bibi Awa) refused to breast-feed half of them, throwing theminstead onto the roof of her house. They became fairies, whodon’t need food and sometimes enter a woman’s soul, putting herinto a trance that only a purification ritual can rectify.

Festivals of the Kalash

There are at least 17 religious festivals in the threeKalash valleys each year. The four big festivals mark theplowing, the wheat harvest, the grape harvest, and the wintersolstice (when all prayers are delivered to God the Creator.)

Each festival has its own rituals, but most include goatsacrifices and dancing. These are not mere symbolic acts,according to French anthropologist, George LeFebvre, but reflecta holistic system of wealth redistribution and politicalgovernance for the Kalash.

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"The strength of the Kalash society depends on their capacity toproduce a surplus," he said. "They do not sell their surplusoutside of the valleys, but instead use the festivals toredistribute their wealth from the rich to the poor. Thefestivals also are the times for the big assemblies, in whichbasic decisions are made about the future of the Kalash. Thebigger the surplus, the longer the festival, and the longer timethere is to reach unanimous decisions that will affect the entiretribe.

"The problem now is that the Kalash population isincreasing, but their fields are not," said LeFebvre. "If theydon’t produce a surplus, then they will be unable to feed thesocial, religious, political and economic mechanisms of theirsoci ety."

In addition to the four big festivals, there are smallercelebrations to bless the seeds, protect the goats, purify themilk, welcome the women back to the summer fields, begin theplowing, and one festival in which all people get to make aprayer for anything they desire.

Marriage and Love

Again, I venture into little-known territory by attemptingto explain what little I know about the Kalash customs.According to Saifullah, most children have arranged marriagesfrom the time they are quite small. But if they grow up and

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decide they do not like the arrangement, they simply break itoff. The main reason for arranged marriages is that pre-maritalsex is accepted as normal (as are adulterous sexual relations).If a girl or woman becomes pregnant at any time, she isofficially married to the pre-selected groom, who will raise thechild as his own.

In contrast to the Muslim customs of marrying first cousins,Kalash men and women are forbidden to marry within their lineage,dating back seven generations on their father’s side of thefamily and five generations on their mother’s side. Anyone whoviolates this rule is banned from the sacred places of worship.

Marriages are finalized when a man pays to a woman’s fathera bride price, consisting of goats, cows, and pots and pans. Ifthe girl decides to marry another man, the second husband mustpay double the bride price to the first husband. Once thetransaction is completed the first husband is not allowed tocarry a grudge. Twenty days after a couple decides tO wed thereis a purification ceremony at the Jestak temple in which blood ispoured into the ears of both the man and the woman, the only timethat a women experiences a blood sacrifice for purity.

The Kalash Way of Death

Traditionally, elders give flowers to a surviving spouse asa sign of ever-lasting life. The surviving spouse must wear old,dirty clothes, and sit by the door of the house, not touchinganyone for seven days, not building a fire, and only venturingoutside of the house to make a toilet in the night. The housemust never be empty during these first seven days, so the firemust be lit continually by visitors.

After seven days, a woman whose husband has died is givenher first purification, far away from the village in the openair. She is fed five pieces of "pure" chappati bread, made byvirgin boys whose hands and bodies have been washed. A juniperbranch is turned over her head three times and she is given aslightly nicer set of clothing. After this, she can ventureoutside of her house.

If a woman dies, her surviving husband must grow a beard,shaving it only before the next festival ("cutting of thegrief"). Men also go through purification far from the village.The other men sacrifice a kid goat and throw blood on themourning man’s face and also give him a nicer set of clothing.

Each ten days, the ritual purification is repeated, eachtime a few steps closer to the village, each time with nicerclothing presented to the person. After seven such rituals, or70 days, the mourning period is over and the person is expected

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to return to normal life at the beginning of the next festival.The time between purification rituals may be shortened if a bigfestival is approaching. But if a death occurs during afestival, or within 20 days of a festival, then the purificationritual is postponed until the following festival.

Kalash believe that when people die they go to a mountain onthe earth, where the gods judge their behavior. If they are seenas honest and meritorious, they go to a heaven beneath the Earth.If they have been dishonest or evil, they burn in a hell, alsobeneath the earth. In the past, cildren would host a feast uponthe year anniversary of their parent’s death, carving a woodeneffigy of the person that is used in dances celebrating theperson’s life. Nowadays, few people have enough surplus food tohold such a festival.

In earlier times, the Kalash buried a dead person along withhis or her most precious belongings in wooden coffins randomlystrewn on the ground. Nowadays, most people are buried under theground, with a woven-rope bed laid upside-down on the grave. Thetradition changed because the burial grounds were plundered bylocal Moslems searching for Kalash artifacts to sell to tourists.

I asked Saifullah how he planned to be buried. "Oh, I wantto be under the ground," he replied. "I smoke so much that I amsure to be buried with some cigarettes; I can’t stand the thoughtof some Muslim swiping my last smoke while I’m moldering away."

/% Sense ofHistory

Jung I eman or not,Saiful lah Janhas had afascinatinglife, whichmirrors therecenthistory ofthe Kal ashpeopl e ingeneral. Hisfather,Karsoom Khan,is a shepherdwho remembersthe yearsbefore 1959when there

A-traditional Kalash burial ground n Btuaburet, wth coffins were fivestrew above the ground. Kaf f i r or

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"infidel" valleys,all enslaved underthe ruthless royalfamily of Chitral.

