-Kashmir cries for solution

The world is full of stories,

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