Chitthi Sarhad Paar Se / چٹھی سرحد پار سے

Chitti Sarhad Parr Say

چٹھی سرحد پار سے

A peace writing campaign by

Daastan Publishing

and

White Falcon Publishing

*****

Daastan Publishing

Copyright © 2020 by Daastan

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN (Digital): 978-969-696-405-6

Isbn (print) : 978-969-696-460-5

Daastan Publications

www.daastan.com

*****

Editor(s)

 Summaiya Naveed

Narmeen Surahio

_

Book Cover Copyrights

 Anum Ameer

*****

Contents

English......................................................... 3

Sami Ghazal................................................... 4

Rini Choudhury............................................... 5

Mahnoor Nadeem........................................... 8

Karan Balkar................................................. 10

Afraz Jabeen................................................. 11

KV Raghupathi.............................................. 14

Syma Tasaduq.............................................. 16

Manisha Aggarwal......................................... 19

Ali ...............................................................22

Vasant Davé................................................. 23

S M Sridhar.................................................. 26

S M Bose...................................................... 27

Shreya Sethi .................................................34

Pappal Suneja............................................... 37

Hindi.............................................................38

Shreya Khatri................................................. 39

Subhash S Naik..............................................39

Urdu & Punjabi............................................... 40

Asmat Ayub................................................... 41

نرمین سرھیو................................................................. 42

عفرأ احمد ملک............................................................... 43

اقرأ ندیم...................................................................... 45

فلزا کمال. ....................................................................46

ہاجرہ عمران خان............................................................. 48

فاطمہ خان.................................................................... 51

امجد جہانگیر................................................................. 57

اریبہ شیخ.................................................................... 59

ناہید اختر بلوچ................................................................ 60

علینہ عرفان.................................................................. 64

قُرسم فاطمہ................................................................... 67

ڈاکٹر فیاض احمد ڈار.......................................................... 69

ھانیہ ارمیا................................................................... 71

سعدیہ مظہر................................................................. 72

قدسیہ (بتول) حذیفہ جمالیؔ..................................................... 73

English

Sami Ghazal

My beloved,

It is astonishing how I can, amid all the fiery chaos, put pen to this torn paper. As incredulous as it may seem, here I am, scribbling as hurriedly as I can. I have no way of ascertaining whether the contents of this letter will find their home. Neither am I aware of the receipt of my previously written woes. But my words are woes no more; they are resolute. Time is of the essence, and I will let you peruse no more a preamble.

Kashmir is a nightmare. I remember how our mothers told us tales of monsters that lurked in the dead of night to keep us from wandering away from home. Kashmir’s children know better: the worst monsters ravage the earth in broad daylight. They bear no fangs, no horns, no wild manes but guns, grenades and apathy so sinister for slaying whatever obstructs their path; it is inhuman. We are trapped inside our homes. Food and water are a luxury; those of us not wise, die of starvation. Those that do not starve, die some other way; either in body or spirit. 

My honey-blond curls you were once so fond of? I buzzed them all off. It is a danger, being a girl here. I wear Ilyas’ clothes now; my way of honoring my martyred brother and his way of protecting his sister even in death. While I may have changed how I look to survive, I had to, love, shatter my soul to pieces and make one anew.

I am not the Sakina you spent your childhood with. I am not the Sakina whom you fell in love with and who fell for you. I am not the Sakina whom you promised to marry and who agreed to marry you. I am not your Sakina anymore. She is dead.

Our love was ill-fated from the beginning of its inception. Even when there were miles between us, keeping us apart, you in Pakistan and I in Kashmir, the war ebbed away at whatever of it cowered hiding in the seams of make-believe. It had begun its descent into the arms of death long before it was destined to fail. The flame that we were to nurture, shield from the world, from anything threatening to extinguish it, we both let sweep into oblivion. At times, it was I; at times, you.

But the war has brought about its true demise.

I write to you to liberate you. You cannot lie in wait for my return any more. I am a prisoner of this once beautiful land and its oppressors. What we had is no longer alive. But dead. A buried corpse that has finally become one with the earth.

Live your life, dearest! Live. Do not mourn me, I tell you, when news of my death knocks at your door, a dark, cloaked figure that siphons away any light it sees in its path. Kashmir is dying. And so am I. I will not have you mourn away your existence. You have your whole life ahead of you. Find love. One that lasts. Cherish her as you did me. Never let her go.

