Altaf Hamid Rao:
‘Wounded Souls of Women of Occupied Kashmir,
MIRPUR ( AJK), (Parliament Times) ; Following is the narration of a Kashmiri woman – Assabah Khan, member of Kashmir-based ‘Kashmiri Women’s Initiative for Peace & Disarmament’, the team member of an independent fact-finding mission which recently conducted interviews in some remote and far flung parts of the disputed occupied valley to ascertain the plight of innocent Kashmiri women, facing the Indian brutalities including molestation, incidents of gangrapes by the Indian occupational military and paramilitary troops across the Muslim majority Indian Illegally occupied Jammu Kashmir state, says a report reaching here from across the Line of Control on the eve of the World Women’s Day being observed across the globe on Friday : –
“Tornado within, tornado outside swept like violent storm as we reached the hilly terrains of the village, long ago forgotten by the outside world. Condition of the road and the jerks, which we felt in the vehicle, had a story of their own to tell. Winters chill had much wetness preserved in it as it was the month of December, but the sullen and motionless faces had nothing to offer except expressions of bewilderment. What else could we expect in a village, where lived more than two hundred widows and orphans almost double their number? Yeah it was Dardpora, the name itself conveying the meaning. Everywhere, we found pain & grief. The unending saga of tails of woe had no panacea.
I was part of the team of Kashmir Women’s Initiative for Peace and Disarmament (KWIPD). We dropped at a place called Patti Maidan Sathbuon, Dardpora. We entered a mud walled house supported by wood. In the room, I found the poster of Abdul Gani Lone and it was written ‘Martyr of freedom’. All of a sudden, the room got crowded with women and children. To my surprise, I discovered in no time that most of them are widows. I spotted a girl in the crowd. She was hesitant to talk to us. Much reluctantly, she agreed to converse with us.
“My name is Shakeela,” she said. Shakeela had this story to tell. “My grand father Mangta Khan was beaten to death by Indian army on 3rd June 1990. I am fifteen. I have two sisters. Syeda is eighteen and Safeena is ten. My Brother Mohammad Iqbal Khan is studying in 10th standard and is sixteen years old”.
Shakeela pointed out to a woman in the crowd and said, “she is my mother Fatima, my father Ghulam Mohiuddin was militant of Albarq, his code name was Amjad Khan. On 13th November 1992, there was an encounter between Albarq and Hizbul Mujahideen and my father got killed”.
While Shakeela was narrating her story, the poignant pain in Fatima’s eyes almost turned ruthless, psycho-analysis of Fatima’s mind definitely revealed that she had flash backs of her husband’s memory in her mind. The moments of joy and sorrow which they shared together sparkled like candle flame before her eyes.
“Even if I am given riches of this whole world, they cannot be substitute to my husband”, said Fatima with endless tears falling from her eyes. Tears fell from her eyes, so fell the oozing, suppressed emotions, which she had hid from the world so far. This was not all, besides Fatima there sat a stoic figure Reshma.
Reshma was Fatima’s sister in law, bony face, ogled eyes, wretched condition of physique, had a sorry tale.
“I have a daughter and my son is reading in tenth standard. My husband Ghulam Hassan Khan, was sleeping in a house, in Jhanipora, Banjar. There were three men sleeping in the house, one was Lal din Khatana, another Dilawar Khoja. During night, Indian army cordoned the house. Army till dawn beat all three of them mercilessly. All three of them succumbed to the injuries. It was the ugly night of 10th August 1993. In the morning villagers went to the spot and discovered their dead bodies”.
Reshma could not control her emotions while narrating her tale. No relief ever reached the family and life was as miserable as the crown of thorns.
We visited the spot where Mangta Khan and his two sons Ghulam Hassan Khan and Ghulam Mohiuddin were buried. On the way of the rocky terrain, we found Shakeela’s brother Iqbal and he accompanied us to the place where his father, uncle and grandfather were laid for the final rest. We met there the last pearl of the bead, Shakeela’s grandmother. She had come to offer prayers at her husband’s grave and perhaps the grave of her two sons as well. This was the spot where lied the most valuable possession of life, which nobody could return to her. I asked, “Grand Ma how is life?” in feeble old voice, she said, “Life for me is tornado within and tornado outside as well. It sweeps like violent storm, like these hilly terrains, we (widows) have become hard rocks and tides of time have not been able to torment us in anyway”.
In Kashmir no one’s fate could escape the brutality of Indian regime. My husband Farooq Ahmad Dar had already spent 25 years in prison for freedom of Kashmir. Indian regime tried to malign him even by making a film “The Kashmir Files.” Thanks to Israeli film Maker Nadav Lapied who punctured the whole narrative. I being his Wife was victimized n thrown out of job so that there remains no one in Kashmir to talk about FREEDOM. My passport was impounded so that I could not plead my case on any platform of the World. With utmost determination I will support my husband till eternity. World will listen to my story and it will reverberate for millennia’s . So will reverberate the stories of millions of Kashmiri women who are day in and day out living this brutal occupation and Gender Apartheid.