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“Lifelines : do we know them” | Jammu Voice


From those who are the pure witness of Her chronicle to those who are Her younger descendents, the love and dedication for the royal motherland remained intact or say, went stronger with time and era.
Sacrifices in the name of Her was more than a holy ritual back then and it remained static until it reached today. Yet, the venue got changed from the prisons to that of the so called borders. And as on the ground of borders, the sacrifices got a split into two faces there. The first, when the men in uniform keeping their own homes and kids at stake, inorder to protect the peace of the countrymen, welcome the iron within their chests, and second remains, when men in the fields of the border lands, who labour themselves hard to produce bread for countrymen, get the un-welcomed iron inside their body. They are the farmers of those un-fateful villages, the un-known and un-heard. As result of a “war but not war” kind of episodes, which merely go on to be termed as “ceasefire violation” prevailing every third day on the sectors of the border lying states of our nation. No one is literally un-aware of such sudden incidences of war at the Line of Control, but lesser are we aware of those villages in the circumference of LOC and lesser we remain aware of sustainance of their residents.
Let’s say, how rigorous had it been for the woman irrigating the lands, to protect herself when she would have heard the sound of the gunshots getting louder and louder. And her state of mind, who would understand ? when, while protecting herself, she would have thought of her alone sleeping infant at home. It’s more out of imagination,when, even the playgrounds were never left pitied while the bullets crossed the fence and creation of a scene of nothing less than heartbreaking that the kids would have been kept on bleeding until the fires took a halt and regarding the thought process of those parents, who kept on waiting out of dread ! for their kids were out to play.
The story of the dark nights recites about the courtyard of their homes, when their numb and tied animals who would have stood still, waited for the bullets to come and tear off their bodies. The narrow escapes of folk while dinning altogether and the arrival of the shells and mortars into their mud hearths. Alas ! they say, “the diners and dinning are the only times of laughter for a labourer”. The state of fear and anxiety when they would have dug the basements in their houses, so as to hide, because they knew that bullets were their un-invited guests and for them, their lives were nothing but venture. Wonder! what would have they thought the most while being hidden, either to protect their own lives first or would they have stood in grievance because their children and women were shot dead.
The rest of the war if would have brought peace, the farmers wouldn’t have cried for those bleeding legs, abdomens and dead fetuses of their pregnant animals, they say were their earning sons . The sirens of ambulances, the spilled out blood over grounds, the yelling of women out of grief and searching for the bodies of their loved ones. The pain of being evacuated from their homes and hard survival in congested camps.
And all it narrates, the front page of the newspaper to us in the morning, after we wake up of our peaceful sleep inside our homes that our fellow citizens living beside the LOC are bound to survive in a state of misery, where one dies and leaves never curing wounds in the hearts of hundreds. A retaliation which can never re-fill the wells of blood and never can cool down the stinking scald for ages and the worst to be heared is when the farmer lady asks her guilt for which she is bound to pay. But then, if one tries to stay in peace, the other aggravates and the tale continues.

By Dr. Radhika J Sharma
Dr.Radhika Sharma is a Veterinary Professional, avid Poet and Writer, hailing from the hilly town of Billawar(Kathua). The basis of her writing are mainly a reflection of her proud roots of Dogra-ism and related contemporary issues.