There was a knock at the door. Misra Begum was all ears. She had been waiting all evening for the Kashmir bound Mujahideen. She had made arrangements for their dinner. She opened the door and there stood two of them. “I am Zain ul Abidin,” Budshah said and pointing towards his companion continued, “He is Abdul Bari from Sudan.” Both men saluted Misra Begum and she showered her blessings upon them and ushered them in. Once seated, she spoke, “I was delighted to know that you are on your way to Kashmir, though I have not seen Kashmir for the last four decades.” She turned emotional. She tried to hide the tears that were welling up in her eyes. Budshah sensed her anguish and said, “Sister, we can understand your plight.
It is very painful to live away from Kashmir. We have the experience. Please tell us what we can do for you.”
Misra Begum had by now controlled herself. She smiled at Budshah and replied, “Oh,what a fool am I! You must be tired. You have a long journey ahead of you. You should not engage in idle talk.”
“Oh no, nothing of the sort. We are very happy to see you and know that you are so concerned about your motherland.”
“Mother—Ah Mother, my mother.” Misra Begum suddenly became oblivious to her immediate surroundings and as if speaking in a trance continued, “My mother, lonely mother, old and infirm, sick and helpless, my mother, my mother Kashmir—If only I could come to you, if only I could secure you from your loneliness….”
Budshah listened in total silence. His companion Abdul Bari turned to Budshah, “Eh brother, what is wrong?”
Budshah signaled him to keep quiet. Misra Begum continued, “My mother, lonely mother, sick and infirm mother, old and helpless mother….”
Now Budshah intervened, “Sister, sister.” Her chain of thoughts was suddenly broken. “I am sorry. I could not control myself. Please forgive me. I have gone crazy.” Budshah pleaded with her, “We wish we could be of some help to you. Please tell us.”
Misra Begum gave in and began, “Yes brother, my mother lives in Kashmir, totally helpless, sick and old. There is no one to take care of her. Her sons have been consumed by the Jehad. All my sisters have died. What can I do? Oh my God what can I do for her?” Budshah could feel the pain growing in his own heart. He felt miserable and could not utter a word. Abdul Bari wanted to say something but could not as Misra Begum, wiping her tears, continued, “I want a favour from you. I have packed some warm clothing for my mother. It doesn’t weight much; I know you have a rough journey ahead. Could you carry these clothes to my mother? She will not suffer the chill. Could you?”
“Yes, yes, we will carry them even if they are so heavy as to break our backs. We will carry them for our mother,” Budshah said as a couple of tears rolled down his cheeks too.
Ajab Malik stopped his car on the edge of the road cutting through a lush green meadow. Dr Speilberg instructed him over phone about his future course of action. He abandoned his car and walked towards the distant forest. He knew his Noshlab was there perched on the bark of a tree. Dr Speilberg had warned him of the energy barrier that had been detected around the mysterious bird. Ajab increased his pace. He was breathless but he continued to run. As he neared the woods the doctor came on the line. “Look Ajab, slow down now. Don’t disturb the bird. It may take off.” Ajab slowed his run. He walked slowly now. He knew that his ordeal was about to end. He was coming face to face with his destiny. He had suffered a lot. She too had suffered a lot. As he came close to the trees the doctor was again instructing him on the exact course he needed to follow. He turned on his left and walked ten paces.He was to turn right and after another twenty paces turn left and stop. As he stopped, he looked around him. He could only see the fir trees. He scrutinized every tree with utmost care.Where was she? His heart pounded in his chest. His legs began to sag. He was totally overwhelmed by emotion. He located her. There she was. Yes, Noshlab the mysterious bird sat there perched on a branch. Ajab Malik froze. The doctor came on the line. “Now Ajab! Sit down quietly and cover your eyes. Do not look at anything as we fire the missile to break the barrier. You will hear a bang. Once it is over, you get up and look straight ahead of you—towards the trees, where the bird sits.”
The doctor went off line. Ajab went down and prostrated on the ground. He covered his eyes with his hands and waited. Ages seemed to pass. He remained in supplication waiting for the magical moment, the moment which would change his life, which would deliver him from his pain. At last he heard the bang. He felt the ground shaking under him. He was terrorized and desperate but he controlled himself. He remained still. The roaring sound ceased. The ground under him became still and he could hear the chirping of birds. He felt relieved, but then a scare ran through his bones. Noshlab? Where would she be? Was she well? He opened his eyes and leapt to his feet. He stretched his neck to look ahead of him. He saw in the distance that a girl sat reclining against a tree. From the distance Ajab Malik could not make out the features. He took a step, then another, and another. He continued to move forward, expectant, and at the same time hesitant. As he took the eleventh step, the listless form reclining against the tree shook her head, the dark cloud of hair shielding her face parted in the middle and Ajab Malik called out, “Noshlab, Noshlab, my Noshlab,” and ran the remaining distance into the waiting arms of a smiling Noshlab. Dr Speilberg watched the proceedings from his laboratory. As he saw the mysterious bird disappear in thin air he remarked, “The bird is dead.”
