Skip to main content

Four people, four worlds, One ward

Enter Ward No 16 of historic SMHS hospital here in troubled times where countless patients lie with bullet hits with anguish of one getting suppressed on seeing the resilience of other.
In this non-descript ward lie Farooq Ahmed from Bandipore; Nazir Ahmed from Sumbal; Gowhar Bhat from Dalgate and Rouf Majeed from Sangrama.
All of them have bullet wounds and suffering from tear smoke trauma.
The ward has twelve beds and four of them have people with bullet injuries.
In one corner of the ward, second year student, Rouf Majeed sits alone.
“My father has gone down to get something,” he explains.
“I was a part of a 2000 strong protest at Sangam. When we reached near the CRPF camp, suddenly someone from the CRPF side started firing. I was running when a bullet hit me in my back. Then I ran holding my chest for some time until I passed out. I don’t remember anything after that,” he said.
Doctors say that Rouf has a pistol wound. “It’s a short range weapon injury probably a pistol wound.”
Rouf says, “I had come out on the roads for our Geelani Saheb. I wanted to play my part for our struggle. Given a chance, I would again be on roads even if a hundred bullets hit me.”
On the bed adjacent to Rouf, is Gowhar Bhat from Dalgate. “I was on my way with a procession to attend the jinaza of Shaheed Sheikh Aziz. We told the policemen and CRPF that we were peaceful and all we wanted to do was to attend the Jinaza. But when we were near Dalgate Chowk, the SHO from Ram Munshi Bagh ordered firing and then a tear gas shell exploded between my legs. That was last thing I remember until I came to my senses in the hospital.” Gowhar has severe trauma in the legs.
Gowhar says, “If they think they have deterred us they are wrong. The blood of the innocent has been spilled and this nation is not going to let their blood go waste.”
His views are shared by Nazir Ahmed from Sumbal who is one bed away Gowhar, says, “So what if I am the only son of my parents, am I the only one. How can I sit silently when my Muslim brothers are being killed?”
Nazir Ahmed has been shot in his thigh. Doctors said that a single bullet pierced him in one side and then entered in the other thigh. The bullet has ruptured his private parts. He will have to carry around a pouch with him for the next five six months.
Nazir insists that two bullets hit him. “They hit me almost together. When I was shot by the CRPF, I ran with the crowd, at least for a kilometer. Someone helped me climb a wall, then another. When I put my hand on my thigh, it was wet and then I saw blood. Someone put me in truck and then a sumo. Then they operated upon me.”
Nazir is the only child of his aged parents and works as a casual laborer to earn the family’s only money.
Across him, attendants are helping Farooq Ahmed on the bed. “We were moving towards Bandipora from Istengo when police fired tear gas on us. They then moved towards the army camp and asked their CO to stop us. The army laid barbed wire on the road and asked us to stop, when we refused someone ordered the firing. The first bullet hit one person on his head and he fell down.”
Two bullets found their way to Farooq, One hit him in his chest and other ruptured his intestines. But in spite of his wounds, Farooq says, “It was fate that I was hit but I will go out again and again, until the day we win, Insallah.”

Comments

Manzoor said…
This is the real story of the Kashmir and it is how peaceful protesters are welcome with bullets and morters. This is what India calls biggest democracy Shame on this democracy who discriminates the people on communal lines. How the Govt reacted the protests in Hindu dominated Jammu region and Kashmir dominated muslim region.
Second the Indian media so called the neutral one has made the " fight of words between Salman and Sharukh Khan as main news but they dont have the time to report the merciless killing of hundreds of innocent kashmiris.

Popular posts from this blog

For posterity

--- The following is for public record  for posterity and history  Let them know you were here  etch your names on these walls   Die in the name of revolution, Industrial, or  Agricultural,   Political or, Sexual,  Just find a cause  Don't decline this invitation to your private doom,  It is a limited-time offer,  For all sales must end     What utter madness is this? Why are you running away from this? On what list is your name on?  Who did you meet?  What did you talk about? Was it about me?  Am I sounding too paranoid?  A little insane  Ignore the glint in my eye, I take no pleasure in this  All I say is accept this love  After all,   whose love isn't a little tainted?  Whose name,  a little tarnished?  Spill out your silences now, I have shown enough love  Others here are much worse, Brotherhood and fealty mean nothing here I am here as your fri...

Zulaikha’s Lament

Blotted and Stained Like blood on apples, My reputation remains in tatters After these years But what was a woman to do? -- He had the face of An angel His shoulders, A sculptors dream His eyes, spoke a million languages his lips, like daggers driven apart -- I grew outside of Cairo Unloving father and sad mother Sold me for a goat and   A bag of gold To the first merchant who They came across -- My Husband, Kind, Generous man Made me his wife And put me along with Thirteen others -- My Husband, Kind Generous man Kept me happy Visited me twice a month Blessing me with His drunken kisses and Impotent rage -- I was never sad What more could A woman want? Lots of wealth and An impotent husband Sex was a chore The price of being so glad -- Then he came Chained and covered with dust Another man from the Slave traders den He stood at the gate Neither sad nor in jest Even at a distance...

Indigo Halls of Imagined Gods

In the indigo halls of Imagined Gods of Love, Lovers leave half burnt letters of incense and trails of broken hearts - Among ruins of shattered Love knots, she sits alone Weaving a rosary out of Thin air With longing as its thread and Beads made out of tears -- In the Indigo halls of Imagined gods of Love, The walls conspire and whisper Into her ears Telling tales of unfaithful loves And unrequited desires -- The rags of threads once Tied at the Astans of Hamdan, Lie at her feet, as she sits alone Knitting desolation from the whispers To sacrifice at the altars of the imagined Gods of love