Mothers on Air
Aug 28, 2017 · 16 min read

Voices of Mothers from Kashmir, India-2

Safia, lived a comfortable life. She was married to a well to do farmer, and had two daughters. She was happy and content. But her happiness was shortlived and was interrupted by the crisis of the 90s. Her once attentive and responsible husband got involved with people of questionable character. He became irritable and impatient. Gradually the soft spoken, loving husband started turning violent. Arguments in the house increased and then one day he disappeared. The police started harassing her, but Safia had no answers as she herself did not know anything of his whereabouts. The police finally got tired and left her to her own sorrow.

In those times, militancy was on the rise. One night when she was with her two young daughters in the house, two terrorists forcefully entered her house, somehow she managed to hide her girls. They demanded food and a place to sleep. She recognised one of the boys but didn’t say a word. Safia served them food, and somehow managed to escape. That very night an encounter took place. Both the boys were killed. She lived with the trauma for days, wondering if she could have saved them and prevented this unnecessary loss of precious young lives. Safia shares her thoughts of the role of mothers in protecting their children from radical ideologies.

Transliteration is as follows:

Disclaimer: You are listening to the programme: Initiating Peace-Mothers’ Voices

SMART is not responsible for any difference of opinion and arguments arising out of the opinions, thoughts or ideas expressed in this programme. Some names have been changed to protect the identity of people.

This programme is a compilation of the personal experiences of mothers. This is an effort to strengthen their desire for peace. Mothers in conflict areas get the most affected, families are broken and dispersed and many homes becomes desolate. Even avenues to raise one’s voice are very limited. SMART has provided a platform for mothers’ voices to reach out, so that they can share their feeling of oppression.

Programme- Initiating Peace- Mothers’ voice’s is a humble effort. In this programme, stories of mothers in India and Pakistan have been included. Distinct from the politics of both countries, the programme is presented from the viewpoint of a mother. This is the 30 episode of the series.

Anchor

The beautiful village in Bandipur district in Jammu and Kashmir was like a fold in the Himalayan valley. We reached there in the afternoon. Winter was at its peak and the trees were covered in a blanket of snow. All we could hear was the wind howling . We somehow mustered enough courage to knock gently on the door and ask, if it was Safiya’s house? She asked who were and upon hearing that we had come from Delhi to meet her, she smiled and let us in.

None can match the warmth of Kashmiris in welcoming guests. The y can make you feel at home very quickly. Once they trust you, they open up, revealing layer upon layer of their thoughts. We wanted to know about Safiya’s life, especially her childhood. Safiya’s eyes filled with tears of joy and her memories began to flow.

Safiya

We had a large house, right at the end of the village, close to the river. I used to live there with my brothers and sisters. My father had a long beard and he was foul tempered. As soon as he came home, we would pretend to be busy with our work. We used to be scared to go near him. The moment he left, we would start playing the fool- who ever listened to mother? My mother was a simpleton, but she made awesome food. We had to fetch water from the well. I used to go alone, without a fear or care in the world. Then one day, I heard about my impending wedding. I learnt that my father had fixed my wedding. No one even asked me. The girls in the village started teasing me. I did not even know what marriage was all about. I was hardly 13–14 years old at the time. All I knew about a wedding was that one got to eat dry dates, crunchy and sweet. And then a biryani feast followedin the evening. My older sister had come to help my mother with wedding arrangements. Preparations were in full swing at home. Salma brought a bright red sequined suit for me. The wedding procession came and sounds of drums filled the air. I was married under the guidance of the Maulvi . As per the custom, I saw my bridegroom’s face in the mirror and he saw me. After that I felt terribly shy and closed my eyes.

Anchor

In Asia, marriage is considered a big deal. The moment a girl is born, people start talking about her wedding. The whole family, village even, takes it upon themselves to find her a groom. As though there will be a calamity and heavens will fall if a girl did not get married. Safiya also got married. She set about on her journey from her father’s house to her in-laws place. Those were golden days full of sweet dreams and soon Safiya became a mother of two lovely daughters. But it was like someone cast an evil eye on this family.

