6 days Ago
“Salaamun Alaika Ya Sheikh-ul-Alam, Noor-e-Marfat, Madar-ul-Qaum!”Peace be upon you, O Saint of the World, Light of Spiritual Wisdom, Mother of the People!These words as inscribed on the walls, rise gently with the morning mist in Charar-e-Sharief, whispered in the hearts of devotees and written in the wind that encircles the shrine of Nund Rishi. This is not just a place—it is a feeling, a pulse in the earth that carries the fragrance of faith, simplicity, and centuries-old love.And just a few quiet steps from the towering shrine lies something many miss—a small, almost hidden mazar, tucked away with humility.
It holds the resting place of two women whose names once rang with the same spirit as the Rishi himself: Vyath and Dehat.I first heard of them in a fading book, almost by accident. The words called them disciples, but the more I read, the more I felt that the label was far too small.
These were companions in vision, torchbearers of truth, women who didn’t simply follow—but carried forward.Vyath—what a name. Derived from Vitasta, the ancient name of the Jhelum river, it means pure as water.
Imagine being so named, and then living a life that actually reflected that meaning. Vyath was no ordinary woman. She was full of fire and softness both—a rare blend.
The texts say she was well-versed in Arabic, Persian, and Kashmiri, and her discourses moved people. But it’s what she did that leaves a deeper echo—she inspired hundreds of women to find light within themselves.Alongside her stood Dehat, the duo lovingly remembered as Chat Ded—Disciple Mother.
What a beautiful, intimate title. It doesn’t speak of hierarchy, but of warmth, mentorship, and care. Together, Vyath and Dehat became pillars of the Rishi’s movement, not in loud proclamations, but in living the values he preached—simplicity, selflessness, and surrender.
The first time I saw their mazar, I almost walked past it. It sits so quietly near the shrine that one could be forgiven for overlooking it. But once you know it’s there, you never forget it.
There’s no grand signboard. No marble plaque. Just the soft whisper of leaves, a cool shade of devotion, and an unspoken bond between the saint and his students.
I stood there, wondering how many had walked past without knowing. And yet—maybe that’s how Vyath and Dehat would have wanted it. Their lives were never about being seen.
They were about being true.Even today, people in the valley quote Vyath’s sayings, without even realizing they come from her. That’s the power of a real legacy—it seeps into culture like roots under soil.
You don’t always see them, but they’re what keep the tree alive.In a time where women’s contributions to spiritual thought were often erased, these two left marks not carved in stone, but engraved in memory and soul. They showed that you can be powerful and still be humble, you can teach without preaching, and you can be revolutionary simply by being sincere.
Next time you visit Charar-e-Sharief, do yourself a favor. After offering your salaam at the main shrine, walk a few steps further. Look for the quiet mazar.
Stand there. Say their names—Vyath and Dehat. Let them know we remember.
Let them know their silence was never wasted.Because in the shadow of a saint, two women found light—and gave it to the worldThe post A Mazar in Silence appeared first on Greater Kashmir..
