-Kashmir cries for solution

The world is full of stories, the stories of all kinds, full of the stories depicting joys,
grieves blessings and cursing of the world, There are stories which can give the cold
shivers around your spine, stories that can give you goose bumps all and whole,
stories that can take your heart out of chest and leave it to ground to feel pain… but
few stories can turn man to ash, few stories that make the heart bleed and heart cry.
There are Few stories

Story1: The story entails the depiction of a local bus at the outskirts of heavenly
land of Jammu, a bus in which are seated the flowering, blooming, and spirited
youth, the ones with happy and delightful faces, with ambitions high and soul alive.
The bus halts its speed at the blockade set by haughty hawks who wave the bus to
stop, suspect them without proof, humiliate them inhumanly, force them
ferociously to rub noses to ground, rape women recklessly and murder men
mercilessly, soon the usurping forces attack and the whole jubilant bus is butchered
and massacred. what remains is ash. Ash of the innocents… Ash of the honor, ash
of the esteem, ash of the dream, ash of freedom
The story 2: This story takes us to the hospitals at Srinagar where 6221 people have
been brought since 2016 who have been victimized by the atrocious and outrageous
usage of pellet guns, guns that have blinded eyes, given scars for life and
permanently disabled thousands. Hospitals which have seen 336 psychiatric patients
who have lost their mental stability by the ensuing violence. Hospitals that have
seen the raised coffins of above 1 million people who have embraced martyrdom in
the cause of freedom. Hospitals which have housed in it the patients of lynching,
incineration, mass rape, and brutal beatings. Hospitals whose walls have witnessed
the cries, which is acquainted with the pain, a pain that has stripped the smile of
millions. Hospitals bewail the story of dream that is broken, hope that is shattered,
smile that is ripped, freedom that is snatched.
Story 3: And here I am, the voice of Kashmir, under silent, starless sky, standing on
the ash, fragile, weak, hampered and torn, torn because promised to me was an
abode, and given to me is slavery. Promised to me was glory and turned then me
into misery, torn because I know I am made foreigner in my native land. My
sovereignty is an illusion. my fate is but a bleak black burning picture. Forced to
dance I am to tune of puppet-masters. The air I breath is heavy with despondence,
helplessness and desperation. I deserved respect, not given. Deserved honor:
snatched, deserved freedom: caught, deserved help: victimized, deserved equality:
treated inferiorly deserved love: given hatred, I am enslaved, I am burnt, , I am
engraved, chocked, banned, chained, I am devoured by dogs, foxes and wolves. I
cried and knocked at every door, every possible arbitration for solution, I cried to
provide the heavenly land with freedom to free her from blood, from Indian
scornful eyes and cruel boots and to give her peaceful and free breath. I cried and
knocked the door of negotiation between Pakistan and India but of no avail. I
knocked the door of freedom through 3 fierce and bitter battles between India and
Pakistan but still of no avail. What I am given is heinous beating in the valley of
Kashmir, butchering in the streets of Jummun, bombardment in Srinagar, and
inhuman slaughter in Ladakh, I bleed and bleed a lot crying for freedom of mine,
crying for abode of mine, crying and asking.

When will our gaze be relieved

by the sight of pristine spring;
how many rains will it take
to wash away the bloodstains?

When blood stains are not washed and eyes are parched, feet are tired and body is
torn, flames blaze the body, yet ears listen to the voice. A voice that says awake.
Awake and extinguish the fire, awake and get the land of longing Awake and
pledge failure will never course in my veins.

Awake and hear not those who weep and complain. Awake and be likened to the
rain drop which washes away the mountain, the ant that devours a tiger, the star
which brightens the earth, and the slave who builds a pyramid. The voice says,
awake and rise from ashes to glory and greatness. The voice says:

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.” X2