After fajr prayer, I step out of the door. The morning peace appears poetic. In these foggy times, clarity of vision might be obscure. But serene surrounding around doesn’t miss to strike a chord of resemblance with the larger picture of the valley.
In my hometown, they work rigorously to maintain calm, but the foggy image of doubt still trails behind. My father often laughs at irony: “For sure, they want us to believe that we are living in fool’s paradise.”
But whatever the resemblance in offering, this morning façade has a hypnotizing touch in it. The last time, I felt the same when my crazy pals accompanied me for a school picnic. That day when fog wasn’t shielding the glowing sun, we went to Lolab Valley.
As our vehicle entered through the security post, a reading on the wall set my mind into brooding. “You are under surveillance,” men with uniform had written. That stark message derailed the mood of my fun and frolic in that heavenly place.
But in this morning, no such scene is around. Like a bird, I venture out. Ah! I am feeling pretty cold when stepped on the floor. I have a glance at each side around. There is no bird in sight not an insect to be found. But it is no scary sight.
An awesome sight is creating a reflection in my eyes. Guess what! It is trees causing feelings to rise. They seem so silent, as if fall in a deep slumber. I am so fascinated just grateful to that creator.
Though I am glimpsing an old picture, but there is something fresh about it. Somehow the scene reminds me of my friend Myami, who used to flash wisdom across my mind by saying: “Doesn’t matter how old things are, that element of freshness is still there.”
Those leafless trees in front of my humble home seem to pass a message in hushed tones. “Axe us not,” I pretend they might be pleading. But I have a dream to know the language of trees. Make up my wish, can even fall on my knees. I am connected to nature as with my mum. I am lost in its creation when alone in room. The fresh and cool air in the morning seems as blessing.
That fall in 2005, when men with sharp tools cut down scores of silent Chinars in my neighbourhood, a painful drizzle flowed from my eyes. With the spine of a kid, I couldn’t prevent bloodless mayhem. “Oh! Don’t be so sad,” my Mum consoled me. “They will sprout on scene once again.”
But this morning, when fog is wrapping the morning luminance, I want to feel the freshness of air even through the evening. I am grateful to Allah, how you made all this possible. With your blessings, nothing seems impossible.
(An aspiring author, Saima Rashid is pursuing undergraduation in Journalism from Srinagar’s Women College).