Gatekeepers of heaven
I woke up to the usual monologues by
my mother “You keep on watching this TV. What do you get out of this?” My
father silently listens. He says communication is key to a successful marriage
or the absence of it and laughs J.
We sat for breakfast. It was a Sunday
and mother had prepared ‘Nadur Mand’. Father had one mouthful and said “Uff, how this reminds me of my village!” Mother sighed and looked at him saying “Why don’t
you let it go? How many years has it been! We don’t belong there”. Dad roared
in his baritone “How dare they? Who told you that we don’t belong there? Who
are they to decide?” If I die, I will die in my Kashmir. We are the gatekeepers
of the Heaven on Earth!
“My dear, do you remember Kashmir at
all?” He asked me. How will she? She was all of 3 when we were made to leave.
It is for a reason that place is called a paradise. I am not talking only about
its peripheral beauty. There was a serenity about that place. You could sense
the calm in the wind. It was as if even the strongest of tempest wanted to
become a zephyr when it entered the land of Kashmir. All that is lost now! You
can’t walk a distance without seeing a gun. Do you know what that does to a
child’s psyche? The last thing it does is to make them feel safe. That much I
can tell you.
“Why do you want to go back daddy? Is
there anyone there whom you know? All your friends and family are here!” I told
him. Oh dear, you don’t understand the pain. I couldn’t even say good bye to my friends.
One fine day, we were asked to leave. Just like that! As if we never lived there... I feel uprooted. How do I tell you the
kind of void I feel? My father and mother are buried in that soil. I need to go
there, I need to talk to them. I want to tell them how wrong they were when
they told I couldn’t make a living out of writing. I also want to tell them how
right it was on their part to reprimand me when I talked to your mother in a
raised voice for the first time. How I miss their shadow in my house!
How I miss the courtyard of my house!
How beautiful our garden used to be in summer. And don’t get me started with
the seasons of this city! How barren this part of our country looks in
comparison to where we come from.
Quite often, we had these
conversations at home. Whenever there was a social gathering, my father used to
talk to my uncles and his friends about his longing. A while later, I went abroad for higher
education. It was then that I realized what he felt in his heart. How different
it felt to be away from home! How agonizing a longing it is to return to one’s
home…
I returned to work in India. My
father started becoming increasingly frail. Although, his eyes were sparkling
as ever and did not lose their luster. But age had begun to take its toll on
him. It was a cold winter morning. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I opened
that day’s newspaper. “Welcome Home, the Gate keepers of Heaven; Welcome Home, Kashmiri
Pandits!” Just then, my mother called up. When I told her about the news, she said “Oh dear, your father
has already left for heaven!”
Arun Babu
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