It was cold winter dawn. The gusty winds with a pinch of lyrical tone were blowing piercing through lifeless trees. The sun had hidden in the sky beyond the dark clouds. A soft voice erupted from a mud house with a cracked roof located on the outskirts of Pahalgam. Pahalgam is a serene tourist place in Kashmir attracting tourists from all over the world. The house had grown sycamore on the mud walls from outside. It was Usman asking for a glass of water. Some years back during the grazing of his sheep on the mountains, he was trampled by a rolling stone. His left leg was amputated. His ribs were shattered. Doctors had brought him back from the clutches of death. Still, he is working very hard. He needed water. His throat has dried up. His cries grew shriller.
Jameela, the wife of Usman who had gone to fetch water from the nearby stream heard the screams.
“I am coming, have some patience” Jameela shouted back
She had Kashmiri Katriu Naout (Pot made of clay) full of water laded on her head. Her breaths were generating rings of smoke due to the strong intensity of cold. She came running towards the house. Suddenly, aggressive pain engulfed her head. Her pot fell and broke into pieces. She fainted with a bang. Everything seemed to freeze. She was silent. The pain accelerated in her head. Her vision trampled. She felt her head would explode. She was dying. Her blood vessels in the head were blocked. She could not feel anything. Everything was misty. Usman was screaming for a glass of water. Her eyes were closed. She was whispering “Usman needs water”. She was calm. She had a stroke.
She was lying outside the mud house with few soft breaths and nothing else. The cruel thirst compelled Usman to get up with the help of an old wretched stick. Unaware of the tragedy, he looked for Jameela. He found her lying on the ground, dead or alive he was not sure. The water inside the pot had accumulated on the grass of the meadows. He forgot about the water. With great courage, he dragged Jameela inside the mud house. He made her motionless body lying on the fractured bed. He tried to collect water from the ground in a small vessel. He put little water inside her mouth. She was unresponsive. Her eyes were open. She got the attack of paralysis. She was in a coma and literally dead for the outside world. For Jameela, 34, who was full of life and cheerful, it was the beginning of the end.
Usman realized his helplessness. He did every work her wife used to do. He used to cook, clean the utensils and the house. His leg was broken but his determination bloomed. Jameela used to stare her eyes at the dented walls of her house. Her eyes were full of tears. In between Usman started to ignore her. Two battles were being fought amid green pastures. One Jameela was fighting the battle inside her. Another Usman was fighting his own battle of survival. One was dead, the other was half dead.
Jameela regained consciousness, but she was unable to express her liveliness. Her spirit and energy were deaf and dumb. Her body was static. She was speechless, but she was alive. Usman did not notice. No one noticed. She was quiet. She had no way to let anyone know that she was there, inside. She was aware, but she was chained, locked in. She was buried alive. She laid on the wooden bed full of scratches like bruises on her soul. She could see, hear, feel, taste, smell, understand, remember, and think. She ached with deep emotions. But she was helpless. She tried hard to communicate with her husband. She could move her head and eyes ever so slightly, but her movements were barely perceptible. She could cry, even scream from inside. The volcano of emotions in her heart refused to erupt. Her heart was pumping the blood.
Usman and Jameela were married a few years back. But they had no child yet. They had prayed for a child for a long. They had even visited many shrines for a child. But the prayers remained unanswered. Jameela had a nomadic family. She had met Usman during the grazing of her sheep. Even he was walking with only one leg; she fell for his honesty and hard work. They decided to spend their life with each other, forever.
Her father, Rajab, was very conservative. He had many herds of sheep. He was strict and full of rage. He was against love marriages. After Jameela had expressed her desire to marry Usman to her father, He was very angry. He left with only two options either abandon the idea or live her life on her own. Above all, he did not want to leave her daughter at the mercy of the man who even could not walk well. She chose Usman. Her family left her. They were living happily until life took the ugly turns.
Days passed. Months passed. Years passed. The soul of Jameela was on fire. She was valiant. She was angry. No one listened to her. No one was talking to her. She could dream. She could listen. She had emotions. But with time her anger condensed into hopelessness. She was dead outside. Inside she was blazing. She was roaring. She wanted to kill herself. The tragedy was she could not even kill herself. Every hour, every minute, every second, and every day, she fought wars inside her. She lost herself. She was tormented between the revulsion of the night and the light of the day. She was dead, but she was struggling. Her existence vanished. She wanted to live. Usman was lost in his own world. He has forgotten about everything, even her wife. Her essence was ripped apart.
It rained heavily at night. Her eyes were sparkling in the monstrous darkness. The sky was crying, so were the lachrymal glands of Jameela. It rained pain. The drops of tears were flowing from the eyes of Jameela to her cheeks and dying on her chin. The rain and the tears burst out endlessly till the morning sunshine pierced the roof of the mud house.
She has become a dead poet and singer. She is singing the songs of Habba Khatoon and Lal Ded. She has started to write poetry on every vessel of her heart and every atom of her soul. Solitude has given birth to a writer inside her. Melancholy has encrypted a feeling in her. She has found peace in a piece of silence. The words were crawling in every dying breath. There is a rebel in her. She revolted against the outside world. She has written the words that are visible in her eyes.
A soul is dying,
A poet has born,
Singing the songs of pain
A war is being waged
On the wretched heart,
In the meadows of Paradise,
Beyond the mighty mountains
Between hell and the heaven
I am alive,
But I am the dead
10 years passed. A tourist visits Pahalgam. He is thrilled by the breathtaking tranquil beauty of the paradise. He decides to go for tracking to the higher reaches of the place. He walks through the mighty deodar trees along with Qasim. Qasim is a young tourist guide. He was an orphan. His father had died due to a fatal accident at his workplace when he was a child. One year later, his mother also left for the heavenly abode. He has lived a tough life. Destiny has been very harsh on him. He had to give up his studies and work for his livelihood. Someone had advised him to learn the art of tourist guidance. They reached the mud house. Surprisingly, the old mud house attracted the attention of the tourist. He felt curious. Usman is grazing his cattle outside. He walks to the Usman and greets him in English.
“Hi, how are you? Asked the tourist in a soft tune
Usman could not understand anything. Qasim translates the greeting to Usman. Usman asks the guide to tell him that I am fine.
“I am Dr. Robert from the USA. I am a well-known Doctor in my country”
The guide translates the same to Usman. A lot of tourists had visited the mud house during these 10 years, only for photo ops. No one ever asked about Jameela. No one cared about it. But this one looked special. He was a doctor. His melted hope seemed to be reinstated. As soon as he heard the word doctor, Usman unfolded the entire story. His eyes were full of tears. The wrinkles on his forehead were trying to evaporate. The doctor came inside the house and checked Jameela. He was surprised. She has been strong for a long 10 years.
“She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t feel. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t move. She is a dead body.” Usman expresses his desperation
Robert discovered her. She is alive. She has survived and defeated death. She needs to be motivated and convinced that she is there. She is breathing and has not surrendered herself to death. Her world is dark. A ray of sunshine needs to be infused. Her willpower has done wonders. Her life is full of miracles.
Robert decides to stay with them for some days and bring her back. He is providing her with medical therapies. She is being exposed to greenery, nature, the serene mountains, the morning breeze, the sunrise, and the sunset. The singing of the birds and the voice of falling water is decoding her sparkling and lively side. Robert is reading the inspirations from literature in front of her aloud. He narrates the lines from A.A MILNE’S WHEN WE WERE VERY YOUNG.
“She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
"Winter is dead.”
The doctor installed courage in her. She was responding and recovering. She could move her eyes. She was expressing herself by moving her hands. She could express herself. Nature has become her best friend. Usman was feeling the change. He saw a marvel in the form of a doctor.
Qasim, who was accompanying the doctor, was feeling a strange empathy for Usman and Jameela. He felt like home. He did a lot of work Usman used to do. He used to sit beside Jameela for hours. He saw his mother in Jameela. He wanted to be a good son for them. He always dreamed to live with a father and a mother. Qasim was ready to be with them. He expressed his wish to Jameela who still couldn’t move her body. Jameela’s eye blinked with a drop of tear in her eyes. She was happy. She was smiling. It was a surprise for Usman and the doctor who was watching the entire scene. It was a moment of miracle. Both Jameela and Usman were crying. This was the day they had spent days and nights on the corridors of Shrines. God had listened to their prayers. In the torment, they had found the missing piece.
“My job is over. I am going back to my country. Now it is your turn to keep the flame of liveliness ignited. You have to let the world know that you exist. You have to feel your presence. People should know that there is a combatant somewhere in the lap of nature. You can do it. Why not? After all, you have been doing so for a decade now. You are a warrior. You have won the final war.,” The doctor said to Jameela inflating her determination.
Qasim continued to serve them tirelessly. He made their lives cheerful. Jameela could watch his face and smile. Her soul was being healed. He was a healer of wounds. He did more than their child had done for them. They have got a pearl. He was their world now. Their existence was complete.
A poem was echoing inside the brain of Jameela. The first time she could hold a pen and paper, Qasim had kept beside her long back. She tried to write. She could write. Actually, she wrote:
I fought a battle,
I Struggled,
My hopelessness transformed into a mutiny,
My tragedy twisted into a mystery,
My affliction carved the source of my power,
I defeated death,
My fears diverged,
My passion converged,
Spring has arrived,
In the meadows,
And in the gardens of my soul,
My resilience repaired my bruised fortitude,
I recreated my existence,
I have found myself,
I have got the unexpected
I am the conqueror,
I am “UNBROKEN”
Jameela, the wife of Usman who had gone to fetch water from the nearby stream heard the screams.
“I am coming, have some patience” Jameela shouted back
She had Kashmiri Katriu Naout (Pot made of clay) full of water laded on her head. Her breaths were generating rings of smoke due to the strong intensity of cold. She came running towards the house. Suddenly, aggressive pain engulfed her head. Her pot fell and broke into pieces. She fainted with a bang. Everything seemed to freeze. She was silent. The pain accelerated in her head. Her vision trampled. She felt her head would explode. She was dying. Her blood vessels in the head were blocked. She could not feel anything. Everything was misty. Usman was screaming for a glass of water. Her eyes were closed. She was whispering “Usman needs water”. She was calm. She had a stroke.
She was lying outside the mud house with few soft breaths and nothing else. The cruel thirst compelled Usman to get up with the help of an old wretched stick. Unaware of the tragedy, he looked for Jameela. He found her lying on the ground, dead or alive he was not sure. The water inside the pot had accumulated on the grass of the meadows. He forgot about the water. With great courage, he dragged Jameela inside the mud house. He made her motionless body lying on the fractured bed. He tried to collect water from the ground in a small vessel. He put little water inside her mouth. She was unresponsive. Her eyes were open. She got the attack of paralysis. She was in a coma and literally dead for the outside world. For Jameela, 34, who was full of life and cheerful, it was the beginning of the end.
Usman realized his helplessness. He did every work her wife used to do. He used to cook, clean the utensils and the house. His leg was broken but his determination bloomed. Jameela used to stare her eyes at the dented walls of her house. Her eyes were full of tears. In between Usman started to ignore her. Two battles were being fought amid green pastures. One Jameela was fighting the battle inside her. Another Usman was fighting his own battle of survival. One was dead, the other was half dead.
Jameela regained consciousness, but she was unable to express her liveliness. Her spirit and energy were deaf and dumb. Her body was static. She was speechless, but she was alive. Usman did not notice. No one noticed. She was quiet. She had no way to let anyone know that she was there, inside. She was aware, but she was chained, locked in. She was buried alive. She laid on the wooden bed full of scratches like bruises on her soul. She could see, hear, feel, taste, smell, understand, remember, and think. She ached with deep emotions. But she was helpless. She tried hard to communicate with her husband. She could move her head and eyes ever so slightly, but her movements were barely perceptible. She could cry, even scream from inside. The volcano of emotions in her heart refused to erupt. Her heart was pumping the blood.
Usman and Jameela were married a few years back. But they had no child yet. They had prayed for a child for a long. They had even visited many shrines for a child. But the prayers remained unanswered. Jameela had a nomadic family. She had met Usman during the grazing of her sheep. Even he was walking with only one leg; she fell for his honesty and hard work. They decided to spend their life with each other, forever.
Her father, Rajab, was very conservative. He had many herds of sheep. He was strict and full of rage. He was against love marriages. After Jameela had expressed her desire to marry Usman to her father, He was very angry. He left with only two options either abandon the idea or live her life on her own. Above all, he did not want to leave her daughter at the mercy of the man who even could not walk well. She chose Usman. Her family left her. They were living happily until life took the ugly turns.
Days passed. Months passed. Years passed. The soul of Jameela was on fire. She was valiant. She was angry. No one listened to her. No one was talking to her. She could dream. She could listen. She had emotions. But with time her anger condensed into hopelessness. She was dead outside. Inside she was blazing. She was roaring. She wanted to kill herself. The tragedy was she could not even kill herself. Every hour, every minute, every second, and every day, she fought wars inside her. She lost herself. She was tormented between the revulsion of the night and the light of the day. She was dead, but she was struggling. Her existence vanished. She wanted to live. Usman was lost in his own world. He has forgotten about everything, even her wife. Her essence was ripped apart.
It rained heavily at night. Her eyes were sparkling in the monstrous darkness. The sky was crying, so were the lachrymal glands of Jameela. It rained pain. The drops of tears were flowing from the eyes of Jameela to her cheeks and dying on her chin. The rain and the tears burst out endlessly till the morning sunshine pierced the roof of the mud house.
She has become a dead poet and singer. She is singing the songs of Habba Khatoon and Lal Ded. She has started to write poetry on every vessel of her heart and every atom of her soul. Solitude has given birth to a writer inside her. Melancholy has encrypted a feeling in her. She has found peace in a piece of silence. The words were crawling in every dying breath. There is a rebel in her. She revolted against the outside world. She has written the words that are visible in her eyes.
A soul is dying,
A poet has born,
Singing the songs of pain
A war is being waged
On the wretched heart,
In the meadows of Paradise,
Beyond the mighty mountains
Between hell and the heaven
I am alive,
But I am the dead
10 years passed. A tourist visits Pahalgam. He is thrilled by the breathtaking tranquil beauty of the paradise. He decides to go for tracking to the higher reaches of the place. He walks through the mighty deodar trees along with Qasim. Qasim is a young tourist guide. He was an orphan. His father had died due to a fatal accident at his workplace when he was a child. One year later, his mother also left for the heavenly abode. He has lived a tough life. Destiny has been very harsh on him. He had to give up his studies and work for his livelihood. Someone had advised him to learn the art of tourist guidance. They reached the mud house. Surprisingly, the old mud house attracted the attention of the tourist. He felt curious. Usman is grazing his cattle outside. He walks to the Usman and greets him in English.
“Hi, how are you? Asked the tourist in a soft tune
Usman could not understand anything. Qasim translates the greeting to Usman. Usman asks the guide to tell him that I am fine.
“I am Dr. Robert from the USA. I am a well-known Doctor in my country”
The guide translates the same to Usman. A lot of tourists had visited the mud house during these 10 years, only for photo ops. No one ever asked about Jameela. No one cared about it. But this one looked special. He was a doctor. His melted hope seemed to be reinstated. As soon as he heard the word doctor, Usman unfolded the entire story. His eyes were full of tears. The wrinkles on his forehead were trying to evaporate. The doctor came inside the house and checked Jameela. He was surprised. She has been strong for a long 10 years.
“She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t feel. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t move. She is a dead body.” Usman expresses his desperation
Robert discovered her. She is alive. She has survived and defeated death. She needs to be motivated and convinced that she is there. She is breathing and has not surrendered herself to death. Her world is dark. A ray of sunshine needs to be infused. Her willpower has done wonders. Her life is full of miracles.
Robert decides to stay with them for some days and bring her back. He is providing her with medical therapies. She is being exposed to greenery, nature, the serene mountains, the morning breeze, the sunrise, and the sunset. The singing of the birds and the voice of falling water is decoding her sparkling and lively side. Robert is reading the inspirations from literature in front of her aloud. He narrates the lines from A.A MILNE’S WHEN WE WERE VERY YOUNG.
“She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
"Winter is dead.”
The doctor installed courage in her. She was responding and recovering. She could move her eyes. She was expressing herself by moving her hands. She could express herself. Nature has become her best friend. Usman was feeling the change. He saw a marvel in the form of a doctor.
Qasim, who was accompanying the doctor, was feeling a strange empathy for Usman and Jameela. He felt like home. He did a lot of work Usman used to do. He used to sit beside Jameela for hours. He saw his mother in Jameela. He wanted to be a good son for them. He always dreamed to live with a father and a mother. Qasim was ready to be with them. He expressed his wish to Jameela who still couldn’t move her body. Jameela’s eye blinked with a drop of tear in her eyes. She was happy. She was smiling. It was a surprise for Usman and the doctor who was watching the entire scene. It was a moment of miracle. Both Jameela and Usman were crying. This was the day they had spent days and nights on the corridors of Shrines. God had listened to their prayers. In the torment, they had found the missing piece.
“My job is over. I am going back to my country. Now it is your turn to keep the flame of liveliness ignited. You have to let the world know that you exist. You have to feel your presence. People should know that there is a combatant somewhere in the lap of nature. You can do it. Why not? After all, you have been doing so for a decade now. You are a warrior. You have won the final war.,” The doctor said to Jameela inflating her determination.
Qasim continued to serve them tirelessly. He made their lives cheerful. Jameela could watch his face and smile. Her soul was being healed. He was a healer of wounds. He did more than their child had done for them. They have got a pearl. He was their world now. Their existence was complete.
A poem was echoing inside the brain of Jameela. The first time she could hold a pen and paper, Qasim had kept beside her long back. She tried to write. She could write. Actually, she wrote:
I fought a battle,
I Struggled,
My hopelessness transformed into a mutiny,
My tragedy twisted into a mystery,
My affliction carved the source of my power,
I defeated death,
My fears diverged,
My passion converged,
Spring has arrived,
In the meadows,
And in the gardens of my soul,
My resilience repaired my bruised fortitude,
I recreated my existence,
I have found myself,
I have got the unexpected
I am the conqueror,
I am “UNBROKEN”
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