It was a blissful morning. The frosty air was blowing, unleashing the magical music of vibrating leaves. The hem of the Sun was accruing from the mountains painting the atmosphere with gold. Seeing this tranquil atmosphere my soul was craving for a walk in the serene environment and conclusively I did. I walked and kept walking until I reached a nearby bridge. The buzzing sound of water, flowing under me, compelled me to stay a while there. Looking to the water which was shining between the gigantic Chinar trees, I was deeply driven in my thoughts. I had almost forgotten myself and the rest when I heard a thundering honk of a truck, which made me pull myself together and realize my position. As I turned to proceed my sight got stuck to a boy beside me.
A young boy, almost in his fifteenth year, looking to the river with much curiosity and aspire. His face was having a sadist veil, reflecting an intense trauma. His body with his anticipation, both were shivering with cold. His red hands, almost unconscious by cold, were holding a piece of paper. Frequently, he was darting his sight to the river and after receding his vision, looking back to the paper. I felt that he was just lamenting on something, something unknown to me. But it was clear that the paper, in some way, was the reason of his misery. And abruptly his vast anguish came in tears, shining in the morning light, rolled over his sunken cheeks. My temptation to speak to him was overpowering but something (probably my unacquaintance with him) forced me to avoid. Wiping tears, he was making himself courageous to overcome the agony. But the courage somehow got drowned when his tears started again. Hope was blurring from his sight, looking disdainful and helpless. It was a tragic moment.
Finally, suppressing my ego I trampled my silence, “Hey friend what is the problem?” Totally mum, his senses were captive in his thoughts and was not keeping mind for my call. I again tried to call, “Why are you weeping dear?”, With that, I patted his shoulder. His body jerked to consciousness. But he was silent. Silence reigned over him. His throat was without words or any reply. In reaction, he only raised his hand, handing me the paper – a newspaper cutting. I saw a bullet-ridden body on it with the headline ‘ANOTHER CIVILIAN KILLED BY SECURITY FORCES’. “Who is he?”, I said. “My father”, he answered.
(Writer is a 12th standard student. Hailing from Dadipora, Kulgam.)
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