by Aslesha Kadian
30 May 1999.
Kriti was restless. She was hovering around her mother who was packing at a frantic pace. They were to leave for Srinagar in a couple of hours to spend the summer vacations with her father who was commanding a battalion about a 100 km north of the city.
It had been seven months since she last saw him. The calls had not been very regular either. She was looking forward to cutting her tenth birthday cake with him in three days. She missed him.
Her grandfather, who she fondly called Kaku, was to drop them to the airport.
Minutes later, her mother shoved her into the bathroom. Kriti had picked out her purple t-shirt that her father loved. They had spoken that morning and he had promised to be at the airport.
Hours later, they landed in Srinagar. Two tall, uniformed men whisked them away from the aircraft and into a Gypsy. Her father wasn’t there. Well, he will be at the camp, she consoled herself. Even Shamir, his right-hand man and shadow, wasn’t there.
Shamir was a Kashmiri. Kriti loved his grey eyes and was very fond of him. He had taught her many badminton tricks and shown her how to pick ripe cherries straight from the trees. He had a daughter who was the same age.
Kriti hated the bulletproof vehicles. They were suffocating. There were not even any windows she could peep out of, just tiny spaces from where the mouths of the AK-47s jutted out.
She didn’t know when she dozed off. The next thing she remembered was being scooped out of the Gypsy by her father. She almost didn’t recognize him because of his beard, but the twinkle in his eyes was the same. Right behind him was Shamir, holding out a toffee for her.
After a while, when her father finally put her down, she clutched on to his waist as he took her mother and her around the small camp. Shamir was close behind at all times. The camp was the same as the others she had seen. The accommodation in one corner, a long tent that doubled up as the officers’ mess and the basketball and badminton courts in another corner.
She felt like she was in familiar territory. Hopping and skipping, she raced up to their room that would be home for the next few weeks. From the window, she could see the snow-peaked mountains in the distance. But she knew that once it was dark they would have to draw the dark curtains and avoid switching on the bright tube light. Her father said it drew attention and could make them potential targets.
She slept early that day. The next two days were spent prancing around the camp with Shamir. The evenings were spent gulping down glass after glass of Coca-Cola, all the time fearing her mother would find out.
On the eve of her birthday, her father had organized a small party in the officers’ mess. Though there was nobody her age there, she was enjoying the attention. At some point, in the midst of the glasses clinking, she fell asleep.
She woke up to hear bullets being fired. She crept out of bed and walked to the window. Were that sparks darting across the boundary wall? Her mother came out of the bathroom and pulled her away from the window. Kriti knew her father was out there. She put her hand under his pillow. Yes, his rifle was missing. He was definitely out there. But where? Behind the camp were orchards. It seemed scary even during the day. She dreaded the thought of stepping into it in pitch darkness. She got into bed and hugged her mother tight.
Minutes later, they heard footsteps. Then there was a knock. Her mother cautiously stepped out of the bed and picked up a thick stick from under the bed. She opened the door an inch. The person on the other side, a tall man in black clothes with a black cloth sweeping across his face, barged in.
Kriti tried screaming but no noise escaped her throat. The man pulled her roughly and threw her over his shoulders. Kriti barely caught a glimpse of her mother. Her face was white. The man raced down the stairs. Her mother followed. Strangely, she wasn’t screaming or shouting.
At the door, she saw Shamir. Kriti extended a hand towards him. His usual smiling face wore a deadpan look. She wanted to ask him where her father was! Why didn’t he try to stop this man who was taking her away!
The man sprinted towards the officers’ mess. She could see Shamir and her mother running behind them. Was Mummy wearing a bulletproof jacket?
The sight of Shamir was comforting for her. She could see his eyes fixed on her unflinchingly.
Just then, the man faltered. It was almost as if someone had pushed him. Kriti, whose hand was holding on to his hair, felt something wet at the base of his neck. She could smell something metallic. She felt dizzy. Her head felt like it would burst. Her half-open eyes desperately searched for her mother and Shamir in the darkness. The man had made it to the tent of the officers’ mess by then. He pushed apart the flap covering the entrance and paused for a second. He turned his head. That was when Kriti saw her mother kneeling down. Shamir! He must have tripped, she thought. She wanted to go check on him and pull her mother and him into the tent.
Inside the tent, the man almost threw her off his back and ran up to the table at the other end. She could see familiar faces all around. She looked at the man in black clothes. His gaze sent a chill down her spine. And then he pulled the black cloth away from his face. She was stunned. She couldn’t believe what she saw.
The man was her father! And then she saw the blood. His ear was bleeding. She could see his black shirt glistening because of the blood. She didn’t know whether she was scared or relieved.
Just then her mother ran inside, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her mother was fine, but where was Shamir! Was he hurt? Why wasn’t her father going to help him? Where was the doctor?
She heard a few more shots and then there was silence. All the lights had been switched off. Her father grabbed a torch and headed out. He came back within minutes. Kriti ran to him. His face was wet. Was he crying? Why?
Moments later, two soldiers came in with a body. Her father knelt beside it. His head was bent forward. Was he praying? Kriti walked up to him; nobody stopped her. She hid behind her father, peeking out from behind him.
Shamir lay motionless. There was a hole in his forehead. Her father pulled her close. She managed to speak up. ‘Dad?’
‘He always joked that he would take a bullet for me. Today, he actually did.’ With that, a tear made its way down her father’s face.
That was the last time Kriti saw Shamir, but she never forgot his smile.
The next day, a new man walked behind her father. He did the same things that Shamir did for him; he even tried to befriend Kriti and take her out for a few basketball shots. But it wasn’t the same, neither for her, nor for her father.