"When theMuslim empire tookover. they plannedto finish ourfaith andculture, saidKarsoom Khan."The Kalash had topay tributes tothe king. Even ifa man was married,he had to give abull to the king.And the king wassuch a cruel man.He would rape anywoman in the Plunderng by Muslms of-Kala- cemeteries has broughtkingdom and use about ehanEes n Kalash bural customs. Most Ka]ashthe men as slaves are now buried underEround, their beds placed upside-to bui I d hi s down upon the Erave.pal aces inChitral. TheKalash were not allowed to wear white clothing," [because theywere considered "dirty", a myth that persists among manyPakistanis ].

"The Shichikoo valley near here also was Kalash, but theroyal rulers attacked during the spring festival and told the-people, ’This will be your last dance before you convert.’ Afterthat, all of the people danced off of the cliff rather thanconvert," said Karsoom Khan. "Ours was the next valley to beforced to convert.

"At the time of partition [of Pakistan and India], all theHindus left Chitral. So 60 men from the Kalash valleys went toChitral for a year and formed a Muslim League, to fight the royalfamily of Chitral and become part of Pakistan [in 1959]," saidKarsoom Khan. "I saw the sons of the Muslim men writing andspeaking from books. They could fight for their rights. That’swhen I decided to send my son to school."

Saifullah, the eldest of Karsoom Khan’s six children, waschosen for the arduous task of walking six hours daily to andfrom Muslim school in the nearby city of Ayun. He hated the longwalk on cold winter days and remembers being teased and beaten byhis schoolmates because he was not a Muslim.

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"And I had to beat him to go to school," recalled KarsoomKhan, laughing. "But I said I’d cut his throat if he convertedto Islam. Now I am happy because we don’t need Muslims anymorefor writing and speaking; Saifullah does that for our community.Sometimes I worry when I hear about bad plans that the Muslimshave for him and I cannot sleep at night. But he must do thiswork for the Kalash; the Gods will look after Saifullah."

Saifullah’s first plan was to be a medical doctor, to helptreat sick Kalash people. He changed his mind one night after hedecided to stay in Ayun rather than make the long trek back tohis home; the local Muslim hotel keeper refused to give Saifullaha room, saying that the Kalash were "dirty." Around the sametime, Saifullah decided to reject the Muslim order that Kalashmen wear dark-colored shalwar kameez to hide their dirtiness and

a woolen pakoo cap with afeather in the front to showtheir identity. To thisday, Saiful lah wears pale-colored clothing and refusesto cover his head.

"I realized that savinglives meant nothing if theKalash culture itself died,"said Saifullah. "So insteadof going to medical school,I decided to go to lawschooi."

After one year studyinglaw in Peshawar, Saifullah’sfamily ran out of money tocontinue his education. Hereturned to the Kalashvalleys, where he met agroup of French tourists andoffered to help themtranslate Kalash folk talesinto English, a subject inwhich he had excelled inschool. After that, hebegan working for a seriesof anthropologists who cameto study the Kalash,enabling him to see hisculture from the perspective

Karsoom Khan was the-first Kalash to se,a -of an outsider while stil 1his son to school, a six hour walk. Here, being very much a Kalash.he holds hs Erandson, who will attend aKalash school at home n the RrValley.

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Fight for theForest

Fiveyears ago,Saiful lab wasel ected tohis firstterm asKa I ashrepresentative

to the 32-memberDistrictCounci I ofChitral. Asrepresentativ

he helpedto buildthree primaryschools, twomiddle ]Calash girls show a healthy distrust of foreiEners withschool s, and cameras.one highschool in theKalash valleys. He led an effort to raise money for a Kalashschool for girls, which opened its doors one month ago with 60students. He also obtained government grants to build roads,put in medical dispensaries, and construct fresh water pipelinesinto each valley.

But perhaps his most important work has been as legaladvisor to the Kalash, helping to pass laws to prevent Muslimsfrom buying more Kalash land and attempting to fight in court onbehalf of Kalash whose land has been illegally encroached upon bytheir Muslim neighbors.

He also has been fighting against attempts by Christianmissionaries to take Kalash children to religious boardingschools in thedistant city of Lahore. These efforts havecreated powerful enemies for Saifullah: both of his opponents inhis bid for re-election to the district council receive moneyfrom Christian missionary groups.

But by far the most important fight is Saifullah’s eight-year battle to ensure the Kalash will maintain control over theirforest lands in the coming years. The case concerns the rightsto the forest in the Rumbur Valley. The Pakistani government iscutting the forest, with a promise to pay 60 percent of theroyalties to those who own the land. Eight years ago, the peopleof the nearby Muslim town of Ayun claimed that they had equalrights to all the land and therefore royalties in the Rumbur

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valley as far as the Afghanistan border. The issue isn’t merelyone of royal ties, but of jurisdiction over the land.

"This case is everything; if I lose it, it will be the endof the Kalash life," said Saifullah, as we strolled through thewooded fields of the upper Rumbur valley. "If Ayun wins thiscase, then there is nothing to stop them from claimingjurisdiction over all of the land in all three Kalash valleys."

It will be an uphill battle in the courts Pakistan isnotoriously corrupt; bribes and family connections often carrymore weight than legal evidence. And, of course, the judge wibe a Muslim.

We walked together in silence, contemplating thepossibilities should the Kalash lose their right to the land. Ina nearby meadow, Kalash women collected walnuts that had fallenfrom the trees. In the forest beyond the meadow, men climbed theholly hock trees to harvest grapes, the vines of which grow highinto the tree tops. They made wine by putting fresh grapes intoa trough made from a hollowed-out walnut log and stompingbarefoot on the grapes to squeeze the juice into a vat.

As we watched these simple pleasures of Kalash life,Saifullah told me that if he wins re-election to the districtcouncil and also wins the court case, he will push for thegovernment to irrigate some 1,000 acres of land in theundeveloped mountain valleys upon which the Kalash people couldexpand their numbers and prosper, adding" "But now that is onlya dream."

Received in Hanover 12/09/91