Page 77 - Love Story of a Commando

posted on their website. Though the terrorists were also killed by 51
Rashtriya Rifles troops two months after the incident.’
She took a deep breath, paused and continued again.
‘I was contacted by Indian Intelligence agencies, MI-6 and even by
the CIA. Everyone wanted information but nobody was concerned about the
healing I needed at that time or how badly I needed a shoulder to cry on.
Basically there was lot of blood spilled while people kept nagging me for
their benefit. It moved something inside me and I became cynical, but
astonishingly Kashmir’s innocence provided me the solace I was looking for.
I decided to stay back here, away from the urban jungles. I don’t know what
but something about Kashmir clung to me badly and I could not just run
away leaving this paradise on earth,’ she said.
‘Then I needed a place to stay and some sense of security and one
local journalist friend set me up here. Since then I have been teaching
students and when I need a break, I take leave for a few days and travel solo
to other Indian cities, but there is no other place like Kashmir. So in spite of
getting seriously depressed here, I keep coming back. Let’s see how long I
manage to stick to this place.’ She smiled.
I was stunned. And all I had ever thought of were my own miseries.
This woman before me was the epitome of courage and strength. She
did not run away, but rather, had decided to stay and fight. She laughed and
travelled too. I felt stupid before her. A little embarrassment swept over me
which I concealed successfully.
‘I am in serious need of some suitable clothes. Where can I get that?’
It was all I could utter, a little scared that she would ask me my story.
‘We have flea markets twice a week and there is a nice old lady who
stitches suits. In fact, she made me all these loose-fitting saaalwar kameeeez
but these are exactly what we need here. Whenever I go outside in these,
locals don’t actually stare that much,’ she replied.
‘Can we go to her and ask for more salwar suits for me too?’
‘Sure. But we must leave now. She is just five minutes away but will
close soon,’ she said.
I put my sneakers on and wrapped a stole around my neck over a full
sleeved t-shirt and cargo pants and Susan took out her scooty to head
towards the local market.
The tiny village, nestled in the slope of the mountain, had a few
scenic roads that all led to the village centre. There was a small bus stand
surrounded by the bazaar which had a clutch of shops that stocked essentials
for a simple life. There were roadside hawkers and peddlers selling odds and
ends, from groceries to clothes to cereals. For fancier things, one had to
travel to Srinagar through zigzagging roads. The thick clump of trees
surrounded most of Tral’s tiny little buildings and shops but the beautiful