Diary Of A Pellet Victim Who Lost Her Vision

Source: NFP campaign against pellet gun use in Kashmir.

Cricket’s making their usual sounds, squirrels finding ways to escape, the sun below the line of shining. It is again so beautiful to remind humans that they are the blessed one. Supermans, as everybody stares at the hole without blinking.

The six gaps from an archaic kind of window made Fatima remember her house made of mud. She would have never imagined that she would experience such oppression that could deceit her future forever.

She watches through the gaps enters her room and finally decides to write. So she writes on a rusted colour page a tale which remained untouched for many and those who were touched remained silent.

Dear diary,

I wonder how many stars are in the sky. I know the number is infinite and countless but is it that which the humans can’t reach. I am writing to you for the last time because my sight is going for a rest. It is going to open when I see death.

I am Fatima. I am a girl. I saw many dreams last night, but in the morning I found myself in a very disturbing kind of environment. I see blurred images of many like me. My head will blast. I asked my mother to bring you to me. She did. Aren’t mothers angels? I am not liking this much. I see a vision of my mother, tears falling. Big big, transparent ones. I can’t understand what’s going. Everything is swirling.

On the right side of my bed, I don’t know what lies. I can’t move because I am so sick of moving. I have had my share now I lay to sleep. I wonder are all the kids in my locality seeing like me? Or am I the fortunate one. Whatever it is. This shall pass too. I call to my mother, ask her what is it tomorrow. As I feel something inside me. She said it is Eid, my love. The pious festival. I giggle inside, I want to ask my mother if it was that pious why would God lead me to blindness? I don’t blame God, I blame my existence. But I dare not ask. I remember because my mind is alright, it was one month ago I was celebrating Eid ul-Fitr.

I was all dressed up. Oh, how I loved that pink dress. I would wear it for a lifetime now. But wait, what is it like to wear pink? I have forgotten my shade. Oh, tomorrow it’s Eid. I don’t mind lying around but what about my family. Will they not cook mutton recipe and chicken? I guess not because my mother’s hand are shivering. I don’t know why. I am at my best. I want to tell my mother at least they did not kill me.

At least I was alive. I wonder how many stars are up there in the sky.

Yours blinded
Daughter of Kashmir.

(Ideas expressed are author’s own)

Source: Kashmir Reader
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