A Night Of Despair

IT was quarter past twelve. I was reading Orhan Pamuk while taking sips of Lipton tea, when my younger sister entered my room with index finger placed across her lips and her eyes quite wide, as she conversed her silence into words, it took me a jiffy to hear her humming sound; “It is an Army cordon outside; turn the lights off”. Following the instruction, I put my book and half filled goblet of tea on the night stand. We both looked sneakily through the windowpane and the street lights in the dark served us the ring of soldiers patrolling the streets. An uneasy calmness had engulfed the atmosphere with only the soldiers’ murmurs breaking the quiet of the night. I saw some cops were alert while a few of them smoking cigarettes, one on phone call and another resting against the electrical pole. As if they were waiting for someone’s arrival.

None was aware of the reason behind the cordon. My Dad’s cousin had buzzed him revealing the army personnel have barricaded the entire village. Instead of pleasant sleep night brought the ordeal alarm. The tension deprived every eye of the sleep and the horror left folks miserable. Everyone was anxiously waiting for their departure, so that they could sleep in the remaining portion of night. But a big thanks to our street dogs it didn't happen the way people wished.

My grandfather once told me that in the times of my adolescence, they had witnessed such nights frequently. Crackdowns and cordons were a routine be it during the day or night. They never slept during many such nocturnal raids. Someday night would pass atrociously while at times; it would bring a half fractured sleep into one’s eyes. It’s not so nightmarish now to witness cordons or raids as we are used to these experiences. They don’t terrify people to that much extent. In those times they would barge in the houses. They would keep families even the female folks and infants outside in the teeth chattering cold during the night hours; they would even beat people especially the youth without any justification.

From the past tyrannical times, the bone-chilling incident of Kunan-Pushpora is another case in point. Where a night like this one passed and took everything away of people. Where files of justice are still waiting to get unleash. Where every eye is moist, every heart numb, every mind restless. Where people still struggling to let justice prevail. Where the regime has always miserably failed to meet the demands of people; where people are alone left to suffer.

It was quarter to two when the voices abruptly arose outside. We awfully peeped through window glasses. There was an array of soldiers coming down the alley leaving past our house and then neighbors. A spark of relief reigned on our faces. The rest of night passed away with a mixture of feelings – sleep and obsession. Obsession of past despotic nights and the one I witnessed.

Next morning came. The stories about night started surfacing regarding someone’s abduction and much more. On that particular day, while waiting outside the bakers’ shop I happened to listen to a dozen of old men and women talking about the hot topic – “last night’s cordon”. An old wrinkled woman addressing the another person “Mea booz Ramzanun qayoom chuk nemut rattith” while the latter responded in a low voice “ Hatai naai, dapaan hey kem’taan che easmech kastaen mukhbirii karmech”. I took the bread and left.

My valley has been witnessing such horrific nights for decades; when it lost its chastity and glory. When it witnessed bloodshed and wailed. When it suffered and complained. These suffering are so long and pitiless.


A version of this article also appeared in printed edition of daily kashmir reader on 30 April- 2015, http://www.kashmirreader.com/a-night-of-despair/