Nullah Khan had made all arrangements to see off his chairman.
A guard of honour, a twenty-one gun salute, everything was in place. Yousuf Shah inspected the guard of honour and took the salute at the parade. Then taking leave of Nullah Khan, he boarded the car that was to take him to the last post. A dozen vehicles teeming with his bodyguards, all men in uniform and heavily armed escorted his car. As Yousuf Shah’s motorcade passed the hilly streets of Muzaffarabad, people lined on either side showered petals and raised slogans, “Chairman Zindabad—we want Azadi.” Yousuf Shah smiled to the waving men, women and children and began thinking of the hazardous journey he had undertaken. He had a lurking suspicion of Nullah Khan. He could not trust the men Nullah Khan had drafted for his protection. Who were they? Yousuf Shah had no idea. He had to take the risk. After all he had to reach Kashmir. He resigned himself to his fate, closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the seat. Except for the driver he was alone in the car. They traveled for a long time. He became sleepy. He did not know when the car had come to a halt. When he opened his eyes he saw a few men trying to wake him up. He came out of the car. He was told that the car journey had come to end and now they were to go up the mountains.
The last post was a few hours away and it would be dusk when they reached there. Yousuf Shah was taken into a nearby house where lunch had been laid out. He ate along with his guards and then set out on his long march. They had to hurry so that they reached the last post in time. It was a tortuous journey up the steep hills and across deep gorges. Yousuf was a fit man and he kept ahead of the others. His guards fell behind him a number of times and he had to stop and allow them to catch up with him. As the sun went down the western peaks, they reported at the last post. A major of the Pakistan army welcomed Yousuf Shah in customary style. Yousuf replied to his salutation and the major escorted him into the post. The army unit had prior information and they had prepared a brief for the visiting dignitary. The Major took him into a bunker and educated him on the secret route that had been chosen as safe passage for Yousuf Shah’s travel. As the two men pondered over the route map, the sound of gunfire erupted outside. Yousuf Shah sprang up in his seat. The Major signaled him to sit down. Yousuf Shah asked, “What is it? Major!”
“Oh! Don’t worry,it is a routine exchange of fire. Both sides enjoy it. No harm intended.”
Yousuf Shah sat down and they resumed discussing the travel plans.
Abu Kendal Gul Bahar was a considerate man. He went out of his way to make the members of his group comfortable. They were going up a mountain. It was a very steep ascent. They had to move on their haunches, taking cover under the thick bushes that grew in abundance in the area. Their local guides had warned them of the vulnerability of this route. The enemy picket was only a few peaks away and with night vision devices their movement could be monitored. They had chosen this route for this was the shortest route available. They moved very cautiously and Abu Kendal would stop after every few yards to satisfy himself of the progress of the most sluggish of his climbers. They carried heavy loads mainly comprising of ammunition and weaponry. Each member of the group carried a fully drawn AK-47 and had been kept on maximum alert. As a bright moon shone in the sky above, Abu Kendal and his men completed the ascent. They had reached the top of the mountain and there lay the valley of Kashmir down below. Even in the faint moonlight they could not miss the breathtaking splendour of this paradise on earth.
Budshah too looked down at the valley below. He felt a renewed vigour overtaking his tired limbs. He was in a divine mood. His own country was finally in front of him. His country, that beautiful country! Abu Kendal also saw the splendour and grandeur of the valley. So this was it! Well such beauty always did ignite passions in jealous men. But it was the territory of Allah and he had set out on a holy mission, the mission to reclaim it for Allah. They called it paradise and paradise could never belong to infidels, he rationalized. They took a break. Their guides were happy, as they were no longer sitting ducks on the steep slope of the mountain. They could now defend themselves in case an exigency arose. They had their food and leisurely began to descend into the valley. It would be an easy descent. Their men would be waiting in the little village, the contours of which were visible from the height.
An excerpt from Ayaz Rasool Nazki’s book SATISAR, THE VALLEY OF DEMONS published by Vitasta Publishing and the book is available on www.vitastapublishing.com
