Tears Of The Nation

       It was a cold evening, clouds started to gather and in a few minutes it was as if the sky was about to cry. I felt like going for a walk, Unusual, I often stayed at home, all time, every day.

       I, finally took my jacket and stepped out of the four walls barely standing on the ground. ‘zahu rahim anna’. I pitied myself for thinking these bricks could actually protect me, keep me safe.

       I started walking. As I walked down the street I saw, beautiful homes once, turned into soil and rubble. As I looked I saw a framed picture, which might have survived all the heavy rifle shootings and some grenade explosions. It was a family picture, father, mother and two boys. “I hope they are alive and together”. I prayed to myself.

       I walked further. I came to a Chowk. A quad. I remember how busy it used to be. I often visited with my mom, to buy fruits and vegetables. The vendors used to sit linearly on the footpath with their fruits and vegetables in a homemade wooden basket. Now it was nothing how it used to be. Street lights fallen. The footpath destroyed. And maybe the vendors dead

       As I walked further I saw a little boy. So skinny I could count his ribs. I looked into his eyes. There was crying, but no tears. There were questions, many questions. And there was, of course, Hunger. I wanted to help him, feed him. I gave him all the money I had. “Take this Bache”. Son. I said. 242 rupaye.It was all I had. It was the amount which could have fed me for other 6 days, or more. Then a little girl, With a Hijab covering her head, maybe his elder sister, called him and they both disappeared behind a nearly destroyed building.

       I kept walking. As I was walking I saw stains of blood on ground, Fresh stains. It was like someone trying to drag a body. It didn’t scare. My fear was dead by then. Fear, Anger, Emotions, Feelings…. Dead were all. Dead. I stood there, Staring and thinking absolutely nothing. Then I heard footsteps. Turned around to see a horde of armed men. Screaming something in Pashto and Kashmiri. I couldn’t understand because of all the chaos. They ordered me to kneel with my hands up in the air. I felt nothing. I did what they said. I had to.

       As I sat on my knees a well-built man stood in front of me with a rifle in his hand. He then placed the barrel of the gun between my eyes. He was ready to shoot me and so was I. I wanted to die. I wanted death to look me in my eye, smile knowingly and take my Rooh. My soul away.

       Then I hear a loud sound. There was a bright flash of light and then everything goes white. I can’t see, I hear a continuous beep sound.

       Then I lay on the ground finding comfort on that cold, dry ground. Memories flashing through my eyes like a vintage film. It was on this land that I was born. I see my father, smiling at me as I fall of my bicycle for the first time. I see my ammi. My mom carrying me on her arm around these streets cause I was too tired to walk. I see them both smiling at me as I leave for school. I see my friends, neighbours all smiling, all so happy.

       Gradually these images change, they get sadder. I see fewer people on the streets, fear everywhere. Armed men, soldiers or militants I don’t know nor do I care, running along the streets with guns. There is firing of guns, killings, screaming. This is not my watan. My land. It was not meant to be this way. What happened? What have people done to themselves?

       Now I see the stains, the bodies been dragged, grenade explosions. The riots, the stampedes and suddenly I see the eyes of the kid I had come across. Now I was able to read his eyes, the various questions in his eyes, when will all this stop? What was my fault that I am going through this? Will I die too? Does god doesn’t love us?

       I wanted to tell him, peace will come, it will surely come. One day this all will be over. There will be puddles of water from freshly melted snow instead of the stains of blood. Kids with kites in the hand will run in the front yards instead of militants with guns. Skies will be clear. No more rubbles, beautiful homes beautiful families. No more stone pelting, just love everywhere. Lotuses will again bloom in the Dal Lake, the fields will bloom with kesar and our watan will be called ‘The Heaven on the Earth’ again, rightfully. Until then bache keep patience and don’t give upon humanity. And when you have your dream land keep it that way, protect it from the external threats and internal politics.

       I want to go now, I want to leave this place which has become so foreign to me. I will take my comfort in memories of this place.

       As I began to lose my breath it began to rain. As if my watan was crying for the loss of another of its son, it’s innocent son.