Why I went to woods?
Khaksar Naqeeb Adnan
This world is the abode of many dreams for people living out here, specially its young generation. They cherish themselves of becoming engineers, doctors, politicians etc. in their future years, but I’m lost myself to a different thought world. I was born in 1992 in the conflict torn Kashmir, where the history of tens of thousands of killings, orphans, widows and half widows are already scripted. My father was arrested and tortured by police (which was a norm in the turbulent 90’s) soon after I was born.
All I witnessed more in my childhood was guns and men in camouflage patrolling the streets. I saw people getting brutalized, harassed, maimed, raped and killed. This was the first experience of the world around me. My maternal uncle happened to be the commander in chief of the rebels. My earliest memory about him is when he was in the Tihar Jail and didn’t return back to his home for the next 10 years.
This and many other things made me change the outlook of my life, impressions about justice, equality and liberty. The scars of conflict had enrooted so much that I remember about conflict more than anything else. I took to the streets to protest peacefully, I was met with forces, I was beaten a countless times. I then chose social media to register my protest, my voice was gagged, and my social accounts were taken down more than 20 times. This made me think of alternative options and choosing the gun was the mere option I saw, as it is seen as a symbol of resistance in the vale.
In the meantime I met, Raheela, an engineer and a poet; who’s rhythmic and metered lines about the heroes of the land mesmerized me deeply. I fell in love and this was probably the best thing that happened to me. I told my parents about it and we were planning to get married but at the same time my mind was messed up with the dilemmas of conflict. In July 2016, the popular militant commander, Burhan Wani was martyred and his martyrdom was followed by widespread protests resulting the death of hundreds of Kashmiris.
This made me think about the conflict more and more to the extent that I ended up being depressed and traumatized. I lost my sleep and if by chance I fell asleep I used to dream about the conflict.
In one cold December night, I had a dream and I dreamt of leaving my home to the woods to join the rebels. I saw Raheeha as my wife and my parents too who were reading the letter which I had left behind.
The text in my letter read as:
“Assalamu alikum wa rahmatullah
Dear Amie jaan And Abu ji!
I don’t know how to begin this letter as my heart goes through severe pain and anguish. My heart bleeds out for my brethren who are being subjected to torture every now and then by the oppressors.
Amie and Abu ji, the martyrs of my land are calling me; my sisters, Asiya and Nelofar, are complaining; they are crying for justice and I can’t just sit here idle. Like you Amie, there are women in Kunanposhpora who are fighting for themselves for their dignity. I want to bring justice to my brothers and sisters and justice lies in teaching oppressors a lesson in the language they understand better.
Amie and Abu, I feel impotent when I see those little children of my nation being killed mercilessly. I owe my motherland a lot; I owe my brothers a lot who sacrificed their lives for you and me. I want to live a dignified life and for me dignity is not being a slave of killers of thousands of Kashmiris. The degrees and certificates I possess, what value these things have when I can’t bring freedom to my nation!
I am going; I am leaving to join my brothers in their struggle. I find peace in martyrdom rather than sitting at home or being their slave.
Yeh lahoo Karwaan, Karwaan Jayega; Yeh lahoo Gulistaan, Gulistaan Jayega.
Amie and Abu, I know you will cry for me; I know you will miss me, but my dearest mother, there are hundreds of mothers in Kashmir whose tormented wails and cries don’t let me sleep at night when I think of them. I feel ashamed when I ask them about the whereabouts of their beloved ones. I can’t escape from my pain when I think of little brothers being arrested and tortured and killed!
You people always narrated me the stories of freedom fighters in my childhood and I kept dreaming my future with them. Yeah, martyrs are calling me! My pride is to see myself one of them, fighting against the oppressors. It is not easy I know but my will and strong determination will prove it someday.
I don’t want to sit and take the pleasures out of the riches and luxuries. I want to quench my thirst either by the freedom of my oppressed nation or martyrdom. Amie and Abu, how will I face my brothers on the day of Judgment when they ask me what I had done after their martyrdom? Shall I answer them that I was surfing internet, using Facebook and so on for my individual entertainment without caring for the oppressed ones?
Amie and Abu, you are my brave parents. Please allow me and have the courage to welcome my body wrapped in a shroud smeared with my warm-blood, because I have chosen my path and I promise you that one day you will be proud of me, Insha Allah!
Thanks for raising me the way you did. I love you both from the core of my heart! You both have taught me to stand against the evil and I hope I won’t let you down, Insha Allah. You raised me to be strong and capable; your love for me is immeasurable and I know I can’t repay anything and it’s your teaching that has made me realize my duty towards my occupied nation. I hope you will feel proud of my decision and take care of yourself and be happy for me as I am going to fight in the way of Allah (saw)! Insha Allah will meet you in Jannah
My dear wife, Raheela, you hold a special place in my life, your love changed me completely, you were the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. You need to understand it’s time to do something, something good for my people, you are a brave woman, I believe. You were telling me not to leave but it has become a compulsion now, death is accepted but not the dishonor; you already know that, don’t you?
Since you are pregnant, it was my responsibility to take care of you and my child but fate had different things in the store. I want you to take care of my child, name him Saifullah, which will remind you of me when you miss me, tell him that his father was a brave man who chose life of the lions than that of the sheep. Educate him, teach him the Quran and Sunnah, and raise him to be a good human and a perfect Muslim.
You will always be in my thoughts and prayers, I hope we meet in paradise, as pious lovers. I love you a lot.
Khaksar Naqeeb Adnan.”
Note: (The writing is fictitious and has no connection with any real event).
Author is a lawyer by profession and he 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.