by Saima Rashid
They call our homeland a beast of beauty. It is somebody’s obsession and other’s desperation. Amid the claims and counter claims, they have reduced natives into a laughing stock. They think, they are tritons among the minnows. But there is something, they must know: Boston Tea Party is truism even today!
In the heart of their hearts, they think: Kashmiris deserve their dungeon. And then, they call us one among them. Their method has, indeed, lost all madness.
Once inside mountains; souls from the nations ballooned in billions use choicest adjectives to describe what they call “heaven on earth”. By the way, folks, shall I ask something straight from horse’s mouth? It is something, which is really making me feel a bit schizophrenic! Shall, I? OK, let me ask: make it a dreadful garrison of the world by stationing over 700000 troops here and then—OMG! They still call it heaven. “Hell with it,” this is how my peers sum up their perception.
And then heed to their farce: you should better salute the rising sun. This assertion invigorates a bygone blow. You know, they thought: Titanic was not made to drown. But then, when that iceberg hit it, it sank all dreams and perished all egos.
So, what is the point to quote history? You may ask, right? Alright, hear this out: they have a saffron harbinger as their messiah now. He talks loud like that Italian fascist, who is now an obscure figure of history. Nature suggests: what rises, has to set. So stop coercing these bigot logic.
And yes, such a great respect they have for us—that they make every effort to cut our feathers, tear us apart and mow us down. Only a fortnight back, my philosopher friend had his nightmare under Delhi’s scorched sun. He got his burns when some of his fanatics in the skin of friends jabbed him hard on his belly for recounting India’s ‘noble mission’ in Kashmir. That fellow—since then, is feeling sick of all dialogues.
Well, I told the poor fellow: “look, through whispers they engaged our moderates and then, exposed them in public for talking to them. Shrug off, mate. Habitual offenders can’t be labelled as true patrons.”
But yes, it is no nice feeling when your dear one faces their music. As a matter of fact, they have always used their music to bridge the gap! Last time when my cousin heard mad verses and tunes of that Punjabi rapper, yo yo Honey Singh, she quipped: “His toxic tunes are discrediting honey, my dear. What disgrace, gawaya!” I didn’t know how to respond. I said what I often say on such occasions, “whatever!”
Anyway, on page number 235 of their holy law book, it is written, “It is their right to fiddle with life!” Now, that is callous! I saw a father of a disappeared son anxious over it. He rues, the very law devoured his son.
Now, I seriously believe they have reduced us to modern day Nero. Our world of Rome is caught in wild flames and yet, their holy law book orders us to swallow the bitter pill by merely suggesting—it is just a collateral damage! Just a collateral damage? You kid me, right?
They blazed Shaheena’s house a few months ago. She was my mate at school. And later, they termed it, a case of collateral damage. When their shells rained on her home, it gutted down myriad dreams. Along with her belongings, the fire smoked up countless lovely moments. Just a few days ago before the incident, she had applied a fresh coat of paint on walls, but now, they have reduced everything into ashes and charcoal. What colossal loss of one’s world!
And, here is another leaf out of their holy law book: “It is our right to consume all K-resources.” Now, now, now…I say, quite sanely, this can’t be the hallmark of that ballooned tribe, which often brags about their respect for mother earth. “Hang on a second,” she again rebuked me last time when I pitched the same concern. “Stop beating old drums, would you? There is no point of pinning any hopes on fanatical ground.”
She is right, as always—since she teaches political science, and yes, she keeps reflecting those blunders, coercions and desperate handlings. And last time, when she created a ‘militant mood’ inside the classroom, I and that brooding friend of mine—sitting on backbench, exchanged glaring looks. Maybe, that day, we wanted to be the warriors for our own cause.
After the class was over, we sat under the Chinar tree in our college yard and started recollecting the lecture that had just seeped inside our senses. The teacher had melted all doubts on the issue, which they often play around. We talked, we put heads together and then, we were tracing our roots, recalling blunders…
Just two of us in the yard which was getting thin in numbers; we talked about what we had understood: the entry of devils inside our heaven, our paradise and our dreamland. In Hamlet, Shakespeare said: “When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.” They too came in battalions, and let loose sorrows.
And being innocent creatures, we welcomed those masked men with open arms, and treated them as our guests. But as clock ticked by, they surged in strength and number. And thus, a hellish rule began. They trampled morality, mowed innocence and decimated modesty.
Then, one night, the devil inside them broke all inhibitions and dragged them at the abodes of fairies in a far off hamlet. They lost their senses and outraged the modesty of the fairies of the dreamland. The poor princes were kept away on the edge of the knife. The little fairies and their mothers cried their heart out, but the devils absorbed those cries before the sound would have crossed the walls. The night seemed eternal for them; every second was passing like an hour, and the women chanted:
O’ Allah, aren’t our voices audible to thee
Are we born only so as to be dominated by ‘he’
Their touch seems like the sting of a snake
Show thy presence and take them away
Aren’t these devils thy creations as well?
Why have thee made them out of hell
We hardly care of our life but
Little fairies haven’t lived their life yet
A mother of six year old fairy pushed her head to the wall
How on this earth my devastated baby will face the world at all
My little fairy has no idea what devils are doing with her
Her eyes are moist only, out of her mother’s fear
O’ Masters of all Masters, send an angel to take us out of this hell
Or give our princes the power to eliminate each of these devils
Why on this earth this night seems eternal to us
Every part of our body is yelling out like hell
O’ Creator of all creators, fire this entire land
Death is life to us rather to be in barbarians’ hand
But the devils were powerful throughout the night
Even the morning resisted coming out with sunlight
Life has almost withered in that very dreamland
Every fairy still feels the sting of those snakes
Those devils still live in that dreamland with proud
As if they haven’t committed any sin
But Allah is watching them very closely
He is waiting may be they will repent…
Recollections peaked in the yard, which had seeped under twilight. There was nothing more to discuss; nothing more to recollect; and, nothing more to remind. The message had dawned when it was dusk. The two of us exchanged one good look before peddling for college hostel. Perhaps, renaissance had begun!
(An aspiring writer, Saima Rashid is studying Journalism from Women College, Srinagar)