They welcome me into the Paradise, the Hoors I cannot count. A Hoor gazes at me whom I am very weak to describe. I too look at her like I looked at sky in times of solitude and despair.
But then I see you Ami, crying, rending your grey sweater which Abu had bought you on the eve of Eid. I can see the soldiers lathi-charging the crowd in the thick of which you are being consoled by our neighbours.
I see you didi, finding hard to sleep. I see you writing verses for me that I want to snatch out of your hands, run down the stairs, hide inside the wardrobe, read them in leisure and dance to the beats of an unknown song. I can read the lines:
I have prayed for your longevity
I have prayed for your happiness
You are my zuv-jaan
You are my dil-jigar.
I see you Abu, I see you asleep. You are so hard a creature! Like Ami, you do not burst. I wonder how you survive. I get a feeling of the burning sensation inside your heart. But I wonder how you survive. I see you consoling Ami. I see her dumb and deaf. I see her dry eyes that shed oceans of tears. I hear the unknown song that touches the depths of her heart:
Yaeli ha loal chon chum yivaan
Vaenij ha fatnas chem yivaan
Myaani yaaro tche maa’re kaerthas
Ha balyaaro dagaa tche kortham
(When I miss you
My heart is about to burst
My friend, you have killed me
My beloved, you have deceived me)
“Spare me Hoor, for God’s sake, spare me for a moment. I want to go back to my Ami, tell her that I am alive and convince her that we will meet again in paradise.”
I see you uncle, I see you leaving the home for bride’s home. I see you holding the mini-turban that you had promised to bring me on your marriage. I see you kissing it again and again.
“Give me a hug uncle. Hold me in your arms for a thousand years. I miss you uncle.”
I can feel shivers running down my spines as someone misses me terribly. She is lost in her thoughts:
I regret. I have always troubled you. I have in the end fallen into the dangerous side of the line of love. It kills me. Every moment.
But I must tell her that I am not angry with her. I never was. What was the fun of loving her then!
I see you brother, reading my books. I see you skimming through the pages of the stories.
“You must read. There is nothing great in this world except reading stories. A world is stored inside them.”
Peace to the martyrs of Kashmir!
( Published here –