Death in Neighbour’s courtyard

Death in Neighbour’s courtyard

The sun was shining bright, snowcapped mountains in the background beautified North Kashmir’s hamlet on a beautiful day of spring, tinge green of grass and freshness of the cool breeze forced me to place myself near the window of my room; wherefrom I could easily get a much clearer view of a small hamlet and have a close view of my neighbour’s courtyard while having a cup of tea.

On a beautiful morning of Friday, I saw Huma a college girl; my neighbour holding a bucket filled with water in her left hand, talking to her 29 year-old neighbour Aamina who was having her 20-days-old baby in her lap and feeding him milk while singing lullaby.

Huma walked to Aamina through the backdoor and asked for her son’s name, Aamina smiled and said, “I’ll name him after Curfew; as the baby was born in 2010 unrest in Vale.” Huma laughed for awhile and replied, “Name him as Azaad (Free), as we are fighting for it.”

The clanking of utensils, birds chirping, animals grazing, children playing, elders planning, morning breeze passes away—making the trees to bow down before Aamina. She gave a smirk after a brief pause to Huma, and said his father will arrive by this evening we both will decide his name I will let you know whether he’s going to be Azaad, Curfew or something else—as she was totally unaware what would happen to the gardener of garden who looked after it, but it’s all destined. No remains hidden for nothing.

It was unlike the other days, I myself named the baby after Awaaz (voice), and he started crying even after milk-feeding by her mother. Aamina—very lean, with her eyes swollen, was having a scar on her hand- holding a toy spinning it till her baby fall asleep.

It was afternoon of the same day (Friday) in a poverty-stricken hamlet, weather turned gloomy, and puffs of clouds hung over, sun shied from clouds and sets behind black clouds in a weakest way.

The darkness consumed the whole hamlet; it was unlike other past spring seasons. I heard Awaaz weeping continuously I felt something bad is going to happen—I yelled where is my Pheran (a traditional cloak) I left it down on floor, after seeing everyone running here and there—I understood another innocent was killed by the oppressor, hamlet wailed, I saw women mourning. Awaaz’s mother fainted and amid sobs Awaaz burst into tears he kept weeping—blood-curdling scenes from my neighbour’s courtyard smudged my eyes -- tears burst, God poured rains from the above.

Autumn hits in spring evening of Awaaz’s courtyard, amid rains and sobs, through the window of my room I felt paralyzed—saw men carrying the coffin on their shoulders, with having their clothes drenched they put the coffin on the wall of courtyard.

A teen girl in wailing crowd beating her chest and pulling her hair walked towards coffin, she slipped, recovered and found herself very close to coffin. She closed her eyes and opened the coffin girl found only Bashir lying in it; husband of Aamina and the father of Awaaz whom he won’t hear anymore nor would Awaaz.

His body was pierced by unnamed bullets of the oppressor. He was lying dead in coffin; he was dead in the window of my room while being at my home I could utterly groan.