Baisakhi festival’s Kashmiri equivalents

By: Dr Sanjay Parva

The mustard fields may not bloom as much gold in Kashmir like they do in Punjab, but the spirit of seasonal celebration that Baisakhi embodies has its quiet, equally poignant counterparts in the Valley. Unlike the vibrant fairs and spirited dances of northern plains, Kashmiri festivals marking the arrival of spring have always had a softer, more introspective hue — deeply rooted in nature, land, and an eternal bond between man and soil.

Navreh: The calendar of hope

Kashmir’s closest equivalent to Baisakhi is Navreh, the Kashmiri Pandit New Year. Celebrated on the first day of the Chaitra month, it mirrors the agrarian calendar’s significance — welcoming a new agricultural cycle, a new ledger, and new aspirations. On this morning, a traditional thali is prepared with symbolic items: rice, pen, mirror, salt, coin, fresh grass (naveed), and the revered religious almanac (nachipatra). Each item whispers a prayer for fertility of land, clarity of vision, and prosperity of life. It is not just a date — it’s a spiritual audit, a thanksgiving to nature.

But unlike Baisakhi’s communal harvest gatherings, Navreh is quiet — more ritualistic than festive. There are no fairs or bhangra beats. Instead, it’s the rustle of temple bells and the fragrance of incense from homes that punctuate this day.

Sonth: A season named after blossoms

Another lesser-spoken equivalent is Sonth — Kashmir’s own spring festival. The word itself means “spring” and is celebrated with reverence, if not fanfare. In older times, rural Kashmiris observed Sonth by making sweet rice, visiting shrines, and engaging in ceremonial bathing in sacred streams. Families would eat together in open courtyards, under blooming almond trees, with simple dishes made from new seasonal greens — nettle leaves, dried turnips, and walnut chutney.

For the elderly, Sonth was also a time of reflection. “When the almond blossoms fall, your heart must be as light,” grandmothers used to say. That was the Kashmiri version of celebrating the new sun — gentle, subdued, and in sync with the delicate rhythms of nature.

Zehar Doeh: The forgotten festival

Very few remember Zehar Doeh now — a spring observance where families would cleanse their homes and cook foods that neutralize ‘poison’ (zehar) of the harsh winter. Traditional herbs were taken, and elders spoke of warding off seasonal illnesses. It was a quiet ritual of detox and purification, reminiscent of the agrarian purification that Baisakhi rituals embody in other regions.

Spring in the Sufi calendar

Among Kashmiri Muslims, too, springtime held meaning — especially in the Sufi calendar. The Urs of revered saints often fell in the months of March and April, and villages would see humble gatherings, shrine cleanings, and offerings of rice and bread. It was not called Baisakhi, but the spiritual undertone was the same—spring of the soul, beginning of new barakah (blessing).

In the Kashmir of the past, every blossom was a message, every festival a communion with the earth. Before the rice paddies became property plots and mustard fields turned to malls, there was reverence in even stepping onto tilled land. Farmers would whisper prayers into the soil. The first flowering tree was decorated with red thread. The first sprouting shoot was not just a crop — it was livelihood, identity, and poetry.

Baisakhi in Punjab became a festival because people protected their connection to the field. In Kashmir, we’re forgetting ours.

The tragedy is not that we didn’t have our own Baisakhi. The tragedy is that we had several—and let them all slip through the cracks of urbanisation and exile. It is time to revive Navreh, Sonth, Zehar Doeh, and the spring Urs not as museum pieces, but as living traditions. Let us teach our children not just about mustard harvests in textbooks, but about the fragrance of almond blossoms in March, the taste of sweet rice on Sonth, and the power of beginning anew with Navreh.

For Kashmir too had its festivals of sowing, harvest, and hope. We just whispered them while the rest of the world danced.