It was December in Kashmir. Snow had carpeted the whole valley. Everywhere. On the roof tops of thatched houses, on the naked tree branches, on the roads, in the open fields. Everything around was white. People who left for work, made their way through snowy lanes leaving behind their foot prints with the size of shoes clearly engraved on the snow.
In the midst of snow white carpet lies a small hamlet known as Kulpora. It is situated 1km away from the main road that connects two districts i.e. Kulgam and Islamabad. The people live a simple life, most of them earn their bread by working in agricultural lands, few are engaged in the business and very little number are government servants. A few households live below poverty line. The hamlet is surrounded by agricultural land from all sides with willows and popular on every undulated patches and few springs are seen at few places. Amid this is the house of Sabir, a man with wrinkled face, bowed down by death of lone son Ghulam, who was killed by Army. Sabir had four daughters, and only one among them had been a college student. The remaining ones helped their father in daily chores and in the fields. Orphans by fate they had a hope on their brother who was doing his engineering from Banglore. Sabir had a dream and hope that all his miseries of the fate will overcome with his son coming back after completion of his engineering. All the family members worked day and night in the fields to bear the expenses of his college. Even at the age of 65, Sabir was working in the apple orchid and paddy fields. Still there was a smile on his face. A smile in the form of his son but who knew that it was short lived. And the castles that he constructed in the air will be shattered for ever. All the life will be contained in the same house that was made of mud with thatched roof. A dream of leaving to work in the fields, marriage of his daughters and a good house made of red bricks and cement remained a distant dream.
His son Ghulam had not a dream of becoming an I.A.S as that of Shah Faisal but had a small dream to lessen the burden of poverty of his family. He never dreamt of an ambassador with red light moving on its top but he dreamt of a small part of it i.e. moving towards a better living. He dreamt of completing his engineering and taking a small government job but who knew that death was moving like a red light of an ambassador car on his head. His life will end amid the white snow fields turned to red along with his father left handicapped for few years until death took him into his lap. He remembered every moment of the day from long gossip of the night with his son, early rising from the bed in the morning, taking tea with all the family members, packing his sons bag, his farewell to his sisters and neighbours, leaving his home, carrying his bag on his shoulders, the moment when the bullets striking his sons body and his leg too, leaving both of them on the ground. A moment of helplessness when he could see the body of his son lying on the white snow, which slowly turned to red as the blood was oozing out from his son’s body and his leg. What was he able to do is to watch his son’s blood oozing out from his body and tears rolling down from his eyes. Waiting helplessly for help, to carry his son’s dead body and the luggage back and the dreams that he once constructed with his son last night when he was alive.
Hundreds and Thousands of Ghulam with their dreams of lessening the miseries of their family are buried every day and have been buried. Thousands and hundreds of brothers who toiled day and night for their sister’s marriage reach to the grave yard, what their sisters got was they were left unmarried. What their fathers got in the end is their son’s coffins on their shoulders and their sisters singing songs of marriage on their brother’s funeral and their mothers preparing mehndi for unmarried groom on the death bed.

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Lastupdate on : Thu, 29 Jul 2010 21:30:00 Mecca time
Lastupdate on : Thu, 29 Jul 2010 18:30:00 GMT
Lastupdate on : Fri, 30 Jul 2010 00:00:00 IST