The Diary Entry of Kashaf
11TH JANUARY SUNDAY 22:04
Hearts are treacherous devils!
Your heart takes you through long, winding, narrow roads of love, across plateaus and valleys, hitchhiking amidst the highs and lows of emotions, only to throw you back, flat, face-down on the ground, and throw some dirt back at you and then also has the audacity to laugh and repeat the cycle over and again.
Yes, tiny little devil it is.
Mine took me on a similar journey a couple of days back in the valley of Heaven.
I saw him for the first time in the market. He was standing quietly and observing his surroundings and trying his best to remain unnoticed. But how can a charm so innocent go hidden for long? How can a face that alluring not imprint itself over one’s mind? How can eyes so mesmerizing not make one’s heartbeat go erratic?
I fell head over heels for this guy. I, a mere seventeen year old, was in love. With a terrorist.
At least, that is what this country called him. For me, for us, he was a savior, a savior who had come to free us; someone who wanted us to strive and survive as an independent nation. Not like this country, which claimed that he and his compatriots want to snatch us and rule over us. No! He couldn’t ever want that, couldn’t ever be so selfish.
This country is always demeaning the neighbor, saying that they throw bombs at residential places, they are trying to spread terror, they are sending infiltrators to try and jeopardize the peace of the valley. But we know the inside truth, know that the self-imposed authorities want us to believe that they are our friends so that they can continue to exploit our land and rape our women and murder our people and lead to communalism and hatred.
But we, the youth, are smart now. We won’t let this country reign over us or fool us into believing that my love and his peers want to cause us any harm.
27TH JANUARY TUESDAY 00:47
Hearts are treacherous devils!
It beats every second of every moment of your life but at last, when you really need it desperately, it backstabs you and stops thumping, slowly drifting into the sweet painless nothing called Death.
Well, that is how I feel now. Dead!
I saw the horror with my own eyes today; the gruesome incident replaying in my mind like a stuck tape recorder.
It was him and a few of his friends who open fired in the market today, not caring that there are children, women or old people in the vicinity, not caring that someone’s husband, someone’s mother or someone’s sister might be killed in the process, not caring that the young impressionable minds of children might be scarred for life, not caring that it was the blood of humankind that is getting spilled.
One bullet went straight through the stomach of 7-month pregnant woman. Another through an old man in his seventies maybe. A few children became the target of this religious-cum-country war, of which they knew nothing.
Blood kissed Mother Earth. The smell of burning flesh deposited inside my nostrils and as I was frozen on the spot, someone threw me behind a hiding spot.
I saw him killing people mercilessly, be it man, woman or child. I saw the hardened criminal who thought that he was doing justice to non-believers and serving the purpose of God. I saw the butcher make our heavenly homeland a temporary hell in order to attain his so-called heaven. I saw the insect murder innumerable lives and hopes and smiles in the name of his make-believe religion. Ah! The Gods of Irony laughed as tears ran down my cheeks.
As somehow I came back home to see the two countries blaming each other for this incident, and the public mourning the loss of our fellow kin, I realized how futile our lives were.
I felt dirty for having loved a barbaric killer. Yet, as my heart leapt in joy when the authorities took him down, a tiny part just died. Because with him went the Kashaf who loved and also the Kashaf who wanted a separate homeland. Now, she just wants peace. But her heart laughs impudently at the thought.
Yes. Hearts are treacherous little devils.
Written by Tanu Bali
Edited by Afreen Zeb
Image source: pixabay.com