After winter fled, the spirit of spring returned the valley.Winter had tortured the landscape especially nature’s creatures. Trees, flowerswere forced to strip off their skin. They were almost naked. There was no signof life in their bodies. Land was also barren yearning for fertility. Thefertility of land was dug down so that it could die out of its breath.
In the valley winter had made everything static. There wasno joy around except presence of chill of winter. It had frozen the atmospherewith low temperatures. Then there was snow which brought some relief from theharshness of the winter. As the snow began to melt slowly to reaping sun ofspring, fragile hope returned to valley.
As the morning breaks, I let windows of my room open. Itlets my sight to have glimpses of snow clad mountains with snow still coveredon their surface. Our house is situated in the middle of the town; encompassingmountains. The window lets me have a sight of sunrise from east of the town.Horizon changes to crimson red and then orange and those colossal mountainsremain hidden under the darkness. When sun rises, I could feel warmth of itsrays. The beautifully textured curtains let the light pass through itsflowering patterns. In the winters sun couldn’t get away from those darkclouds. They would stop it on every step and cover it until sun drowns again.But the spring’s sun cherishes us with its mighty light. Also there is swirlingof breeze in the mornings and its coldness feels good at times.
There is a marvelous kitchen garden in the realm of ourhouse. It is a small and unique ‘Enterprise’ of my mother. It’s not maintainedfor money purpose and it doesn’t earn her the money. The joy of workingeveryday in the kitchen garden keeps her happy. It is diverse in vegetables. Itis specially maintained by my mother. She looks after it as her another son.The kitchen garden is demarcated into equal parts. In each part, a particularvegetable plant grows. Mainly the Kashmiri ‘Haakh’ can be found in most of theparts. A way is also steeped on the boundaries which become a way to go throughthe garden. The garden is exuberant in its own way.
Near our house there is a local park of the town. Childrenthese days are playing cricket in it. I could clearly hear the noise ofchildren when I’m home. They find it easy to play there as they don’t have togo far for playing. They call their friends, assemble and then there are suddennoises of ‘Out-Out’ in middle of the game.
Few days ago, I went to a place in my town. Its beauty wassuch magnificent that it will last in my memory. It was located amidst theforests and mountains and Jhelum River gliding in between. The encompassing wasfull of yellow flowers. A bridge connected the two places under which Jhelumswerved. This spot was far from the forests but one can have sight of those asif they were near. I called it ‘the valley of yellow flowers’.
As I sat beside the river Jhelum, fragrance of yellowflowers rose in the air. It felt pacifying. The breeze swirled through my bodyand I felt its moistness. There were anglers too with their hooks spottingtrout’s. One could not ask them: are you done with fishing? Towards west thesun struggled. It was the time for sun to set. But its last rays shone as theydwindled on the waters of Jhelum. After brief skirmish I saw sun dying behindcolossal mountains and its light disappearing from the water. Then there was nosign of life of light.
The yellow flowers were spread on both sides of the valley.Covered by flowers on both sides there was a way in between. A narrow alleyleads to some unknown place. Upon seeing I sensed something mysterious. Youknow what mysterious things do; they snatch your peace. As far my sight wentthere were only flowers and narrow alley stretched. “Where does this waygoes?”, I asked my friend who happened to knew that place and had also visitedit multiple times. “It leads to Martyr’s graveyard”, he said. Yes, graveyard. Ipaused for a moment and looked again through those flowers and that alley. Thevalley of yellow flowers was occupied with the graves of unknown. Many of thosewho had crossed to this part of the world werenow resting in world’s heaven.With no names, mutilated bodies and fresh skin, corpses had occupied the valleyof yellow flowers. But at that time, I couldn’t visit that graveyard as eveningwas hanging above us silently. I left with a regret of not visiting it.
Among the joys of spring, there are also the signs ofdespair. It will not leave us; the ghost of conflict. In the valley of yellowflowers, there were prints of our identity- Graveyard, our second home.
Most days I usually watch sunset either from the window ofmy room or hills of the town. Sunsets are beautiful too. While I watch sunseton the hill, I could watch the darkness slowly creeping in and light leavingus. Then there are days when I watch it from the window of my room.
Now as the spring has returned with its colours and joys, Iwant to stop the time and remain static in its ecstatic motion. There are alsofrequent rains sometimes which should also remain. I want to remain alive inthe colours of spring, the whispers of breeze, murmur of streams and cloudlessopen sky, so that the death doesn’t spot me.
Mir Umar studies English Literature at the University ofDelhi