I am Kashmir, mother of thousands of people killed over the pastdecades. I vividly remember everything. The Gawkadal massacre. Theburning of Sopore town. The Bijbehara massacre. I remember everyinnocent face. Every drop of blood. Every soul. Every corpse. Everymourning. I remember Kunan-Poshpora. The darkness of that night. Thebarging of inhuman army into houses. Every scream. Every helplessshriek calling to God for help; the help that never came. I lived the cunning times of Jag Mohan, Farooq Abdullah and MuftiSyed. I survived the brutality of Ikhwan and STF. I emerged from thecatastrophe of 2005 earthquake. I sacrificed more than 120 of mychildren in 2010. All of this I have sacrificed for a cause;that hinges on an Old Man. I feel proud that my children have always beheld honor and dignitymore sacred than their careers and their lives. Involved in thisbattle of honor I have been for years now: it doesn’t matter how manytimes I fall, what matters is that I rise again. Today when I look at my people, I see them more conscious than ever.Being conscious is being sincere to one’s reality; and it is thissincerity that has essentially binds my family together. This makes methe mother of kindled spirits. But in a dream last night I walked across Martyrs Graveyard. I heard someof my children crying from their graves “mother, please don’t tradeour blood…were we not sincere enough? Mother, please don’t let peoplemake a career out of opportunities. Why is it always the arrogant ofyour children exhibiting ‘honesty’? What happened to those ‘sincere’ones?” As I opened my eyes the flood waters had cautiously entered my houseand were touching my feet; threaten to extinguish me. It had alreadykilled some of my family members and partly destroyed my house. Not myresolve. I closed my eyes and sought forgiveness form god for the sinthat brought me this catastrophe. I’m Kashmir and I shall rise again . . . #SHaHid
Posted on: Tue, 23 Sep 2014 16:06:26 +0000
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