'it Is Never Over, Never Escaped'

摘要

I am II years old. I am panting as I run alongside my parents through the dark, narrow, deserted lanes of my town in Kashmir. The carved-deodar windows and doors of the gable-roofed row houses on each side of the alley are shut. The thunder of the bombs is getting louder. The smoke of the gunfire is clouding my sight. The ground beneath my feet turnsinto a treadmill. The bang of explosions begins to wane, and we find ourselves at the steps of our home.I cling to my mother's cold hand and watch my father wiping the sweat on his face with the sleeve of his pheran. The baby in his arms is sleeping peacefully. I pull open the heavy door with my little hands, but suddenly the sound of militants screaming for blood descends from the house. "Run, Daddy, run! You must save the child!" I slam the door against an insurmountable force.I look at my father's face. He is torn and mute. The gunmen encircle us and invoke their gods and prophets raucously.