Safiya

My husband owned a small plot of agricultural land. We used to grow paddy, potatoes and mustard. Slowly, my husband’s behaviour underwent a peculiar change. He began losing interest in farming. All day he would roam about the village and play cards with the jobless. Sometimes I would fight with him and other times, try to reason with love invoking concern aboutto the future of our two girls. But none of this had any effect on him. He simply refused to work. But we had to raise the girls, run the family and needed the money. So I started tending to the field and slog alone all day long, but he didn’t like that either. He would lecture me, find fault with my cooking make silly complaints like there was too much salt, shout and yell at me and also accuse me of having affairs with other men. I would cry, sob, plead my innocence, but it was like he was possessed. He would abuse my parents too. I kept tolerating him and that only emboldened him further. He made my life intolerable- slogging in the fields all day, then cooking and cleaning chores, looking after the daughters and top of that, hear abuses from this useless fellow. Life had become hell and I would pray for my death. Then, I would look at innocent faces of my girls and want to live for them, their wellbeing. I began to feel that it was time to take a decision, otherwise we would all suffocate to death. Then one day, he just disappeared, as if god resolved the matter for me. People said that he had crossed over the border to the other side. I was let alone with my daughters. But the police started coming to my house every day for information about him. But what could I tell them, my husband never contacted me. Finally both sides tired of this routine and they stopped.

Anchor

Life for a single woman is never easy in a feudal and patriarchal society. Moreover, it was a question of earning a livelihood. A childhood skill came to her aid and Safiya started embroidering shawls. Her daughters also began schooling. Life became a little easier. This is how Safiya remembers that time.

Safiya

The situation in Kashmir was good. A lot of tourists used to come and many would take back gorgeously embroidered shawls when they returned. We were on a roll and life came back on track. The atmosphere in the village was also happy. People used to roam around freely in the evenings, participate in wedding feasts, go into town to get their provisions and bring back all news. I would work hard, cook food that the girls enjoyed, look at their faces and firm up my resolve to live. I did want to forget the past, but it was rather difficult. I still remember that night, when I was called to identify my husband’s body. Although we had not met for many years, I was overwrought with emotion on seeing his bullet ridden body. Somehow I gathered the courage to return home. Even to this day, I have not told my daughters that their father was a terrorist.

Anchor

It was the nineties and the atmosphere started becoming poisonous. Generally speaking, the Kashmiri brand of Islam generally was influenced by sufi thinking and played out as a religion of love, peace and brotherhood. The majority Muslims and the Hindus in minority used to live together in hamlets, villages and towns, participate in each other’s festivals, celebrations and weddings. But now, people started to get divided along religious lines. Terrorists from across the Pakistani border began entering Kashmir, Indian security forces began countering them and the atmosphere in the valley heated up. Many secular Muslim leaders were slain. Kashmiri Pandits began to flee the valley to camps setup in Jammu and Delhi. The entire secular structure of the valley was destroyed. The number of tourists started falling. All markets would shut at sundown and people would stay put in their homes. Separatists would call for bandh and the government would declare a curfew. Day by day, the situation in the valley worsened.

Safiya

It was really a bad time, especially frightening for a single mother like me. Because of the bandhs, children lost out on education as schools would be locked most of the time. The children in the village would be cooped up indoors. People’s oncomes started falling. I was in a bad shape. Hardly any embroidery work came my way. There was no demand for Kashmiri shawls in the cities. The youth had it worse. Schools and colleges were shut and there was no work. If they went alone anywhere, they would be apprehended. And meeting in groups of even four was prohibited. All day they would be plotting mischief, like the proverbial devil’s workshop of idle minds. Unemployment would spur all kind ofunrealistic talks and dreams. They would plot revenge, talk about killing and dying and getready to wage jiihad.

In the evenings, people would shut themselves in. If someone even knocked on the door, their hearts would come to their mouths. It was like the lord was testing us. During this time, I taught my daughters to embroider, but their hearts were not in it. Our hearts used to be laden with sorrow. It difficult to pass the days. Nights were even more bleak and depressing. We would curse our fates, government and even people and wonder why the lord was meting out this punishment to us.

Anchor

Terrorists would enter the village at night. Heavily armed with Russian Kalashnikov rifles and ammunition and knock on people’s doors. Terrified, people would give them shelter and food. They would demand money and if refused would threaten to kidnap the children. And these was no empty threats either, for they would even carry it out. Safiya also suffered something of this. Her soul shudders even now to think of that event.

