The Legend of Gwashbrari, The Glacier-Hearted Queen

Tales of The Punjab Folklore of India by Flora Annie Steel

Once upon a time, ever so long ago, when this old world was young, and everything was very different from what it is nowadays, the mighty Westarwan was King of all the mountains. High above all other hills he reared his lofty head, so lofty, that when the summer clouds closed in upon his broad shoulders he was alone under the blue sky. And thus, being so far above the world, and so lonely in his dignity, he became proud, and even when the mists cleared away, leaving the fair new world stretched smiling at his feet, he never turned his eyes upon it, but gazed day and night upon the sun and stars.

Now Haramukh, and Nanga Parbat, and all the other hills that stood in a vast circle round great Westarwan, as courtiers waiting on their king, grew vexed because he treated them as nought; and when the summer cloud that soared above their heads hung on his shoulders like a royal robe, they would say bitter, wrathful words of spite and envy.

Only the beautiful Gwashbrari, cold and glistening amid her glaciers, would keep silence. Self-satisfied, serene, her beauty was enough for her; others might rise farther through the mists, but there was none so fair as she in all the land.

Yet once, when the cloud-veil wrapped Westarwan from sight, and the wrath rose loud and fierce, she flashed a contemptuous smile upon the rest, bidding them hold their peace.

'What need to wrangle?' she said, in calm superiority;' great Westarwan is proud; but though the stars seem to crown his head, his feet are of the earth, earthy. He is made of the same stuff as we are; there is more of it, that is all.'

'The more reason to resent his pride!' retorted the grumblers. 'Who made him a King over us?'

Gwashbrari smiled an evil smile. 'O fools! poor fools and blind! giving him a majesty he has not in my sight. I tell you mighty Westarwan, for all his star-crowned loftiness, is no King to me. Tis I who am his Queen!'

Then the mighty hills laughed aloud, for Gwashbrari was the lowliest of them all.

'Wait and see!' answered the cold passionless voice. 'Before to-morrow's sunrise great Westarwan shall be my slave!'

Once more the mighty hills echoed with scornful laughter, yet the icy-hearted beauty took no heed. Lovely, serene, she smiled on all through the long summer's day; only once or twice from her snowy sides would rise a white puff of smoke, showing where some avalanche had swept the sure-footed ibex to destruction.

But with the setting sun a rosy radiance fell over the whole world. Then Gwashbrari's pale face flushed into life, her chill beauty glowed into passion. Trans-* figured, glorified, she shone on the fast-darkening horizon like a star.

And mighty Westarwan, noting the rosy radiance in the east, turned his proud eyes towards it; and, lo! the perfection of her beauty smote upon his senses with a sharp, wistful wonder that such loveliness could be—that such worthiness could exist in the world which he despised. The setting sun sank lower, reflecting a ruddier glow on Gwashbrari's face; it seemed as if she blushed beneath the great King's gaze. A mighty longing filled his soul, bursting from his lips in one passionate cry—'O Gwashbrari! kiss me, or I die!'

The sound echoed through the valleys, while the startled peaks stood round expectant.

Beneath her borrowed blush Gwashbrari smiled triumphant, as she answered back, 'How can that be, great King, and I so lowly? Even if I would, how could I reach your star-crowned head?—I who on tip-toe cannot touch your cloud-robed shoulder?'

Yet again the passionate cry rang out—'I love you! kiss me, or I die!'

Then the glacier-hearted beauty whispered soft and low, the sweet music of her voice weaving a magical spell round the great Westarwan—You love me? Know you not that those who love must stoop? Bend your proud head to my lips, and seek the kiss I cannot choose but give!'

Slowly, surely, as one under a charm, the monarch of the mountains stooped-nearer and nearer to her radiant beauty, forgetful of all else in earth or sky.

The sun set. The rosy blush faded from Gwashbrari's fair false face, leaving it cold as ice, pitiless as death. The stars began to gleam in the pale heavens, but the King lay at Gwashbrari's feet, discrowned for ever!

And that is why great Westarwan stretches his long length across the valley of Kashmir, resting his once lofty head upon the glacier heart of Queen Gwashbrari.

And every night the star crown hangs in the heavens as of yore.

GWASHBRARI

Gwashbrari, etc.—The Westarwan range is the longest spur into the valley of Kashmir. The remarkably clear tilt of the strata probably suggested this fanciful and poetical legend. All the mountains mentioned in the tale are prominent peaks in Kashmir, and belong to what Cunningham (Ladak, 1854, ch. iii.) calls the Pir Panjal and Mid-Himalayan Range. Nanga Parbat, 26,829 ft., is to the N.W.; Hara Mukh, 16,905 ft., to the N.; Gwashbrari or Kolahoi, 17,839 ft., to the N.E. Westarwan is a long ridge running N.W. to S.E., between Khru and Sotur, right into the Kashmir valley. Khru is not far from Srinagar, to the S.E.

Lay at Gwashbrari's feet, his head upon her heart.—As a matter of fact, Westarwan does not lay his head anywhere near Gwashbrari's feet, though he would appear to do so from Khru, at which place the legend probably arose. An excellent account of the country between Khru and Sesh Nag, traversing most of that lying between Westarwan and Gwashbrari, by the late Colonel Cuppage, is to be found at pp. 206-221 of Ince's Kashmir Handbook, 3rd ed., 1876.