Each spring, as blossoms return to the valley of Kashmir, people tread a winding hill in south Kashmir’s Aishmuqam, wooden torches flickering in their hands, chanting "Zeanshah, Badshah" (Zainuddin, the king), to honour a saint said to have spoken with scorpions and snakes—this hill, the resting place of Sheikh Zainuddin Wali (RA), once Zaina Singh of Chenab Valley's Kishtwar, whose journey into mysticism lives on in folklore, in prayer, and in flame.
Born in the rugged mountains of Kishtwar’s Banderkoot, a boy named Zaina Singh faced a childhood marked by grave illness. His mother, consumed by helplessness, wept for days until a radiant stranger appeared at her door. “Why do you weep?” he asked. She shared her son’s plight. The stranger, offering a pact, told her that if her son recovered, she must raise him as a Muslim and bring him to the Kashmir Valley. In her desperation, she agreed.
Zaina Singh’s condition improved miraculously. Time passed, and like forgotten dew, the promise faded. But the illness returned, fiercer than before. This time, she remembered the vow—and, carrying her son in her arms, crossed the harsh mountains of Chenab into the Kashmir Valley.
A silent devotion where faith & fading light meet, Photo by Basit Zargar
They found themselves in the presence of Hazrat Sheikh Noor-U-Din (RA), the same luminous stranger who had once appeared at her door.
As Peer Hassan Shah records in Tazkira-e-Awliya-e-Kashmir, Sheikh Noor-U-Din had already told his disciple Baba Baam-U-Din (RA), “A woman will come with her son—welcome them with honour.” At their first meeting, the woman recognized him instantly. There and then, she and her son embraced Islam. Zaina Singh became Sheikh Zainuddin Wali.
Under the guidance of his master, the young boy transformed into a seeker of deep devotion. Years later, Sheikh Noor-U-Din (RA) would say, “My son Zaina is like a fountain of life. His devotion has surpassed even mine. O Lord, bless me with such expansion.” It was with this blessing that Zainuddin was sent to the cave at Aishmuqam to continue his spiritual journey.
When he arrived, the cave teemed with snakes and scorpions. Speaking gently, he asked them to leave: “This cave is now for worship.” They requested one night. By morning, they had slithered away to a nearby mountain. Before leaving, they made a vow: they would never harm any human near this shrine. To this day, villagers believe the snakes of Aishmuqam—called Pher—keep that ancient promise.
Torches pierce the night as devotees ascend the hillside, Photo by Basit Zargar
In those early days, water was scarce. Sheikh Zainuddin sent his disciple, Haji Shams-U-Din, to fetch it. One winter, the disciple slipped and injured his knee. When he limped back in pain, the Sheikh prayed—and the wound disappeared. Soon after, the saint dug near a tree and, through prayer, a spring gushed forth. Yet when he turned his back on another spot, its spring sank into the earth, never to ooze again.
Even as his fame spread, he remained rooted in simplicity. When asked for something bitter to eat, his attendant brought black pepper, noting its high cost. Sheikh Zainuddin refused it. Outside, he found a tree strewn with walnut shells. “Are these worthless?” he asked. On hearing they were, he ground them into powder and ate. For the rest of his life, he survived on dried walnut shells.
Yet his simplicity did not shield him from envy. One villager, seeking to defame him, buried a goat’s head and skin beneath his prayer mat and summoned soldiers. When they arrived and uncovered the false evidence, the saint turned to prayer. The goat returned to life—and spoke, revealing the truth. The plotter fell to his knees, and the soldiers left humbled.
In time, Sheikh Zainuddin would also speak out against forced labour. One of his disciples was captured by villagers and made to clean a canal. When he heard this, the saint struck the canal with his staff. The water dried instantly. Terrified, the villagers pleaded for forgiveness. He lifted the staff and the water flowed again. From that day on, he asked his followers to wear a unique turban—the Reshi Karlun—to mark themselves as disciples and avoid such injustice.
But his rising influence did not sit well with the Sultan of Kashmir, Zain-ul-Abidin—known as Budshah. The king had long desired to meet the saint, but Sheikh Zainuddin never responded to his summons. Perceiving this as an affront to royal dignity, Budshah ordered him into exile. The saint quietly obeyed and made his way to Tibet.
There, too, his presence stirred awe. When the Tibetan king’s son died, the people blamed the foreign saint.
That night, Sheikh Zainuddin prayed until the boy awoke, alive. This miracle brought many into the fold of Islam.
While in Tibet, he received word that his beloved teacher, Baba Baam-U-Din (RA), had passed. He returned to oversee the burial and carry on the spiritual legacy. Not long after, Sultan Budshah developed a painful foot ailment. He sent his son, Haider Khan, to seek the Sheikh’s forgiveness. The saint returned. The king bowed in humility. His pain vanished.
When Sheikh Zainuddin Wali (RA) passed away, his disciples prepared his burial. But when they opened the coffin, it was empty. That night, a dream came to one of them. The saint instructed him to bury the coffin anyway and prepare more graves for his disciples. Today, two graves mark his memory in Aishmuqam—one symbolic within the cave, and one surrounded by the resting places of his followers.
Each year, on the twelfth day of a Kashmiri lunar month, his Urs is held. Thousands gather, and the hills blaze with wooden torches—a luminous ritual called Za’ah. The flames rise in memory of a boy who became a saint, a cave that became a shrine, and a faith forged by promise, struggle, and devotion.
This anecdote has been taken from the book Tazkiray-i-Awliya-e-Kashmir by Peer Hassan Shah.