Guest Author


Decrease Font Size Increase Font Size Text Size Print This Page

Umair Rehman

(The second part of the story is here.)

This tactic and trend is the usual fashion of Indian troops. The people were assembling at these much mentioned places. Henceforward, they constrained people in a small space. Prior to this, all the men coming from their homes were thrust in long Queues. All the men were abused while asking to keep their hands in upright position. They were treating all these people very rudely. They were pushing them one by one by bamboo sticks and used to beat them mercilessly. They even laughed loudly at the men who cried while beating. In these very parades they used to check identity cards one by one. Mockingly, they always proved unlettered because being identity card in their hands, they still used to say, “Giggle! What is your name?” This is one of the reflections of the treatment meted out by oppressed at the hands of oppressor.
Wails, laments and gunshots after every few seconds were throbbing the body from head to toe. Actually, military operations were an invitation for a guerrilla attack. We uneasily expected the inevitable. Being fishy about whereabouts of the encounter we were however unable to infer the location. But were hopeful that Mujahideen wouldn’t take as refuge our school premises. Sheeraz Sahab was still stunned and dumbfounded. His voice gradually felt low pitched and was somehow in irritable state. All of us were so much terrified with the accelerating gunshots that it was seeming that we are at the verge of death. We were only whispering the Dua’s for our safe being.
With less movement of people in the said area elevated more horror and terror in our minds. Apart from shrieks and gunshots there was total mum. Only the voice of Hens, Cocks and dogs (tev tev and kruck kruck and wuef wuef) was echoing. As we were all in a single building along with our teachers. We were waiting to flee so that we will save ourselves from the hazard and escape ourselves from that very pitfall. In the meantime, a few women came and shouted towards us that the battle of guns is headway in the village. There were two gates, one the big and main gate through which we enter and leave the School regularly and another one the small and seldom accustomed for school purposes. We didn’t prefer through main gate because we apprehended the encounter site in that direction. So, we chose the small gate in order to make safe passage. Prior to the passage, I faced the window and then stared at the door. It was a plain wooden door, painted in yellowish-grey. I looked at my watch, it was about 12:21 pm. I turned to the window and looked at the popular trees standing in bright shining light, and at the foundation of another building. All was austere and painful. Death had threatened us entirely. I was in the state of hallucination. I looked at my watch again and the principal shouted towards the assemblage. I started to roam. The principal ordained us to gather and come out from the building one by one in queue, as the shooting of bullets was in pause. In this very instance, two bullets hit the top of the tin-sheet on the right of our respective building. We again got terrified, but here the teachers dared very much and told us to leave as fast as we can. We came out from the building like we were combats, and were rushing towards that very small gate. In that terrible situation we were also happy because it was half-day for us. So felicity of holiday overshadowed the terror in which we were holed up. We reached at the second gate with mixed mind setup. Teachers now instructed us how to deal in those very circumstances. They told how to cross the road and told us about precautionary tactics. Without any time lag, we crossed the second gate of our school, which was located along the left side of Dispensary Hospital. This secondary gate was approaching to the West of Village. And flanked the main road joining the Mohmmadpora to Islamabad (Anantnag) via Khee jogi pora, Kadder. After exit from the gate, we speeded our walk towards our homes. Once again bursting started by automatic light machine guns giving the highly amplified version of sound like cricket ball bouncing on the concrete cemented wall.
<To be continue>
(The author is a blogger, columnist and a Software Engineer, and may be mailed

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *