Year 1991 (Srinagar, Jammu and Kashmir): Militants came to attack a BSF camp housed inside the premises of a Hindu temple in one of the localities of Srinagar. Before attacking, gunmen asked civilians around to leave for safer places. After most of the shopkeepers and shoppers left the place, militants struck the BSF picket with awe. A gunfight ensued for 15 minutes. A few BSF men sustained gunshot wounds. Militants made good their escape in the melee.
Nearby in the neighbourhood, a few local boys were playing cricket in an open field. During the 15-minute gunfight, the boys had taken cover behind a garbage dumper which was placed on the edge of the field. The boys were perhaps taken unawares by the sudden gunfight. No one had informed them about the impending gunfight.
As soon as the boys understood that the gunfight had ended, they started running towards their homes. As the boys ran towards the main road, they found a posse of BSF men running towards them. The boys got alarmed. They slipped into an alley nearby. On both sides of that alley, houses belonged mostly to Kashmiri Pandits. It was a highly congested place.
Some of the boys ran faster and crossed the alley into the other side of the area. They entered into a safer zone. But two of the boys were not that fast. They lagged behind and hence preferred to take shelter inside a Pandit house. Once they entered the Pandit house, Motilal, the house owner, asked them about the reason for trespassing into his house.
The boys said, “Uncle, the military is running after us. They are angry over the firing by Mujahids.” Motilal quickly took them inside and hid them in the storeroom.
BSF men came knocking on the door of Motilal. The door was opened, and a short conversation took place between Motilal and the BSF men. Soon after, the BSF men entered the house, and they went towards the storeroom. They broke open the door and pumped dozens of bullets into all directions in the room.
The boys’ screams became louder and louder till screams turned into sobs. There were weeping cries, “Mummy”. Then an eerie silence prevailed. Tanveer and Aadil lay drenched in the pool of blood. They were dead, with bullet holes on all parts of their bodies. Two more lads of Kashmir had fallen.
They were laid to rest in a graveyard reserved only for the martyrs. Their parents were distraught. The whole locality went into mourning, and sobbing mothers wept their tears dry.
Motilal left the area soon after along with his whole family. He was not blamed for anything by anyone. He just migrated to Jammu out of fear.
Year 2000: Someone informed the people of that neighbourhood that Motilal was suffering from the last stages of cancer and was admitted to a tertiary care hospital in Delhi. Keeping in view his reputation in the neighbourhood, two of his old neighbours from the area decided to leave for Delhi to enquire about his health. They wanted to give him some moments of joy.
Abdul Majeed and Nazir Ahmed reached Delhi and straight away took a Taxi to Apollo Hospital. Abdul Majeed is the father of Tanveer and Nazir Ahmed, uncle of Aadil. They were greeted by Bansilal, brother of Motilal, at the entrance of the hospital. They both had been in touch with Bansilal over the telephone.
Both of them were taken to the ICU where Motilal was admitted. He was bearing excruciating cancer pain. Painkillers were not effective on him anymore. Motilal recognised Abdul Majeed straightaway. He said, “Budyomut chukh” (you have grown old). Majeed said, “Don’t talk much; I am here to see you. Inshaallah, you will get well soon.”
Motilal wept profusely. He kept on saying, “Mya diyee zi maefee. Dayaa karzi me peth” (Forgive me, have mercy on me). Abdul Majeed replied, “You did nothing wrong; it was fate that my lad got killed in your house”.
Motilal took a long breath and, in a sobbing voice, said, “Your boy was killed because of me. It was I who told BSF men that boys had taken shelter in my house. I got them killed. Please forgive me so that I could die peacefully.”
Abdul Majeed, “Ah! Why did you tell me this? Earlier it was my son who got killed; now you have pierced my soul.”
With shaken trust, both of them returned. The martyrs’ graveyard has been populated manifold since those boys entered it. Every martyr there has a story of broken trust to tell.
Not every Motilal confesses on the deathbed. Most of them die with burdens of guilt hanging over their necks forever. In the hereafter, they shall be made to confess, but then it will be all meaningless.
Note: The author, Gazanfar, has used imaginary names of people in the write-up.
