Some call it a paradise on land... Some like Sartaj-e-Hind... Some like miles of snow... Some want a shikara-like stop on the sapphire-coloured waters of Dal Lake. This is that Kashmir, which is inhabited in many dreams, but not every dream is as beautiful as Kashmir! Here in the rustle of pine trees are buried the cries of mothers whose children went missing overnight. In the sparkling waters of Jhelum, the blood of so many bloomers is mixed. Here stories of oppression and fear grow in every area of the land.
One such story, woven in the threads of dreadful truth, is of Bilal, whose house was entered by terrorists, and took away his younger brother at gunpoint. The child who weaves dreams of becoming a doctor is now in jail. The mother was in deep depression and the father's back had become a command before time.
Bilal says- People may call Kashmir as paradise, but for us it is hell. Paradise is that, where there is peace, there is love. Here, as soon as there is a knock at the house, it seems that the terrorists have not returned! Saying this, sweat starts shining on his forehead even in that cold-closed room in Sopore. Sometimes he cries out loudly, so loudly that I have to console him by closing the video.
The encounter was going on in South Kashmir for more than twenty four hours, earlier our stop was the same, but as the situation worsened, we moved towards the northern part.
The encounter was going on in South Kashmir for more than twenty four hours, earlier our stop was the same, but as the situation worsened, we moved towards the northern part.
Our journey to reach Bilal passed through many stops. Met many faces. Most were shocked. At the same time, there were some who had the passion to make Kashmir a paradise again. One such face took the responsibility of taking us to Bilal. Step-by-step measure was taken. We left Srinagar early in the morning with a trusted taxi driver. Along the way, two more local experts joined in, whose job it was to ensure safety. I had put the tracker on, but somewhere I was scared.
When our car was passing through the deserted roads of North Kashmir, the encounter was going on in the southern part. We reached our destination while sinking between fear and expectations.
This is Dal Lake. Beautiful place in heaven on earth. No one wants to leave after coming here. On the other hand, there are such painful stories of atrocities and terror in Kashmir, which makes the mind shudder to hear.
This is Dal Lake. Beautiful place in heaven on earth. No one wants to leave after coming here. On the other hand, there are such painful stories of atrocities and terror in Kashmir, which makes the mind shudder to hear.
Bilal was in that house standing in the middle of the apple orchard. The rest went out leaving us alone in the upper room. Now he started speaking. First with a stick, then with confidence. He recalls – it was August of 2019, when there was a knock at our door at midnight. As soon as the door was opened, some people hurriedly entered inside and latched on. Gun in everyone's hands and tearful expression on his face.
They were the people of Lashkar, who are making Kashmir hell. As soon as he arrived, he gathered everyone in one room. The mobile was confiscated and switched off. The phone wire was cut. He made all the arrangements so that no one can get an idea of any movement in our house.
We were all gathered in one room – parents, four of us brothers and a cousin. A Militant put a pistol on Abbu's forehead and threatened that no one would notice his arrival. He said straight- If any of you open your mouth, then we will destroy the whole family.
Now it was the turn of the ladies of the house. He sent the crying mother and sister to the kitchen. In the middle of the night they wanted roti-rice and well-roasted meat. While she was cooking, the militants were repeatedly threatening to cook the deg early, we are hungry. After having food, they spread in every room of the house.
We were 7 people locked in the same room, like prisoners in our own house. He could neither move his hand nor his feet. It was forbidden to open the door. This was the beginning of hell. After that they came several times. His eyes had fallen on our younger brother. My brother of 19 years knew only two things - worship and study. He wanted to become a doctor. He was about to give his 12th exam, when he made an 'offer' - 'Send it with us, or else we will kill each other.'
Bilal says that my brother wanted to become a doctor, but the terrorists took him with them. With the same hands with which he dreamed of giving life to patients, he now started pasting posters of terror.
Bilal says that my brother wanted to become a doctor, but the terrorists took him with them. With the same hands with which he dreamed of giving life to patients, he now started pasting posters of terror.
The brother was then 19 years old. With soft hands and an even more tender heart. He started crying. He wanted to become a doctor, but these people would make him a terrorist. Mother pleaded. All of us brothers, including father, started catching feet, but to no avail. They went masked with their brother. After that he started training.
The ears which used to listen to the sweet rebuke of the mother, they now hear the words of terrorists filled with hatred. The feet which used to go towards the shrine, now they started moving towards terrorist activities in the valley. He was given the task of putting up posters in support of Lashkar. With the hands with which the brother dreamed of giving life to the patients, he was now pasting posters of terror with the same hands. He was starting to change. When he returned home, he would not laugh and talk like before.
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