As the last patches of snow begin to melt in the valleys of Gojal-Hunza, something stirs in the hearts of its people. A feeling passed down through generations, rooted in the land, carried by the wind. Spring is coming — and with it, Taɣ̌m.

Taɣ̌m means seed. But it means much more.

For the Wakhi people, Taɣ̌m is not just about planting crops. It is the season’s first heartbeat, a whisper to the earth: Wake up, we are ready to begin again.

Once, this festival echoed across all of Hunza and neighboring valleys. Today, it survives and thrives in the more remote villages — in Shimshal, Misgar, Chipursun — where tradition runs as deep as the mountains are tall.

A Festival in Three Acts

Day One: The Gathering of Hope

Day Two: The Ceremony of Earth and Fire

Before sunrise, a procession begins.

An elder dressed like a ceremonial bull leads the way to a traditional house. Inside, windows and doors are shut as branches of juniper are burned. The smoke rises, curling into the rafters, filling the space. This smoke, once used to purify and ward off illness, is part of a cleansing — of the home, of the spirit, of the past season.

Outside, the field awaits.

Villagers gather — elders, youth, children, mothers holding babies wrapped in soft new clothes. A prayer is spoken. A wooden plough, drawn by two oxen, breaks the first furrow in the soil. Everyone watches. Children, barely able to walk, are helped forward to place their tiny hands on the plough. It is their first connection to the land.

A dish of sweet Samn is passed around, from the youngest to the oldest. A branch is tucked into caps and scarves. Laughter, songs, and greetings echo across the field: “Shogun Bohor Muborak!” — Happy Spring Festival!

Day Three: Sharing the Season

On the final day, families begin to sow their own fields. Children, now messengers of spring, carry baskets of seed and flowers to each plot. Before they return, they pause at the door and playfully call out riddles — “I brought a son with feet like spinning spindles!” — teasingly announcing their return with symbols of prosperity, new life, and blessings.

Mothers visit their parents and relatives with platters of the sweet festival dish, wrapped and decorated. The warmth of these visits, the exchange of food, laughter, and stories, ties everyone together. It is a celebration of family, of tradition, of roots.

Meanwhile, the men continue to plough and irrigate. Women cook, tend to animals, and support the farmers. Together, they work in harmony — not just with each other, but with the land.

A Living Tradition

Taɣ̌m is not just about the past. It is a living story — one told each spring by those who refuse to let their heritage fade.

It is told through a child’s laughter in a field. Through the smoke rising from a mountain home. Through the songs of women on swings, the energy of foot polo games, the pride of young boys herding oxen. It is a thread that ties generations together, reminding all who join that life begins with the land — and with each other.

And so, every year, as the snow melts and the rivers flow once more, the Wakhi people return to the field and whisper to the earth:

We are here.
We remember.
We begin again.

Shogun Bohor Muborak.

By Shupun

July 19, 2024 at 03:00 p.m. CEST