Amazing Grace: The Regal Chinars of Kashmir

The famous French philosopher and writer Albert Camus said, “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower”. It almost feels like Camus made this statement for the stately chinars (Platanus orientalis) in autumn colours. I fell in love with this stately tree when I visited Kashmir for the first time in the late 1990s. Before that, I’d only seen it in Bollywood films. In the melancholy song of the 1960s Bollywood blockbuster Arzoo, Sadhana, the heroine laments, “Kabhi hum sath guzrey jin sajeeli rahguzaron sey, fiza key bhes mein girtey hain ab pattey chinaron sey” telling us allegorically that her miserable situation is like the fallen leaves of the chinar.

Ablaze in autumn

During my numerous visits to Kashmir, usually in summer, whenever I appreciated the majestic chinars, my Kashmiri colleagues would suggest I come in autumn and see them in all their glory — the leaves in various shades of red, orange, mauve, and yellow. When I finally visited Kashmir in mid-November, the chinars were at their annual best, and I was lucky to stay in the Kashmir University guesthouse. The guesthouse is in front of Naseem Bagh, which has over 600 chinars, some as old as 300 years. Naseem Bagh in late autumn and early winter is simply breathtaking and difficult to describe in words. Kashmir University has perhaps one of the most beautiful campuses in India, and the chinars of Naseem Bagh add to its magnificence.

  

Quaint university departments, like British country cottages, are scattered among the imposing chinars on the campus. It feels as if one were in a rural European landscape (notwithstanding the traffic noise from the nearby road). Even the students who walk every day among the chinars stop to take pictures of these commanding trees. The fallen leaves of different hues are as magnificent as those on the trees.

It is said that the chinar comes to Kashmir, from Iran and the word is derived from a Persian word, meaning “what a fire”. In autumn, if seen from a distance, the tree looks ablaze, and makes one ponder Dr Allama Iqbal’s famous Urdu couplet: jis khaak ke zameer mein ho aatish-e-Chinar; mumkin nahi ki sard ho wo Khaak-e-arjmand (The earth that enshrines in its bosom the fire of the chinar, this exalted earth can never be dead and cold).

The chinar’s counterpart in the hot plains of India is Butea monosperma, the “flame of the forest”, named for its bursts of orange, vermillion and red flowers in spring and early summer. Both these species add colour to their respective landscapes in their respective seasons of glory.

Chinars, locally known in Kashmir as buen, belong to the Platanaceae family, and are distributed in India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, and parts of central Asia. This pyramid-shaped hardwood tree can grow up to 30 m, with a basal girth of 5 m. Leaves are deeply three-, five-, or seven-lobed, maple-like, with coarsely toothed margins. When they fall, some leaves curl up a bit. Leaf fall in autumn (harud in Kashmiri) heralds the coming of winter. 

In the gaps

Old chinar trees have holes, crannies, and hollows used by many birds and animals, particularly parakeets, mynas, jackdaws, and owls. One of my former students, Mr Syed Intesar Suhail, now a high officer in the Wildlife Department in Kashmir, told me that a black bear had once given birth to two cubs inside a chinar. He also told me of an old living chinar in his hometown, Anantnag, with a spacious trunk cavity in which a cobbler had installed a wooden shutter on its opening and conveniently set up shop inside.

Tree holes and snags (standing dead or dying trees) are an integral part of any forest ecosystem, and much research has been done on them in many developed countries. For example, in some old-growth forests in Europe, nearly 100 species use holes and hallows for breeding, resting, and escaping danger. We do not know how many species in the Kashmir Valley survive thanks to chinars, but it’s worth researching.

For the love of the chinar

In forestry terms, the chinar is a hardwood of enormous timber value, but cutting a chinar in Kashmir is a punishable offence as it is the “state” tree. All chinars belong to the government, and no one is allowed to cut or trim them. Road alignment is often changed during road expansion to protect a chinar tree. You will see many roads in Kashmir, with a regal chinar standing in the middle. A Chinar Development Officer looks after chinars growing across the Kashmir Valley and regularly conducts a census. Its majestic build and long life make the chinar a favourite ornamental tree in gardens, parks, large houses, and roadsides. In no other Indian state or union territory have I seen such love for the official state tree. In fact, in many states, people don’t even know their designated state tree. But in Kashmir, it is different; everyone knows this wonderful tree, and even in schools, children are taught to love it.

The shape of the chinar leaf is a popular motif in Kashmiri craft and artwork, particularly in Kashmir’s world-famous papier-mâché work. The leaves decorate many shawls, women’s apparel, and woodwork, such as the popular wood-carved chinar leaf souvenir.   

Old beauties

There are many legends about the chinar. It is widely believed that it was brought from Iran and introduced in Kashmir around 1370 AD by the Persian scholar, poet and Sufi saint Mir Sayyed Ali Hamadani. There is some debate about which is the oldest tree. The age of a chinar is calculated by its girth (circumference) of the main trunk at about 1.4 m height. The wider the girth, the older it is. In Chadoora tehsil, Budgam district, for example, there is a tree with a girth of 14 m, which is believed to be 700 years old. There is now a new claim that a tree with a girth of 16 m exists in the same district. The chinar is a true veteran. The Mughals, famous for their gardens, had planted numerous chinars, and many still survive, making them over 350 years old. The best and oldest chinars are in the Ganderbal district in central Kashmir. Bijbehara in South Kashmir is also famous for its chinars, many of which adorn the beautifully laid Mughal Garden built on both banks of the Jhelum River by Dara Shikoh, eldest son of Mughal emperor Shah Jahan.

Unfortunately, as houses and plots get smaller, residents are often unwilling to plant chinars in their compounds anymore. It is also a very slow-growing tree. According to a recent tree census by the Horticulture and Forest departments, there are about 40,000 old trees in the Kashmir Valley, with more than 5,000 above the age of 400. Geo-tagging is on so the government can keep track of each tree; it plans to plant 12,000 new trees over time.

Most tourists visit the Kashmir Valley in summer when chinars are clothed in green leaves. Some go in the late winter to enjoy snowfall and snow sports, when the chinars have shed almost all their leaves. If you want to enjoy the beauty of the chinar, plan your trip for mid-November. I am sure the chinars will not disappoint you.