Safiya

It was a full moon night. During the day it had snowed, but the sky had cleared up by evening and one could see the stars. The moon was in its splendour and moonlight was streaming in through the ventilators. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. My heart began to beat faster. For a minute I thought I was dreaming and covered my face with my blanket. But this was no dream, it was real and the knocking intensified. And it felt like the door would break. Both my daughters were awake now. I gathered some courage, went to the door and asked who was at the door, so late at night. My fears were confirmed, they were indeed terrorists. They threatened to break the door down. I just froze and my daughters were shivering with fright. I said there are no men in the house. Please take pity on a single women and go back. I pleaded, made lame excuses of misplacing the keys and tried to invoke the fear of god, but to no avail. They kept on banging the door. I somehow got the girls out through the other door and asked them to go to their maternal uncle in the village. They did not want to leave their mother alone and go but I literally pushed them out. I finally opened the door. Two young men entered the house wearing a phiran (cloak). One of them trained a gun on my chest-he wanted to punish me for the delay in opening the door. The other intervened and restrained him. Both of them sat on the bed. They ordered me to bring them food. I was so terrified that I could not even speak. He raised his gun again and threatened me. I went into the kitchen. There was some rice and curry. I got them a plate of food. They just fell upon the food like they hadn’t eaten in days. Then they ordered me to make tea. There was no sugar in the house, so brought them bland tea. Both got angry and cursed me for not honouring guests. Once again they threatened to blow me off. Alone, I was listening to their blabber. It was not like they were guests, just uninvited goons who forced their way in. And in the shadow of terror, under the fear of a gun, I had to wait upon them. But the saving grace was that my daughters were not in the house. They were safe with their uncle. God knows what would have happened had they been home. I shuddered at the terrible thoughts.

By now, both lay down in the centre of the bed. One of the terrorists roared. ‘Don’t mention anything to anyone about us. Where are your daughters? If you open your mouth, your daughters will be in a bad shape’. Then he laughed and said, ‘ Go, don’t just stand here, let us sleep?’. I came back to the other room and sat on the bed. My eyes brimmed with tears, but I could not cry. The screams were stilled in my throat. I was like a prisoner in my own house. I was filled with self-pity and anger butpowerless to act, pitiable like a caged bird. I wanted to cry at my misfortune and lighten my soul. I came out through the back door. I could sense some movement in the bushes. I go scared, wondering who was there. My daughters came running to me, they were actually waiting for me outside , they did not leave me and go. For the sake of their mother, they bore the freezing cold. The three of us walked briskly towards my brother’s house.

Anchor

This is a common occurrence in Kashmir valley. Terrorists would come from across the border. But they had local guides. They would force their way into people’s homes and demand food. They would molest women. Whole villages would live in dread. Safiya shared her ordeal with us.

Saifya

I recognised one out of the two terrorists. One was an orphan from this village who had lost his parents. There was no one in his family and he was all alone. He grew up on the kindness of the villagers and was completely uneducated. A complete vagabond. He would pick up fights with people for no reason at all. God knows how much pent up anger there was in him. He would also get into fights and threaten to blow off people with a gun. He would also get severely beaten up. Some would take pity on him and some abused him. One day, he suddenly vanished from the village. Nobody cared , as there was no one his own, in the village. The other guy was slim-trim and fair, with a light beard andspoke Urdu with facility. He neither seemed to speak nor understand our village dialect. Perhaps he was not our countryman.

Anchor

Safiya left her home and began staying at her brother’s with her daughters. She would go to her place during the day, clean up and by evening leave home. An unknown fear gripped her.

Safiya

It was nearly day break. The sky was bathed in blue and orange light and the sun was about to rise. Suddenly I hear firing, slowly at first and then continuously. I was still in bed and my whole body was shaking. Somehow the terrible hour passed. I came to know that there was a n encounter between the terrorists and the security forces. After sometime, the firing stopped.

It was deathly quiet in the village. By now, the sun rose and its light spread everywhere and cool moist air was blowing. I set out from my brother’s house towards my own. There were two dead bodies in the dust by the road. The police were trying to identify the bodies and photographers were taking pictures. These were the same guys, wearing the same dirty dusty cloaks who had forcefully came into my house last night. I was cold and my legs began to give way. Somehow, I dragged myself home and fell on the bed. That’s all I remember. When I opened my eyes, it was a strange sight. Both my daughters were sitting by me. One was rubbing my hands and the other my feet. My whole body was frozen. Some village women were standing by the bedside. I hiccupped. As soon as I opened my eyes, my daughters became tearful. They hugged me and started crying. Salma, my neighbour said, thank god you are alright.

Anchor

Safiya got a bad fright by seeing the cold dead bodies of the terrorists. Even after she regained consciousness after a while, she was gripped by an unknown fear that she was never able to shake off. Her health started failing her.

