INTRODUCTION: BEFORE I NARRATE my STORY, I WOULD LIKE TO INTRODUCE MY READERS TO THREE ASPECTS, ‘GOWALTA - A VILLAGE’ ‘THE REASON FOR TRAVEL’ AND ‘MYSELF’
GOWALTA IS A SMALL AND SERENE VILLAGE, A BEAUTIFUL DELL IN THIS VALE, 130 KMS FROM SRINAGAR. It is located on the old known course ‘LOC’ (Line Of Control, which is ages old scourge beating our being) in Indian-occupied Kashmir. This beautiful village, is located about 3000 ft above sea level, populated by about 2000-2800 people most courageous and courteous, unaware of the luxury we have tasted and enjoyed, in a tranquil and serene atmosphere free from dust and din, nature has embellished every corner of life with its own colours. Gowalta-a beautiful village; looking as though it has been carved by nature on a steep hilly forest, thickly thronged with lush green, luxuriant vegetation and endowed with versatile natural resources. In short; nature on its best display.
The reason to travel to such village was not, to be enchanted by this beauty, nor was it a part of trekking, not a picnic or an adventure. There was an eternal reason to visit this village on 13 oct. 2005, following the dark morning of 8th Oct 2005 when Kashmir on both sides of LOC watched and experienced a tragedy to mourn for generations to come. One of the deadliest earthquakes I have ever experienced shook every grit and grain as well as our conscience, destroying most of Kashmir.
The morning of 8th Oct 2005, the earth started to tremble violently in a horrible way, the way mentioned in our holy Qur-an…When the earth is shaken to her utmost convulsion_ sura Al-Zalzala –(lit. The Earthquake), making us rethink our existence. Thousands of people, men, women, old and young, houses some strong, some weak, vanished like chinar ash in the wind. The grief of all this was the reason to travel to this village- responding to an eternal call, which our heart felt for all those who suffered and are still suffering.
… I am a “doctor” & know how to treat ailing ………yet I know, it is Allah the only God who actually cures, still we could not restrain our senses to respond to the call from those mountains.
We left for GOWALTA- a village at 6 am on 13 Oct 2005………….
Every scene of Kashmir valley used to mesmerize my senses but now none.
For As I left…I was to see some of worst scenes of my life. To feel some of the most painful moments of my life, in sharing the agonies and worries of my brothers and sisters. In treating the ailing with the hope that Allah will cure. To listen to some of their untold stories. To face the reality even if so harsh and ugly it is.
And finally we were on way…seven doctors and twenty-one volunteers and none but God almighty…on our way towards our destiny Gowalta – the village, towards our aim to mitigate some of the suffering.
Relief for victims and its proper disbursement were big issues during these after-quake days. We had brought with us a few trucks of relief material including food items, clothes and other basic amenities in addition to medical relief.
I was never out of a ‘puzzle’ in my mind as I left for Gowalta. This ‘puzzle’ made me more inquisitive and meticulous about everything I met, saw and felt in a unique and perplexing way, making me restless ever since. The others discussed ways to the get best out of the relief measures, all the doctors and volunteers, but I was never there because of my puzzle. My puzzle was nothing more than;
What was the reason for Allah- The Only God for such heartbreak and tears sprouting at the devastation and destruction? For such…
After two and half hours travel we reached Julla a village 10 Kilometers from Uri. At eleven in the morning, the sun climbed with us over our heads with ever increasing intensity…and we heard rumours…
…there is…..no road…
The road beyond Julla was not in shape to allow us to move ahead, as landslides had done their job. By falling prey to the quake even the gigantic mountains had shunned their arrogance and majesty. Some of the worst landslides redrafted the topography of the region, as if no road had ever existed.
As everything came to a halt, the place became thronged with vehicles, relief workers and some hundreds of victims who had been traveling from cut off villages, crossing mountains on foot, searching for some relief. We also like the others stopped near Julla and spoke to gathered victims about the conditions of beyond villages not in communication and contact because of landslides. They narrated-
No food, shelter, bodies still under debris & people hungry for words of sympathy, injured still waiting for hands of healers & children still in state of vertigo waiting for some one to come & console.
And among them Peer Baba with a long beard, garish white-not shining- a little unusual, as dust had smothered most of it, the saddest look upon his face. He was holding his chin with one hand & a stick finely crafted perhaps by his own hands to help him over stiff & difficult terrain, in the other. He uttered words…mentioned GowaltaGowalta.
