What do you seek, my countrymen?
Do you desire that I build for you gorgeous palaces,
Decorated with the words of empty meaning, or
Do you command me to destroy what the
Liars and tyrants have built? Shall I uproot with
My fingers what the hypocrites and the wicked have
Implanted? Speak you insane wish!

I am a Stone. Oxford says, I am a hard solid mineral substance found in the ground or a small piece of rock of any shape while Britannica confirms, in building construction, rock cut into blocks and slabs or broken into pieces.

This has been my literal identity since time immemorial. But in Kashmir I possess a different existence. I have had a strong constructive importance in political and religious arena besides, in other issues like a simple power cut or a drainage problem. My tenure in Kashmir had started immediately after 1947 without ascertaining the wishes of the people which was legally, constitutionally, politically or morally unjustified creating an endless explosive atmosphere. I have been an unbiased bystander and a dumb witness to thousands of innocent deaths, cold-blooded killings, fake encounters, ruthless beating, some funny election campaigns, something which is expected of a hegemonic control where death hovers encompassing the whole valley. The Machiavellian and cavalier attitude by Indian forces has made every valleyite irascible and anguished. It has piled up an inexpressible resentment within the people that cannot be cured by the airy promises like ‘healing touch’, and demagogic leaders like many around causing discontent and despair only. People of Kashmir have become miserable prisoners imprisoned in their own land; the paradise has taken a shape of dungeon where its inhabitants struggle to penetrate in order to witness the life of freedom. I could not resist the pressure of unfair and cruel use of might over innocuous and oppressed people; my heart is bulged with the secrets that I witness day in day out. I don’t know how to unveil the truth, how to tell the untold, how to unravel the mystery of killings made under the false accusations of stone pelting against the innocent youth by the belligerent attitude of security forces. From the places where I sit in Nowhatta, Maisuma, Kawdara, I could see swiftly moving force carriages passing along the road going from one hunting ground to another, reacting savagely to any provocation from the people be that a 6 year old boy. I remember Zahid Farooq, a blossoming youth playing cricket on a sidewalk was killed by security forces, he did not provoke them, neither did he pelt any stone. He had a cricket bat in his hands but he was shot and made disappeared like a figure in dream on a mere argument.

A gloom must have descended upon his family. Wamiq was too young a lad to be buried in the darkness of the grave, I witness his struggles on the ground which must have caused heavens to fall, it left me paralyzed with awe. His innocence was his only weapon. There must have been the memory of his friends and family in that unendurable pain when he was shot, who would fly to save him if informed of his fate, but this son of the valley, a youth of silence and contemplation was quieted forever. Asif was just 9, very elegant and a graceful boy, he did not pick me up. He couldn’t have even pelted me with his tender hands yet he was murdered mercilessly, it surely was an error of destiny. I was stupefied and in dismay at the sight of his blood spilling on the street, a pandemonium broke out around his body. I am telling this of my own actual knowledge, my presence is my evidence, please do not think evil of me, it is the will of heaven for I am doing my duty complying calmly and patiently. I am called ‘Stone’ in the places which I inhabit, I am merciless, but I am pitiful, I cannot rest for the cry of these great agonies. During nights, I and my fellow stones scarcely talk of anything but the massacre of these young boys while these monsters mimic and mock at groans and sobs made by dead and injured. They raise their arms and speak in thunderous voice of their days accomplishments. They are consumed by this dreadful and relentless rage to wipe out generations after generations, this chase for hunt will not stop for any reason whatsoever. Now the sights of these innocent boys killed on my pretext is more than I can bear.

Sometimes, I wish to reopen the graves and apologize all those who lost their precious lives at my behest. The phantasies such as these come to me at night and extend their terrific influence far into my waking hours and I fell a prey to perpetual horror. I miss them, they withdrew farther and farther away, and at last vanished in thin air, the roads seem lonely without them. I am taking my departure also, I want to be lost just not to be used as a final weapon against oppressors.

“Nisar me teri galiyon ke ae watan ki jahan chali hai rasm
Ki koi na sar utha ke chale
Jo koi chahane wala tawaf ko nikle nazar chura ke chale
Jism-o-jan bacha ke chale
Hai ahl-e-dil ke liye ab ye nazm-e-bast-o-kushaad
Ki sang-o-khisht muqayad hai aur sang azad”

(Ishfaq Ahmad is a pass out of Department of English, University of Kashmir. He can be reached at ishi.sai@gmail.com)

Lastupdate on : Sun, 18 Jul 2010 21:30:00 Mecca time
Lastupdate on : Sun, 18 Jul 2010 18:30:00 GMT
Lastupdate on : Mon, 19 Jul 2010 00:00:00 IST