[Reader-list] The Stone Pelter by Meera Kaul Sawhney

[Rajendra Bhat Uppinangadi]

If all the followers of each  faith want to have separate states based on
their faith, what is the sanctity of democratic rule and 'seculrism" that
the constitution of india that we gave to ourselves for the rule of laws.?
Do we want to turn the clock back to kingdoms of the yore which fight with
each other and take the help of outsiders, be it british traders, american
mercenaries, ?
When do we learn to respect the institutions of democratic governance.? Each
vested interest group, be it politicians or bureaucrats seem to be trying to
denigrade the armed forces which keep some semblance of societsl life as the
leaders of all walks of life plunder national wealth, while talking about
aam admi.!

On Tue, Jun 29, 2010 at 7:09 PM, cashmeeri <cashmeeri at yahoo.com> wrote:

> "So Abba, when did the Indians invade us?" asked little Adil. Abdul Ahad
> looked towards the sky and squinted his eyes in an attempt of calculation,
> "Millions of years ago" he said.
>
>
> The Stone Pelter
>
> by Meera Kaul Sawhney
>
>
> Abdul Ahad wakes up every day with a sense of duty. He looks around
> himself. His wife is still sleeping and the porous rays of light passing
> onto his surroundings are already blinding. Over years, Abdul Ahad has
> trained himself not to look at light. It distorted his focus.
>
> He had a very busy day. Stretching his legs to the length of the new
> bedsheets, which still diffused the scent of arabic Itar; he recounted his
> agenda for the day. Excited at the prospect of a busy schedule , Abdul Ahad
> pushed his feet to the plush carpet and got off the bed. Now was the time to
> take to the tasks at hand, he thought with a sense of purpose as he put on
> his blinders.
>
> The day started with a demonstration against Indian occupation. "So Abba,
> when did the Indians invade us?" asked little Adil. Abdul Ahad looked
> towards the sky and squinted his eyes in an attempt of calculation,
> "Millions of years ago" he said. "Why don’t they go now?" Adil quipped
> innocently," we have been throwing stones at them for so long." Abdul Ahad
> sighs and looks up again. Deep in his heart he knew if this succeeded in
> Indians leaving the state, his family may end up on the roads. But he had
> hope in his heart. The leaders of the nation will definitely find him
> another role to play in the new kashmir. For some reason, this hope didn’t
> leave his heart with much hope.
>
> "Where is the demonstration today?" asked Abida, his wife. In between the
> efforts in breaking down the tsochwaroo between his teeth, "Maisuma" saus
> Abdul Ahad. His wife gives him a stricken look, "again!" " Why?" she looked
> anguished," why choose places where the army is sure to shoot?"
>
> "It is their strategy", he muttered from within his noon chai cup. "But
> only innocents die." blazed on Abida, a terrified look in her eyes , scared
> that someday that innocent person might be her husband.
>
> " We have to fight" , Abdul Ahad reiterated, he swallowed and added . " for
> freedom." Abida turned around from the kitchen fire to look at Abdul Ahad.
> Her eyes boring into his face made Abdul Ahad flinch. " then why did you go
> in the procession for Chief Minister's reception in Sogam?" Abdul Ahad did
> not like this question. He stood up. His half eaten Tsochwaroo thrown to the
> carpet on which he was sitting. " Just mind your own business, who are you ?
> ISI? " , he screamed at her and stormed out of the house.
>
> Hours later, after successfully completing the stone throwing at Maisuma,
> the anger against Abida had still not subsided in his head. Akram, his
> friend and colleague, put a hand on his shoulder. "You are charged today,"
> he commented, " everytime you fight with her in the morning, you are more
> aggressive at work." Abdul Ahad looked into Akram's laughing eyes, " These
> women will never understand what we do to keep them happy." Akram laughed
> loud. "Ofcourse they never will."
>
> They were making their way towards their next procession. "Which newspapers
> are going to be there?" he asked Akram " Yaara ,who knows, who cares. We
> will shout slogans, they will record, they will go home, we will go home. "
> He said airily. " Ofcourse" . The business of stone throwing is really to
> pass on these skills to the younger generations. He thought of Adil and what
> he might end of doing in a few years time. His heart shuddered. He needed
> money. Enough money for Abida and Adil to leave for the villages maybe . For
> that, Abdul Ahad knew, he will need to continue working in this business for
> much longer than he had planned.
>
> They reached Magarmal Bagh. It was'nt difficult to be one of the few
> hundreds in a bigger mob. The trick was not to be in the periphery of the
> mob, wear running shoes and not carry too much load in the pockets. And
> ofcourse keep your eyes alert lest you get hit by a shell. The stone
> throwing would generally start with those on the periphery and could start
> in any direction. Being in the middle prevented first injuries and gave them
> the time to move away from the line of fire, if any.
>
> "We could start a business now." grinned Akram. " those tourists are coming
> back". Smiled Abdul Ahad, " You want to be tourism mafia? will they let us
> make money?" Akram laughed loud," so what if they don’t, we will pelt stones
> at them." Abdul Ahad smiled. They had a joke. Everyday they went to pelt
> stones, they would bet on each others life. If both survived, they set apart
> a thousand rupees each for the family fund. The fund for the family of
> whoever amongst them gets killed first.
>
> Once outside the shrine, they covered their faces with scarves and hoods.
> An auto rickshaw stopped by and they got together to unload stones out of
> it. Another rickshaw followed, and then another. The stones were brought
> from a roadside pile a few blocks away, where they have been lying for a
> number of years and were originally supposed to fill potholes in the roads.
> Soon a number of other boys came out of the adjoining alleys, and joined in.
> They spread out and started piling the stones in different places,
> strategically located.
>
> The bronze top of the shrine glimmered in the setting sun. Abdul Ahad and
> Akram followed the boys past the shrine to a place where one had a clear
> view of the main market. The market had been under strict curfew for the
> preceding week. There used to be four CRFP pickets there till the year
> before, but two of them were abandoned after protestors pelted stones at
> them persistently, despite CRPF shooting directly into the crowds and
> injuring many. After they were abandoned ,young men from the town pulled the
> ugly sandbag bunkers down and freed up space on the choked road that CRPF
> had occupied for 20 years. But there were two pickets still there, one
> inside a bank building and another next to a girls’ senior secondary school.
> Streets merged into each other further down from where they were standing.
> The media arrived. Soon a few hundred people started chanting rhythmic
> slogans with stones in their hands.
>
> First tear gas shells started landing on Abdul Ahad 's vicinity a few
> minutes after the slogans began. A few enterprising stone pelters had
> brought with them wet jute bags, and instantly placed them over the bursting
> tear gas shells. In fact one of them managed to catch a couple of them
> straight into his bag. Everyone clapped and whistled. This was an old game.
> Both sides were good at it. In the distance, a couple of armored cars
> appeared on the scene and started driving fast toward the crowd. The crowd
> splintered into the alleys. As the lead car reached where the they had been
> standing , a spatter of stones greeted it. The car stood there, unable to
> move, unsure of its purpose. No one came out of it. The intensity of rocks
> increased. The car retracted. The stone-warriors returned in triumphant joy.
> They had won the first round. The slogans became shriller.
>
> A few moments later a boy came running down the street announcing that the
> CRPF was now firing expired shells. The expired shells emit no smoke, but
> are used simply as metal projectiles intended to injure. They were dangerous
> because you couldn’t see them coming, unlike the tear gas shells. Everyone
> ran for cover. Akram and Abdul Ahad ran toward the shrine as metal shells
> started hitting the streets with clanking sounds. Abdul Ahad was only a few
> meters in when he heard people crying out on the street. “Morukh ho!” ( They
> killed him !) He turned around to see if Akram was still behind him. He
> was'nt. He leapt out on the road. Akram lay there, hit by a shell in his
> face was lying unconscious on the road. A small pool of blood formed around
> his head. The CRPF fired shots at anyone who tried to pull the body to
> safety. Desperation grew. Akram was going to die right there in front of
> Abdul Ahad's eyes. The soldier came close to Akram and saw the pool
>  of blood. " Come" , he beckoned Abdul Ahad, who stood in the middle of the
> road, like a statue. The CRPF retreated for a time long enough to allow the
> Akram to be lifted out. Someone from the alley piled him onto a motorcycle
> and he was taken away to the hospital.
>
> Abdul Ahad dragged his heavy feet back towards the shrine. He found a
> corner where he could collapse into. He could hear the metal shells and
> slogans with the patter of the stone throwing. The media on the periphery of
> the action scene clicked and recorded enough footage. The crowd dispersed.
> The media wrapped their day.
>
>
> (c) Meera Kaul Sawhney, 2010
>
> Reproduced here with author's permission
>
>
>
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-- 
Rajen.