By Mushtaq B Barq
Subsequent to the marrow freezing chill, the massive snowfall followed for many days as a result a relentless congealed state pushed one and all to stay indoors for the dread of death. The unified city had instantly turned into an ice land and in the midst of this rigorousness; Saja Masa broke her sleep too early unlike her schedule and through ajarred window repeatedly scanned the whole iciness. The life emerged as the traceless track to her; the entire city seemed shrouded in comforters. Had it been an ordinary day, she too like others would have been in the lap of coziness, but it was 2nd December, the International Human Rights Day. On the private calendar of Saja Masa this specific date was the most auspicious day for the possible reason affectionately known to her. Keeping in view Saja Masa took the memorable photograph of Yousef who went missing some eighteen years ago at the age of seventeen to be fixed by previously prepared glue on the cardboard. To hold the placard, she jointed an extended wooden stick at its end after stabbing a nail. She draped herself in a tattered burqa, locked the house and headed towards Pratab Park. Her watchful steps on the frozen tracks would encourage her to exchange a fleeting look at the photograph of Yousuf and yet as need cropped up she turned the placard upside down to use the stick as support in the effective disguise of her lost son. She would envision her feeble hand on the mighty shoulder of her son powerfully aiding her to walk carefully over the slippery and iced up tracks slowly.
On the odd occasions when she inevitably encountered with any pedestrian, she would hide the placard as if carrying a weapon under her burqa. Her feet in the plastic boots had lost the sensation for the reason being constantly chafing against the frozen sheets of snow, but despite numbness, her toes witnessed a burning sensation, no, not at all the burning sensation but a feeling like pain and blazing consciousness that would wrench her heart. With might underlined by innocent hands resembling the minute supple hands of Yousuf in his infancy, she would caress her anxious face to feel the emotional warmth and unusual delicacy of Shahtoosh.
Advancing menacingly towards the gate of Pratab Park the hands of Yousuf had infused much love through Saja Masa’s hands that were enough to melt the icicles of her eyes to witness a cascade down her cheeks. Pratab Park was already flooded with men, women and children holding placards carrying the photos of their missing members to summon their own Yousufs. Saja Masa joined the group and was frequently raising her placard bearing the picture of Yousuf to register her moans and sobs through soliloquies. Behind these protestors, a cluster of armed forces including Ram Nayak who was on duty had seized Saja Masa’s Yousuf some eighteen years ago. The echo of protesters was rising to the heavens, and one of the women on the right side of Saja Masa knuckled her gently and meekly asked, “Did you pay a visit to Papa 2 again, heard that some old record is in evidence.”
Without any possible response, Saja Masa heaved a protracted sigh. Wiped the necessary salt of her right eye by her left palm and with all her might tried her best, to stir her numbed toes ___ an abortive endeavor that broke her down and wailed “Where should I seek you Oh my son!”The wail of Saja Masa triggered one and all and it agitated the troops standing at the back of the protestors and their hold on the guns was noticeable. Ram Nayak came forward and started to scan photos of missing persons fixed on the placards and he was lost in the ether when he spotted the photo of Yousuf, perchance recognized him. He experienced a jolt as if he walked over a living wire; the effect of it subtly altered the unique topography of his face. He took hold of his AK47 and turned his head away. But after a while, his eyes kept playing hide and seek to monitor Saja Masa and the photo of Yousuf. Between the wails of Saja Masa and Ram Nayak’s half-hearted attempts, the photojournalists clicked plentifully. In this bone breaking chill TV reporters were seen issuing columns of vapours from their mouths and in the meanwhile, an English lady from Human Rights appeared on the scene. A memorandum was handed over to her amidst the camera clicks and with it, the peaceful protest concluded.
All the protesters left the Park. They took extra care to move gently because it was too slippery to walk. The armed men too followed the suit as Saja Masa was well ahead of them by pressing hard her plastic boots to ensure safety. She stopped stirring her numb toes and the troop marched ahead but no one paid heed to the placard that Saja Masa was carting under her burqa save Ram Nayak who was the last one in the troop to ensure safety by walking carefully over the slippery footpath. With every step, he would imagine falling and to keep his spirit high he was in the heart of his hearts reciting Hanuman Chalisa. Saja Masa was moving slowly towards him and was glaring at his helmet trying to peep down its shell to discover something. In the meantime, Ram Nayak suffered a fall and his AK47 slipped from his grip and Saja Masa instinctively but loudly uttered: Bismillah, let God ensure your safety. After that Saja Masa sealed her mouth and heaved a sigh, stirred her head and whispered impressively, “I thought” what she thought is still a mystery even to Saja Masa herself.
Mushtaq B.Barq is a Columnist, Poet and Fiction Writer. He is the author of “Feeble prisoner, “ Wings of Love” and many translation works are credited to the author like “ Verses Of Wahab Khar” and “ Songs Of Sochkral”
