MUSHTAQ HURRA
Gula was releasing dense puffs of smoke from the earthen Hubble bubble (Hookah), sitting calmly on the broad windowsill of his old raw house. The tiny masses of clouds would blur his vision to behold the hardships behind his penury and deprivation. Yet his face would hardly frown even at once to grumble silently what fate had brought him. His callow and buoyant son – Sultan, attired indigently with a shabby looking woolen headgear and a tattered pheran ( a long woolen gown worn by Kashmiris during winters) was vividly exhibiting their destitution. Yet, the scarlet red cheeks of Sultan were radiating optimism and serenity. Gula coughed deliberately to have a glimpse of his loving son’s face who was artistically weaving a cat-tail mat( Waguw), under a thatched shelter, erected by his father. A youthful son is somewhat the only possession of a poor father. It was snowing heavily since early morning and Gula was repeatedly looking anxiously towards the thatched roof of his only dwelling. A thick layer of snow had piled up on the roof and any delay in snow clearance could have a led to a tragedy.
Gula instantly asked his wife – Mukhti, to borrow the indigenously made wooden roof rake from their next door neighbours. Snow clearance from the roof had become inevitable to avert a possible roof collapse. He climbed the thatched roof of his mud-house with a long-handled wooden rake and began to push the snow down. It was extremely cold and everything had almost frozen. His son who was weaving the mat, whined about the extreme cold and said to his father, ” Kaka, my hands have turned numb. It is getting duskier and colder, Let me finish the mat tomorrow . “ His mother was preparing his favourite dried fish cuisine ( Hugaade Suen ) in their kitchen. She called him in, to make ablution for the dusk prayers ( Magrib Namaz) and enjoy simmering salty tea, to beat the biting cold of the winter.
Gula was snuffling on the roof of his house and was pushing the thick layer of snow with difficulty. He was crooning an old elegy to lament death of someone. His neighbors were also on the roofs of their small raw houses, reducing the white burden from them. Finally, he cleared the roof and came down to have dinner with his wife and son who were waiting for him very eagerly. Gula asked for a Kaangri ( an earthen fire-pot used by Kashmiris for keeping themselves warm during winters) and wrapped an indigenously woven woolen blanket ( Chaader ). His wife asked him to have Kehwa which was ready for him. Later, the trio took meals under the light of a burning piece of Cedar wood ( Lesh ).They grew apprehensive about the safety of their house for it was snowing relentlessly. The fear of losing their only abode was quite evident in their eyes. Finally, the wooden lamp exhausted and they were forced to jump into their ragged and dingy beddings.
Next morning, the trio woke up merrily. After offering dawn Salah ( Fajr Namaz ), they had black salty tea with rice flour breads. There was no alternate arrangement of milk in their home because they had stopped milking their gravid goat, in order to get enough white produce after its parturition. The father-son duo was about to leave their Kaangris to resume the work on the unfinished mat. But, there was something else in store for them. The frigid and frosty morning breeze brought a bolt from the blue for them. A cruel decree from the royal court unnerved them for a moment.The village headman (Mokdam) called Gula out very arrogantly and said, ” Gula, Kotwaal sahab has called you and your son to his bungalow”. Gula and his wife turned pale but their young son who was unaware about the cruelty behind these official summons, remained calm rather asked his parents not to worry. The Mokdam left the house and Gula grew anxious and apprehensive about his only son.
Sultan tried hard to console his parents, but he was too innocent to understand the ordeal behind these orders. Gula ceased to work and asked his son to accompany him to the bungalow of Kotwaal sahab. Very ext moment, the father-son duo reported before the Kotwaal and said, “My Lord, here we are.” The bumptious Kotwaal ordered them in an arrogant tone, ” Lift these jute-sacks on your shoulders and join the group of bonded labourers that is about to leave for Gilgit.” Their grass-made shoes (Pulhoar) had already frozen their feet, and the royal decree froze their hearts. The edict ( Firman ) shattered and destroyed the bliss and elation of the family as if they were hit by a hurricane. The father-son duo left for Gilgit and Mukhti remained all alone in her raw mud house. She was hardly able to bear the separation of her youthful son and loving husband. Days kept passing but the agonizing wait took a toll of Mukhti’s health.
Mukhti was counting the days, and looking at the ways to see her husband and son back. The thick snow vanished, the icicles melted, the giant mulberry tree in the courtyard of her house sprouted, but there was no clue of her husband and son. Days kept passing, Mukhti’s patience faded away, and finally, she left her home and began to wander like a lunatic (Metchh), and was often heard chanting, (Naad layay Myani Yousufo Walo). ”Come, I am calling you ! My loving Yousuf…”
The Author is a Teacher and Columnist. He can be reached at mushtaqhurra143@gmail.com