I love you.

—Sakina

Rini Choudhury

The Epistles

472 East Lane,

Kolkata - 99.

25/12/1990.

9.30 am

Dear Hussain Bhai,

Merry Christmas to you and your family. Now you must have reached your home in Lahore and probably having breakfast with my lovely Bhabi-ji. Please convey my loving wishes to her and the children.

I can never thank you enough for what you did for me and Mom last night. Without your help we would have been in dire trouble. My father allowed me to participate in the programme only after getting assurance from the organizers that a car would be provided to us to drop us back home. But once the programme was over, we were completely forgotten! The artistes, organizers and their guests jumped into three of the four cars and left in a hurry to attend their Christmas parties. None of them gave us a second glance. Mom was getting paranoid as it became apparent to her that we would have to return home by our own. It was nearly eleven and getting a cab would be impossible so late at night. Then you emerged from the green room and your eyes suddenly fell upon us. You stopped in your track and asked why we hadn't gone home yet. Your caring words sent Mom almost into tears. She narrated how everyone ignored us and left us to our fate. Your expression showed how shocked you were at the selfishness of these people. You took us with you and managed to arrange two seats for us in the remaining car. My eyes got moist when I saw you squeeze in on someone's lap in the front seat to accommodate us. Before getting down at the airport you told the driver to drop us home. It was only because of you that we reached home safely last night. Hussain Bhai, you're not only a great musician but also a great human being with a heart of gold.

I don't know if my letter will reach you or not. Who knows, maybe your secretary will throw it into the waste bin along with your other fan mails. Nevertheless, I decided to write this letter to convey my heartfelt thanks and sincere gratitude to you. I pray to Lord Sri Krishna to fulfill all your dreams and shower his blessings on you and your beloved family.

Mom sends her love and blessings to you. Her earnest desire is to invite you to our home during your next visit to Kolkata and treat you to some famous Bengali delicacies. Considering how busy you are I don't think her dream will ever come true.

Thank you again.

With best wishes and warm regards,

Rini.

15-B Shalimar Road

Lahore - 75.

06/01/1991.

Dear Rini,

Happy New Year to you and Auntie-ji. Hope both of you are doing well. See, your letter did reach me after all. Ha ha...

Thanks a lot for your loving wishes. My wife, who is a devout admirer of Lord Sri Krishna, sends her love and new year wishes to you. But you really made me feel sad my dear. On one hand you call me 'Bhai' and on the other hand you speak of gratitude for doing my duty towards you. That's not fair.  What I did last night was something that every chivalrous man would have done, had he been in my place. But no, I shall be truthful to you. The reason was more than mere duty or chivalry.

That night I felt a strange pain in my heart when I saw you and Auntie-ji standing forlornly in that corner. Your helpless, pathetic faces reminded me of my Ammi and sister who were nearly killed in the communal riot of 1947. I was quite small then. Abbu was working night shift in his office on the day the riot broke out in our locality. Ammi was extremely anxious about our safety and the honour of my teenaged sister Saida. Living in a Hindu neighbourhood further heightened her tension. Suddenly we heard the sound of gunshots and people shouting 'Har Har Mahadev' in front of our house. Ammi and Saida stood shaking in one corner of the drawing room, helpless and forlorn, not knowing what to do. Ammi's hold on Saida's shoulders tightened as we heard loud bangs on our front door. We knew that the door would give way any moment. Suddenly the banging stopped and Mahadev Chacha's voice was heard from outside. Our neighbour Pandit Mahadev Sharma and his wife Parvati Chachi were like second parents to me and Saida. They were retired teachers who had devoted their lives for social welfare. Both were revered to by Hindus and Muslims alike. Mahadev Chacha reprimanded the rioters for targeting helpless women and children and ordered them to leave. Most of the men were his former students who did not have the guts to disobey him. They quietly left the place. Later that night the Sharma couple smuggled us out of our house in their own car. They left us at my Phoophi's house which was in a Muslim locality. On their way back they dropped at Abbu's office to inform him about us. This was how a Hindu couple saved a Muslim family from inevitable death.

You know sister, religion divides people. Hence, I believe in only one religion, that is, the religion of Humanity, which teaches us to love and empathize with each other overcoming the barriers of religious faiths, social hierarchies and geographical boundaries.