In ‘Shaheed Amir’, we lost a revolutionary friend
Aleister Crowley says, ‘The people who have really made history are the martyrs.’
Within this relentless cycle of repression in Kashmir morning of 6th March 2018 came with a mode of tenebrous wave of loss, disfigured demon of barbarism, unprecedented sadness, an avalanche of trauma, a popular mentality of panic, a reminder of the Indian meticulously construction of violence, invincible scars and a train of agony.
Yet again we lost six human lives to this gloomy state sponsored violence which is being perpetuated ceaselessly for decades now. For me, this is the scariest moment I ever passed through. Yes this time, the violence claimed the life of my chum and a real champ we had in our crew. Amir Malik, who took up arms some months ago was my classmate cum friend in Kashmir University’s History Department. He was not just a classmate but a bosom friend, a brave chivalrous chum of mine with whom I had a resonance as if we had consanguinity by blood. He was a compulsive reader, a greedy book- hoarder. Amir, Irshad, Shabnam and myself would frequently sit and discuss ‘KASHMIR’. Not only Kashmir, topics like medieval architecture, colonialism and rise of Hindu troglodyte in India would engage us very often and in the process, we would sometimes agree or even disagree.
Amir was a good human being and the most gentle guy among us all. One could see him emotionally drained on the death of any militant or a civilian in Kashmir. He would not hesitate in speaking truth (like most of us here do as students due to fear of getting persecuted) and proved his vivacious character when he took up arms like ‘HERCULES’. Without any military training or assistance, he left us to challenge a sophisticated, well trained military might, whose numbers extend far & wide making this place the highest militarised zone of the world. This budding historian of ours created a history of his own. The rationalists might call it suicidal on his part but it is bravery redefined; beyond the scope of book that rationalists read, beyond the comprehension of the so called intellectuals.
However, it should not be presumed from here that he had an extremist bent of mindset. If that would have been the case, why would he even join a university and read a subject as dry as history? His decision was against the occupation of Indian state. The same state which is habitual of throwing away the blame far on the other side of the border. Indian media would harm his emotions; the cacophony of obscurantists’ propaganda would destabilize his psyche. Amir had a real solicitude for Kashmir and he ultimately gave his life for us. As we know in its intransigence over Kashmir, the Indian state has among other things waged a narrative war, in which it tells itself and its citizens via servile media that there is no dispute, that is an internal, matter –and all troubles are formented by ‘jihadis’ from pakistain. This gives the state easy demons to portray and then slay. Get killed or remain silent are the official buzzwords to the Kashmiri youth, how long will it continue? How long will they incriminate us of terrorists? How long will they disentitle our basic civil rights? How long we have to face this monster macabre of coercion.
Nevertheless, people like Amir will always enlighten this resistance by their sacrosanct blood. He possessed a spirit of hard work and lived a pious life, had a good hold on Islamic knowledge. He would think of every legislator of Kashmir as an avaricious person and facilitators of colonial culture. Amir was hopeful of Kashmir’s freedom, and believed that disunity, hostility and malignity among Kashmiris within would lead us nowhere. He did not hesitate in calling pro Indian politicians in Kashmir as spiteful serpents and fiendish. This became ultimate reason of his picking up the gun against oppression.
Amir’s death stabbed my mind the way BURHAN’S stabbed whole Kashmir. It left me like a “living corpse”, distraught with tremendous shock. Amir had a different interpretation of life, ‘live like a lion or do not tie yourself in a praxis of world.’ I salute your vigor and vitality, friend. When I heard about your martyrdom, I fell on my knees and cried and cried. All I want to do is hug you and laugh with you. We love you, miss you but I know that you are in heaven looking over all of us. I cannot wait until I get to see you again, I will see you again. Your death reminds me of Rumi’s popular poem, “WHEN I DIE.”
‘When my coffin is being taken out
You must never think
I am missing this world
Don’t shed any tears
Don’t lament or feel sorry
I am not falling into a monsters abyss,
When you see my corpse is being carried out
Don’t cry for my leaving,
I am not leaving I am arriving at eternal love.
The love Amir has cultivated in us for him . Rest in power .
Author studies in University of Kashmir and can be mailed at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Disclaimer: Views expressed are exclusively personal and do not necessarily reflect the position or editorial policy of Oracle Opinions.