Before we had left for Gowalta I had already seen the ugly face of life & nature. Yet I had never envisaged such a pathetic situation. Such situations make you gasp for air…I saw people who had survived this catastrophe, moving around with all their emptiness. They had lost everything. I could never exactly understand those expressions, which their faces were wearing as if they are new to this world where you& I live. They chase, throng and hang around every vehicle they see heading towards them & sometimes I thought bizarrely that they wanted to push them in that deep gorge where Jehlum was flowing so serenely & smoothly over those age old giant slippery stones. Sometimes I thought they are in search of their lost loved ones, but was never sure. All their pale dusty faces & yellow eyes, muddy heads, eyebrows & eyelashes, ragged clothes, some bare feet with exhausted legs and weary eyes told a dreadful tale. Everything was in shambles; nature had really made them face the dustiest of their fortune and fate.
We decided to distribute most of the food and items of clothing at Julla as we would not be able to carry them on to Gowalta, so we decided to carry only medicines there.
…. I stood away from this crowd & the relief vehicles and watched. I felt as if everything was speaking to me, every single scene telling thousands of stories.
I saw children so innocent& thought again about my puzzle why? Their unwashed faces over days, unnoticed expressions & unattended cry, with their hands so small & so innocent they would never be noticed in such a frenzy & crowd. One hand on their stomach and another plunging towards a relief distributor but alas! Even after an hour-long effort, I see that hand empty.
See irony of life everybody aches feels hunger & pain however innocent he may be.
I saw old people some too old to be in such crowd where they were unsafe more than anywhere.
See the irony how little life & how little desires you may have left inside…. still you need shelter& food & still feel pain & hunger.
I saw an old man with a wrinkled face & open mouth “…maybe he was in respiratory distress”. With long beard half white & half mehndi red. May be last month he used henna to dye it before he had ever thought of such a disaster. There was dust over his face, stuck in the deep folds of his wrinkles. He was silent but his sodden hand with clubbed fingers and coarse palm with its black creases, was wide open and empty, clearly visible unlike those of that child saying clearly -
I can’t hold your relief but I can’t hold my hand back as my stomach is empty & leading me to death every single minute I remain away from food...
I felt he was saying I am old …old enough to die but still not dead. He was using his second hand to support a weak & fragile osteoporotic spine with a stick.
I had heard long before, that women of the mountains are really beautiful as nature nourishes them with her sap. Now I saw them some young & beautiful, some old but still unique in their beauty…Some lactating carrying their suckers over there chests and shoulders and some pregnant trying to convey their grief to one beyond the horizon at this play of pain and agony.
I see them a little confused and lost; a little worried among this meddled mass of living reality….
Were they worried about their houses, which have bowed in front of wrath of nature and have given to
destiny?
Or… their children, they feel are more tender and fragile and innocent to face this
Or… about there regular chores a little difficult they now have turned,
Or… about the winter which is over there heads and will be cold and difficult,
Or… about something little important like coming night, sunset and goat and grass?
So I moved to watch myself, for I had a puzzle to solve as well
Are these people so bad? That God cursed over them, over their acts and put them such a trouble.
...I thought about my self and my existence in this situation where life had lost its value and where Allah- the only God, seems least worried about our survival. I thought about destiny, this I felt was my first clue… Meanwhile my colleagues were calling me over to tell me about the next step of our programme. I know nothing more than it is Gowalta –a village
It was 1:30 pm and we were feeling the effect of fasting in our action. And they, the People around us said-
“ It is too late to return back from Gowalta now.’’
Looking at each other we said nothing, as our hearts were ready to face even worse. They showed us vaguely the Direction in which we needed to move, as if they were showing something towards the sky. We looked and saw a steep mountain (the first step of our journey) before us and they conveyed that it was over, over and above & away from this mountain. We thought that this mountain is the only stiff & difficult terrain we have to cross to reach Gowalta - a village, but we were completely & unwisely wrong.
Before we left we took required medicines & things we required to stay over night. Nights have grown colder in Kashmir it was all horror & dread to think of. We climbed that visible mountain, but the story didn’t end there. We walked for five hours when the sun was growing furious & our fasting began to sing its song.
