By Iffat Farooq
When world history turns into the most important constitutional twist in the subcontinent, the Kashmiris are silenced, and so are the rest. The confluence of the rivers of Jehlum and Neelum witness the deep slumber of the Capitol Hills of AJK. Tarai Mountains of the Himalayas are engulfed in the snow burying with themselves the greenery as well as the struggles of its neighbors on the other side of the hills.
The communication blackout flows within itself the ethos and reveries of the Kashmiris. They are interwoven within their own embroidered work as though pieces of begotten, benevolent and blue art. Kashmiris are not fighting for the King or the Kaiser but for the freedom rights of its inhabitants. The soul of the people around the region slumbered in daydreams until the morning bells do toll.
The Danna Lake and the Arang Kel plains are witnessing the unfamiliarity everyone seems to have with them; the Maharukh hills will remember how they were exploited, before being abruptly neglected, much like the people living there. Kangri pots are filled with woes and salty tears, and black looking charcoal uncannily similar to the obliviousness the Kashmiris were used to, the
blanket around the Kangri pot wrapped in the freedom struggle of the gallant Kashmiris. The folk tales of freedom have been infinitely decorated over the mosaic Kashkari to be read by the generations to come.
The bleak voices of disappeared freedom activists, gripped the by the throat, have choked the region. Half widows are struggling with the patriarchal payments of the subcontinent. The Indira Gandhi Tulip Gardens of Srinagar reminisces and waxes eloquent of the diabolical shifts in the way people held and preserved its tulips. The Simla agreement is waiting for its final destiny and the alleged ‘peaceful means’ it desired to be treated with, while the tulips wait for justice to be served. A trans boundary state of denial has engulfed the grief and oppression of the children and women of the valley. Mass graves of human moralities have spread over the lower foot of the Himalayas and the plains of Srinagar.
Even so, Hari Parbat in Srinagar Valley is still hopeful and is waiting for a divine intervention and justice to be given to thousands of natives Kashmiris.
Nitasha Kaul and Habba Khatoon, enthusing through soliloquys and poetry, are still anticipating a deific pipe dream to come in and take their torments away. Mishaal Malik, a vibrant and youthful voice, the wife of JKLF leader, laments her husband’s unwarranted caging but doesn’t stop conscientiously working towards their self determination and making sure her and her fellow Kashmiris have their voices heard by the unwitting authorities. The waters of the Kishan Ganga flowing from across the border are bringing battering songs of faith into waters of the Neelum River. People waiting, on both banks of the river hope that one day this blue stream will sing together. The mortals need to be more awake than life and more awake than light. As no human is born sleeping and should not live as though asleep and by doing this the slumber of death becomes more sweet. The decades of imperial oppression by the unyielding and selfish nations will prevail unless they are urged to come to a forced halt, out of their slumber into full consciousness.
“Might there come a time
When we stand over a grave
And mourn ourselves?
Mourn the past, a previous life?
Shall we weep for the passing of time?
Shall we grieve for unfulfilled dreams?
In my naivety; in my belief
In immortal youth,
I sleep walk through life.
Someone… wake me up.
Please,
Wake me up.”
― Samantha Young
The writer has keen interest in public policy and sociopolitical arena of Pakistan
