MUSHTAQ HURRA
The jungle echoed with the anguished cries of mother Earth, and no soul could offer her solace. She beat her chest in despair, struck her knees in grief, and her eyes bled with sorrow as though savage hands had maimed and bruised her. Even the beasts of the forest stood frozen in silence, as if struck by serpents. Their mighty roars were muted, and tears glistened even in their eyes. I saw Mouj Zameen ( Mother Earth) wailing, weeping and moaning her predicament. Her cries would echo through the desolate landscape, a poignant lament for the plight inflicted upon her tender flesh by the hands of her own progeny. The wayward sons of Adam who have forsaken their sacred trust. She panted and grunted, a choke was visible in her throat. I thought her soul had flown to the heavens. But, she stood up and continued with her monologue…
“ My bosom stands maligned by the noblest of creation. The very viceroy of God has turned cruel upon me. My tender breast lies lacerated by unseen blades of venomous and radiant conflagrations ignited by the highest of all creation. God had ordained the Son of Adam to draw boundless energy from the radio active elements of my depths, yet the viceroy of Allah chose instead to tear my bosom with the thunder of underground and undersea explosions. Uranium was a treasure house of energy to eliminate the gloom of the world, but the devilish man grew rapaciously ambitious and turned the boon into bane. The Uranium and its venomous kin have envenomed my every body part. My veins and arteries now run black with fatal poisons. Radiations have hollowed out my body. My springs, brooks, canals, and rivers now swell with venom, each current brimming with liquids as bitter as hemlock. Allah had once blessed me with the elixirs of life, but the caliph of Allah now stands resolved to decimate the very breath of creation that stirs within my breast.
The invasion of plastic has defiled and blemished my elegance. Mountains of deadly polythene, discarded diapers, and unyielding waste have choked the breath from my lungs. The Son of Adam glories in this boundless use of the curse of science. Micro-plastic has now coursed through every food chain, unseen yet unforgiving. Let someone tell the Ashraful Makhlooqat that he is striking the axe against his own feet. These plastic legions have rendered me barren. My soil shall refuse both fruit and flower to the creations of this world. With each passing hour, the wound deepens and the horizon grows bleaker. Yet rapacious man still produces millions of metric tons each year, trading my ruin for fleeting wealth. The road he treads leads to a hell from which not an iota of escape is possible.
He takes pride in the vicious chopping my green cover. Consequently, my temperatures are soaring and surging vehemently, because my coolers viz trees have fallen flat to Ibni Adam’s rapacity and barbarism. Scorching, scalding and smouldering summers are sucking the serenity of my pleasant seasons. Droughts, floods and cloudbursts are mutilating my charms and beauty. The green-gold is vanishing into the thin air as if poisonous rains are decimating the tall trees that used to be my guardians. I have been ravaged and ransacked by my own guardian and custodian.
Once my breezes breathed life into the lifeless, tranquilized ferocious beasts, pacified warring souls, and revived rusted hearts. Yet now, toxins and poisons have stolen the elixir from my Zephyrs. The air I exhale no longer heals. it only gags, chokes and strangles each chest that dares to draw it in. Pesticides and chemical fertilizers have scarred my bosom. My fruits, stems, leaves and roots have lost their salubrious effect. Toxins and chemicals have sneaked deeper into my veins. My potion-like edibles no more carry the magical effect. You have robbed me off my prominence in the universe.”
The aged mother sank upon her knees, her voice fading into a whisper, her strength exhausted. And in a trembling and feeble breath she uttered, “O Son of Adam, World Earth Day stands as a stark reminder that your very existence is tethered to my health. Yet you turn deaf ears to my sufferings and pay no heed to my cries. Mend your ways lest regret and repentance become your fate…..
The Author is a Teacher and a Columnist from Bandipora, writing Regularly on Culture, Environment, Education, History, Folklore and Social issues. He can be reached at mushtaqhurra143@gmail.com