It was easier to move on the edge of a sword, than on these unknown ways; where on missing a single step-you might slide thousands of feet down to ground. As we moved on those natural ways & untouched peaks, I met some strange people, some interesting landscapes, some unknown vegetation & some untouched stones as if they were talking to me & I was talking to them. They taught me about fate, about God. They greeted me welcomed & some times frightened me so strongly. They made me feel every grit & grain under my feet making me listen to sounds & the silence among those vales & on the ways. They made me to feel Allah & his presence they taught me about soul & its goal…
We climbed & climbed…descended…& again climbed, our feet aching for all these adjustments. Our shoulders started to curse us for the weight they carried, but ignoring their laments we crossed miles. We reached not Gowalta- a village but somewhere near as we could see that village I imagined before visiting-except for the destruction & devastation.
… I never missed anyone in the way. I looked into their eyes searching for more clues to my question. I have heard faces are deceptive but eyes are windows to the soul. Their eyes were of varied colours but they appeared similar because their grief was similar. And yes I saw something floating in their eyes….
I thought it was a lament they have for their GOD
I thought it was some burden they wanted to share
I thought it was some unknown letter for unknown places, where their loved ones had left.
I thought it was grief but in the end it was only something God, Allah had left in their life…
We crossed a bridge, on the other side was security post, they stopped & asked a few questions.
We Kashmiris have ever been asked to prove identity in our own homeland.
They said ok You can move ahead. We stopped for a while, letting our body prepare for the last hectic move. We patted each other’s shoulders, praising one another for the effort & the courage. Thanking God we again left.
As the dark carpet of night was falling we reached Gowalta. I saw the sun setting between two mountain peaks so beautiful for eyes to see, but there was much more for eyes to see making them spill bloody tears. It was too late to see patients and we were too exhausted to even think. Before we gave in to our exertion, we looked in & around Gowalta village. I saw houses just buried in undug graves, covered with their old tin roofs…seeing only tin roofs. We saw some unsupported shelters and a few tents …among them people engrossed in daily chores and conversations.
I walked among one of such scenes. I found an elderly man, whom I greeted-
“assalam-u-alaikum”.
replied the old man –
“walikum Sit down you young men…”
We did, feeling privileged to listen to this old man who was not looking much towards us but around. He continued, saying,
“I had two houses & lost both. & I lost five family members”… pointing towards a nearby graveyard, our lips pursed to release the air slowly that we had taken with a deep breath.
I listened to that old man endued with gentleness. He talked about politics, about the past & present. I thought he was aware of everything even living on this mountain peak; certainly he was wise & knowing. I said,
“Winter is ahead what do you think to do now?”
His reply was nothing but an example, which was more than an answer. “When a runner in a race runs with all his efforts, even if he doesn’t reach the mark he gives up,”… meaning that they have given up everything in front of God.
Soon after that I expressed my intention of leaving.
“ No no” he said. “It is iftar and you are our guests. Even if we don’t have homes, we still have heart…”
Initially I felt embarrassed but as he continued, I felt nothing is humanly possible to be done for such courageous people who certainly have given up all and left all to God with such faith. They all need a attentive & sympathetic ear to listen to their pain & agony which will prepare them for the second race. We took Iftar and left.
Night was falling and with it came rain. Our thoughts turned to shelter. Another man came to us-
‘don’t worry you are our guests. It’s true that we are in pain but we are not dead. What ever you need to spend this night comfortably ask & we will arrange’….
Like nature slapped us…. like nature laughed at us. We had come to mitigate their suffering, now we started to suffer ourselves and they provided us with the little with which they are left. They arranged blankets, firewood & more. We spent that night like no other. The whole night I was thinking. I thought that these people have a lesson for humanity & if humanity exists anywhere still it is here.
Next morning we saw patients & tried to listen to their grief & giving them some medicine & few minutes & few seconds to feel their existence again, which they have forgot.
Before we left they prayed for us for our courage and for our feeling for them. I know I can never forget those faces. I saw and I realized that Destiny & fate are in hands of Allah the only God & nothing can change it but Allah.
“My puzzle got a solution in end …
Worlds exists beyond world of eyes
Worlds exists beyond world of thought
Comfort begins where we see end
& Joy begins where we see end
God never speaks in words
His acts are genius
Even if something wrath it looks to us.”
