An Attempt At An Escape

By Shikha Bheda

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrrgGT-YTAc

Far away, a gunshot rang and the wolf that had been howling was reduced to a whimpering prey. Personally, I would have preferred the wolf over the people who had killed it, any day. A burst of crude laughter rang out and everybody around me visibly recoiled. This was the hard truth of Kashmir. Wolves could be tamed but the humans were the monsters.

We had all huddled inside Karishma’s hut like we did every day when the fear became too tangible to face alone. When the men with the heavily applied kohl under their eyes were even more aggressive than usual. Today, however, we had gathered to finally escape the terrors. Today, we had gathered to dare to hope for a better life where safety and protection was not something we prayed for. Today, we had gathered to give a new chance to the babes we held in our arms. At the age of 50, I had a profound wish for my child to not live his life in suppression and die like his elder siblings. Or worse, join the men of the kohl themselves.

The party in the hut trembled and shivered but not for the cold. Kareem was on the verge of tears as I held him in my arms but he was a smart boy. He knew what would happen to his mother if he cried out and we were discovered by the men in the kohl. He had seen too much with his innocent little eyes of eight years.

Next to me Husena continued to chant unintelligible verses in a soft voice that did nothing to ease away my worries but it seemed to work for her babe of nine months. She continued to doze in her blissful state, needless to say she was an object of my envy.

A bruise shown on Husena’s arms, no doubt the courtesy of the men in the kohl when they forced themselves upon her. Abuse was not at all a novelty where we lived. The secret to endure it and escape with our lives was one that was taught to all Kashmiri women at a young age. Don’t fight back. Don’t block their strikes. Suffer through it in silence. No longer.

Today, Kareem’s father had found us a path of redemption for all the sins we might have committed in the past to be born here. He had found someone to transport us over the border. To Pakistan. We could settle far away from the sounds of crossfire and mothers pleading the men in the kohl to spare their children. Husena need no longer fear for her daughter and I for Kareem.

The sweet chirping of a nightingale broke through the oppressive atmosphere.

“The signal,” whispered Husena. She turned her round wide eyes at me. I nodded.

Quietly lifting Kareem, despite the ever present ache lingering in my back, I made my way towards the door and past it. The scuffling of Husena’s skirts behind me was the only indication she was following.

The old well. That was where we were to assemble. I made my way forward not knowing where my destiny lay. I wasn’t even sure if we would be welcome in Pakistan. We once had a neighbor who had gone to settle away in Russia because he was adamant the conditions were the same in Pakistan if not worse. But he was a man. He couldn’t possibly understand what was worse.

My will to fly away from the chains that bound me increased along with my hope of finally being able to have a life of my own. My age didn’t matter, my gender didn’t matter and at that moment I felt I could have done anything if I could walk in the darkness of the cold abandoned streets of Kashmir. That was maybe where my folly lay.

As we reached the fields of the frequent crossfire, I got even more excited for my freedom. I didn’t see where I stepped.

A metallic thang rang out under my feet and Husena stopped abruptly. With Kareem still in my hands I glanced down. The pressure plate that stared back up at me left a sour taste in my mouth. It was a land mine. An explosive. No doubt to dissuade runaways like me from making it very far.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to hurl, I wanted to drown in my tears, but I did not. I dared not move for fear of an explosion. For a couple of seconds Husena and I stared at each other. I gestured to her to take Kareem from my arms, and she obliged with eyes that mirrored my grief.

“Go” I said.

By Shikha Bheda