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| Death through the Window | | 
By Tahir Ibn Manzoor
As the sun was shining bright in the morning, birds flew from their nests after covering some distance, chirping, searching for the food, elders jogging, children were playing cricket in the courtyard, while throwing the ball red in colour at each other – bouncing above their heads, some acrobatic stuff made me to smile, the weird one – suddenly the sun started to disappear as the rainbow hung over for a while from the west – very scenic and feast for the eyes though pretty unusual, children ran to their homes as if they were the angels knowing; at least the weather will be so harsh and merciless – just a day before when the calamity hits the valley of love – love for the disappeared, martyred and who are fighting against the oppression. For some the conflict is within.
I felt choked, coughed, combed my hair – rearranged books after picking them from the pile of books, kept on a wooden chair – half dyed with dust and then had a tea. I hung the heavy backpack over my shoulder and rose up – moved the hennaed curtain and looked through the window very far, zoomed the eyes, saw the paddy fields had a different hair-doe, golden in colour falling before the slight breeze as the farmer was coming from the other side to see his paddy field – to taste the ripened seeds with the sickle.
Dogs barked, and kept on barking I plugged in the ear plugs turned the songs on. As I was on the way to school in the morning – I found dogs were sleeping on the roadside after kept on barking in the night; the cars where honking, some rushing to offices, schools, hospitals, and some walk on foot to reach their shops to earn their livelihood for the day as it is a routine for everyone.
While walking along with my friends I saw the lady with her daughter having her arm bandaged, mother holding her – speaking to her husband on phone, She crooned: "Dua, fell from the widow on the roadside and broke her arm it’s hurting her, I am taking her to hospital come soon...” and she disconnected the phone with the moist eyes. I thought what if I was in pain…?
After the mother and daughter went far from my eyes I somehow board a bus and reached to the school 30–minute late; no one enquired on that day, school is the home away home for the students – be it poor or rich, all shares the same bench. It shapes us for the good in this competitive world.
Every friend was talking about the exams; they were talking about their books; worried about the distinctions. I was seated near the window – I watched the green leaves of chinar falling, getting trampled by the passersby. I felt the change in weather, and the change within – I felt the pain of an injured girl.
On September 2nd, rains poured for a week from the above as the needles were piercing my back, I shut the door, opened a book and started reading it rhythmically for hours, but the incessant rains made us deaf for awhile, droplets of rain sprayed the face, so as, the book, communication comes to halt, I shouted many time ‘Mom, mom, mom’ but there was no answer, as she was busy in cooking and managing the things in a kitchen – the kitchen which we all share, the memories become in it – while sitting with the family to have a dinner; lightening the candle is memorable, everyone can be seen having morsels of food with the faces becoming ghosts for a while. The gazes fade and the boiled water glasses add the charm for some and the Icy for the brave kids – who love to suffer happily with love.
At the midnight the bars on my mobile phone disappeared as if the ghost was on the work, everything was visibly invisible. The sky seemed furious keeping the sun, moon and stars away from the human eye under the clouds for many days.
I saw the flood coming from the main entrance, it was submerging the other parts of the area, saw it from an attic window; water currents left me in a state of shock I could hardly make a call to my mom. She came in and cried what we will do? “Gobryah (Sonny), courtyard is a pond now, I can’t swim across it.” I saw the water washed away the cars, situation was very grim. The blanket was all I could manage in my arms shivering, unwanted thoughts occupied, mind clogged. I thought about the death and only death. The flood water was about to swallow our home, It has almost touched the ceiling of a first floor in 33 minutes. We shifted the eatables on the third floor as the water was rising at the speed, in the wee hours of the morning we found a ray of hope. The unsung local heroes rescued us when their loved ones where already stranded battling for their lives – they rescued thousands after reaching to their own families.
When the city was ruined and the day we all survived – I saw the rich and poor were same and praying. No one was looking for comforts on the rooftops, boats and then tents when the Srinagar city was flooded.
We will meet again in the schools, offices and on the day of Eid in ragged clothes, but hopeful. We suffered; we helped each other in the toughest of the times. I was born in the hospital, I slept in the half cracked submerged homes, I saw my homes collapsed while leaving for the safer area. I am a rich, poor, visitor and the storyteller who knows pain and at the same time what happiness mean to the labour who works hard – he earns for the day to feed his family. The calamity made it worst, but it’s not an end. The life is limping back to normalcy, but it will take more time after the catastrophe made the city literally a stagnant canal for weeks. We the sufferers will stand again.
As if God was questioning from the above – as if he was saying 'choose the hell or heaven, choice is yours.' The Jhelum is the lesson for all – as the saying goes by- do well and don't expect anything in return (Naiki Kar Dariya Main Daal).
Whatever we had served and claimed the Jhelum with – it returned us back with the interest as the precious lives and property. (It indicates that nature has its power to remind your bad you did to it by breaching which was not expected by the common masses and the one who governs!) Srinagar will take years to be as it was – though oppressed land, but the homes were our own – we lost us. For some it was home away from home. Life was at halt with some praising on screen and some dying behind the scenes. Let’s pledge by helping each other this Eid, let’s sacrifice for each other – for the good. Their suffering is ours, let’s not forget tomorrow might by we again. Let’s be prepared.
(The author is a Web Editor at Kashmiroutlook.com, student of Journalism at Central University of Kashmir. He tweets @TahirIbnManzoor)
(Opinions expressed in write-ups/articles/Letters are the sole responsibility of the authors and they may not represent the scoopnews.in)
Editor, Scoop News
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