Abdul Majeed Dar
Suspense, it is said, is the very stuff of narrative. Our narrative is not an exception to this adage. It is perhaps full of suspense from the day we have been clinched in to an unending despair. We do not know how Afgans came and left us in distress despite being co-religionist .When Sikhs made this place their domicile and left tales of horror to tell? Dogras did their bit of trick through a foul play and made us to bask in a haze of their arrogance. They passed the button to the present one through a fusty deed wrapped in vagueness up to this day. In this tale of suspense nothing was left to subside by our own power hungry people and they never missed the chance to scuttle what could have been better for us. This happened every time and continues to swallow lives of our youth yearning for peace to live in a free world. The mothers cry in backwoods and their tears get dried in their eyes before coming out in desolation. They remember no word except the striking names of their missed ones and get lost in sadness for rest of their life. Fathers hang on to their graves five times a day and stand mutely what to utter. They know nothing now except to wait to get buried too along side of their loved ones.
Our days are filled with misery and distress, and our nights with tears and anguish. Our children grow as down and gloomy. They are empty sacks and move with fear. The perpetual tyranny has stifled their tenderness .They live as despised and unloved. They embrace death knowingly to spurn the shackles. Blessed are those tender souls who reflect my will….your will and discourage the powerful Tyrant. The tyranny rejoices at Prime Time of their News Channels at the death of our princes wickedly inventing the false storylines to give vent to their disgusted feelings. The cruel is building its castles on the graves of our sons but he should remember in the words of Khalil Gibran:
‘We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the
Sons of joy; and between our sorrow and your
Joy there is a rough and harrow path which
Your evil spirited horses cannot travel, and upon
Which your magnificent carriages cannot pass’
We are alone no doubt but in this aloneness we stand firm that the mist of lonesomeness will vanish someday as Khalil Gibran make us believe:
‘We are the sons of sorrow, and sorrow is a
Rich cloud, showering the multitudes with
Knowledge and Truth. You are sons of
Joy, and as high as your joy may reach,
By the Law of God it must be destroyed
Before the winds of heaven and dispersed
Into nothingness, for it is naught but a
Thin and wavering pillar of smoke
By then the bony skeletons of Shieks, Bakshis, Sadiqs ,Qasims, Muftis etc in their sullen graves will be braving in obscurity of oblivion and our tender martyred souls telling them :
‘We spread your path with roses, and you cover (ed)
Our beds with thorns; and between the roses
And the thorns, Truth slumbers fitfully’ ……….. (K.Gibran).
The peace allures me. My sleepless eyes see nothing except the brutality unleashed not only by the tyrant but assisted faithfully by my own wicked zealots wearing JKP……They lead the tyrant with their spiteful and mocking laughter ………that pains and puzzles me more……..I then drew strange figures on waste papers with the suspense of Phantom hovering but I assure myself…..
‘Be silent, my heart, until morn comes,
For he who awaits patiently the coming
Of Dawn will be embraced longingly by
Morning tide’ (K.Gibran)
This article first appeared in print edition of 20 to 26 July 2016.
The identity of writer was kept anonymous on his request.
