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

In Barely Discernible Darkness

I will trace the Jhelum Across Your back with my fingers In barely discernible darkness It will form a paisley Drawn from the memory of An imagined Kashmir No language spoken by Man or Gods shall be Uttered that night Words will be melded, Sentences molded to form A new language of love The ink, a fine powdered Amethyst, shall dry as We write its grammar The quill tips, fashioned From old bones, shall Burn in its blaze The room will be Full of scorch marks In barely discernible darkness -- Tz

Surviving Kashmir

In Kashmir Tragedy doesn't strike you,  It seeps inside you, like a malignant disease  Slowly making its way to your brain,   Disintegrating your mental faculties,  one by one.  Taking you apart one minute at a time,  making happiness  A sepia picture that grandfather  Put up on the wall of the ancestral house,   That is now just a road,  with every passing car Raising dust over your family tree,  the room where  You once crawled,  teeming with unruly pedestrians,   Grounding your memories to mere dust,  walking by  an invisible house with blue windows and tin sheeted gate. In Kashmir,  tragedy doesn't seek you,  it survives you.

Chapter 9: Madness

I hold onto the ledge of sanity by the edges of my fingernails polishing a tune that i heard long ago on radio Kashmir, sandwiched between propaganda and farmer's show, where they taught how to sow blood in fields of saffron to reap a harvest of dead bodies mutilated with joy and skinned alive by bayonet edges and threshed by a machine made of army boots I hold onto the ledge of sanity by edge of my fingernails playing an imaginary santoor, made by the last santoor master of Srinagar, its wires made of Human tendons and its small wooden hammers, bones of young poetess its fickle frame crushed bone of orphaned children trafficked from mortared houses into army camps disguised as play grounds I hold onto the ledge of sanity by edges of my finger nails dreaming about refuge in the asylum of ugly emperors and handsome beggars hiding behind masks of iron, smelted by gunpowder made behind the mosque made of stone, where th...