Safiya

There was no improvement in my health. It was like my body was drained of energy. I used to have nightmares. I am unable to forget the eyes of those terrorists. Sometimes I would imagine them knocking on my door. Sometimes I feel I could have stopped them. I could have led them towards a decent life. But I did not even try to talk to them. They were so young. I was probably as old as their mother. On those grounds alone, I could have attempted talking with them. Sometimes I am filled with regret that I did not talk to them. Maybe I could have save their life. I ask myself these questions, but have no answers.

My health continued to worsen. I consulted a doctor, who started treatment. My blood pressure was high and my heart was weak. Doctor has prescribed some medicines, which I am taking, but there is no improvement. I sleep less, have lost my appetite and feel weak all the time. Some unknown dread , unknown fear engulfs me.

Anchor

Kashmir valley is in the grip of terror. How will the situation improve? How will happyold days ever return? This is how Safiya looks at it:

Safiya

Who does not desire peace? Everyone desires peace and no one wants to live in the shadow of guns. I am a simple village woman and know nothing about the reasons for this war and these tensions. I just go about my business, earn a little money and come back home. But I know this much, that this war will not benefit us. We have lost everything. Our children have lost their education. The youth have no work, no jobs, nothing to do. I lost my livelihood also to this war. Tourists have also stopped coming here, if no one comes from outside, who will buy our stuff? Our leaders and government have to do something. The people also have to do something. Who has ever benefited from war? Especially, we women are the worst affected. I want to get my daughters married, they are growing up fast. Who will marry them? Where shall I find eligible young men for them?

Anchor

Can something be done for peace? Safiya listens to our question seriously and closes her eyes for a minute, as if she is praying to the almighty for peace. Mostly, young people are participating in this. A child learns many things from its mother. Can a mother teach a child the value of peace? The outcome of terror is always dread. Whenever a terrorist or a security person dies, a whole family dies with him. The parents also are sacrificed at the altar of a hollow future. But why do the youth still participate in terror activities? Safiya thinks for a while and braces herself for an answer.

Safiya

I wonder, why they take part in it. Maybe a lot of young people pick up the guns for money. There is very little employment available here and there are too many people. Very few get proper work. People live in poverty. They are desperate to fulfil even their basic needs. In such a situation, picking up a gun is the easiest thing to do. They get paid for this. The poor are unhappy with the government. They want work and jobs. They are not able to distinguish between good and bad. Right from their childhood, they do not get a proper education or learn to discern between good and evil. People get incited. The situation in the villages is even more dangerous. Children from well to do homes do not get drawn to terrorism. They receive good education, they are sent out to study. They have jobs and money. There is nothing in the villages. Too many restrictions. People always live in dread. I have never seen a wealthy person pickup a gun and become a terrorist. The root cause is poverty. For a little money, a little selfishness. If people were gainfully employed, they will not participate in terror.

Anchor

Safiya is a patient of high blood pressure and a bad heart. On top of that she has the responsibility of two daughters. Life ahead is tough-how does she see her future?

Safiya

It is difficult and I don’t see a way out. When I get very anxious, I go and sit with my neighbours. We exchange notes and I feel lighter. Sometimes, I also visit my relatives. My kids are good kids. This is the result of the good upbringing they have had. They listen to me and take good care for me. They give me my medicines on time, don’t let me do any work around the house. I tell them I’ll get worse by just sitting around doing nothing, but they don’t listen to me. They take my permission before going out. They try not go out alone. I keep a stern eye on them. They are still young and I worry that they may take a wrong step in their immaturity. Times are bad and one never knows what might happen. Whether it’s a son or a daughter, a parent must keep a stern watch over their kids. A mother has a third eye. She can just look at the face of her child and get a sense of what is going on with her child.

Every mother needs to spend time with her children and talk to them. Children often open up with their mothers. But many times, mothers don’t have enough time to spend with their children, listen to themand guide them. Women need a platform where they can put forth their views, share their joys and sorrows. Women are the worst affected in any war. But they are not able to stop their children . When a child dies, a part of the mother also dies. It’s like the very purpose of her life is defeated and her future plunges into darkness. That’s why, a mother has to understand her responsibility. Bring up her children properly and show them the right path. She should try to keep her children away from fights and tensions, stop them from going astray. Even today, when I think of those two boys, my heart grows heavy and a question arises in my mind whether could have stopped them…

End VO

How did you like this programme. Please send us your thoughts and feedback via email. Our email id is mothersonair@gmail.com

)
Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade