The story refers to the time when terrorism was at its peak. The year 1989-90 is particularly remembered because during this time, due to daily bombings, atrocities, terrorist incidents, and killings, a large number of Kashmiri Pandits were displaced from the valley and had to flee to other parts of the country. Some were successful in bringing their household belongings with them, but others had to leave their homes empty-handed, saving only their lives from the barbaric acts carried out by jihadists.
Most of the displaced Kashmiri Pandits settled in Jammu and other cities of the country, taking refuge in various camps, temples, and shelters. Many social organizations and institutions in the country provided them with all possible help and services during this crisis. However, the pain and grievance persist that the government of Jammu and Kashmir has maintained silence on the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits, and there has been no concrete plan to bring them back to the valley. Since the majority of Kashmiri Pandits (Hindus) have already left the valley, their political influence has dwindled. When there is no political influence left, there is no one to address their grievances. The sensible individuals in the region express sorrow over the exodus of the Pandits and see it as a regrettable stain on the collective conscience of Kashmiri Muslims, who were unable to prevent their Pandit brethren from migrating.
In the chaos of displacement, my friend Triloki Babu’s suit remained with the tailor Ali Muhammad in Srinagar. Triloki had given it to Ali Muhammad for stitching on the occasion of his Thirtieth wedding anniversary. Little did anyone know that one day the terror would render Pandits homeless. Triloki, along with his family and belongings, left for Jammu in a truck one night.
Seven to eight years later, when the situation normalized a bit, I had to go to Srinagar for some work. When Triloki learned that I was going to Srinagar, he entrusted me with a task: to deliver a note to Ali Muhammad, the tailor, and collect his stitched suit. I was well acquainted with the tailor’s shop and the surroundings. I put the money and note in my pocket.
Upon reaching Srinagar, finding Ali Muhammad’s shop was not difficult for me. However, I did notice some changes; some shops had altered, and some had become wider. The hustle and bustle and the activity on the streets were just the same. Yes, four-wheeled vehicles were more prevalent than two-wheelers. I was genuinely pleased. After so many years, seeing my neighborhood, the lanes, roads, empty houses, etc., an odd and overwhelming kind of emotion filled my heart.
I reached Ali Bhai’s shop. An elderly person sat in front, holding Triloki’s note. He stared at me for a moment, then placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “So, you are Triloki Nath Ji’s friend? He has sent you to collect his suit, hasn’t he?” Then, placing his other hand on my shoulder, he continued in a heartfelt manner, “Look! His coat is hanging up there in the Almirah, all ready.”
Before he could say anything else, I took out the money from my pocket and began to hand it over to him. Seeing the money in my hand, Ali Muhammad said, “Sir, you take away this coat. Convey my greetings to Triloki Nath Ji and tell him that, Inshallah, when he himself comes here, resides here, I will take these charges. Not now, absolutely not now…! You sit down, have tea etc.”
I couldn’t say anything. I just kept on thinking. Was it that the tradition of centuries-old Kashmiri brotherhood had fallen victim to some evil eye!
Writer is Former Fellow, IIAS,Shimla, Currently in Dubai. He can be mailed at skraina123@gmail.com
