This is the excerpt from my book – Uprooted and Forlorn: The Tale of Kashmiri Pandits in Exile.
The book narrates the story of My Shattered Roots: A Heartbreaking Account of Exile and Loss.
It was a bright and hot day of June 1992 The clock was striking at 2 PM. I was just woken up to my drowsy medicines, my mom said,” Two respected people from my native village have come down to seek my welfare” These two men were AbdulAhad Wani and Ghulam Hassan Parry.
Seeing me alive was the hardest thing to believe and they hugged me so tightly as if they have never seen me before. I could sense the warm, affectionate love in their eyes. Tears were rolling down from their eyes in Jubilation. Wiping those tears from their eyes, Abdul Ahad Wani hugged me again saying affectionately that I would live for two hundred years.
I could not understand the mystery behind it; It was very hard for me to decode the message. Though I was curious to understand what transpired for them to hug me so tightly in awe with their moist eyes, I was unable to get any clue. Curiosity has its reason for existence and it was enough to try merely to comprehend this mystery before my dad revealed it all My Dad told me that in my village Qazigund, a rumour started that I died of my illness.
The fact was my illness was seriously overstated and spread by some miscreants in Kashmir. It was true that I was suffering from a vague headache for the last two years. By then I have consulted many physicians, neurologists, and ENT specialists but was of little help. Since some people from Kashmir visited intermittently to seek my parents’ welfare in Udhampur ( Jammu Division) they got to know of my headache which was exaggerated to a level that reprobates exaggerated it to declare my death. Since my dad was loved immensely in Kashmir for guiding and educating people of the area.
I was also loved by the whole village alike. Many families exhibit great grief at my death and did not prepare their usual food the day my death was announced. Many families decided altogether to condole my death by visiting my parents in Udhampur. They decided to hire a bus before they were stopped by Abdul Ahad Wani- One of the most respectable heads of my village agreed that a couple of people would understand the situation to see if death was the reality, then only others would follow accordingly.
As this had turned out to be a hoax, they were thrilled to see me alive hugging and kissing me incessantly. I was overwhelmed by their love and good wishes showered on me. The event took me back to the flashback memory of citing the reason for my headaches, which was still not understood by then. I went back to recall the dark cold night of 19th January 1990 when I was chilling to enjoy my winter with Uncle ( Mama Ji) in Chota Bazar to prepare the two remaining papers in English and Mathematics
